Chapter 1 #2
“Exactly,” he replied. “He’s been on our radar since last Christmas, but vanished completely after New Year’s. Well, he’s back, and this year he’s operating on a much bigger scale. We need to shut him down before he graduates to more serious targets.”
I scanned the next page, which contained a list of digital “gifts.” Cleared medical debts. New cars. Food delivery service. College scholarships. Everything was for struggling families or people in need. The hacks were encrypted and designed to disappear without a trace.
“Wow—this guy is a genius,” I said, flipping to the next page. “Every transaction bounces through so many proxies it’s like following breadcrumbs through a funhouse mirror before it vanishes.”
“He’s the David Copperfield of hackers,” Chloe said.
“We’ve seen nothing like it before,” Thorne admitted.
I scanned the list of targeted companies and individuals, recognizing name after name.
“And look at his target selection—these aren’t random hits.
Every single one of them has a rap sheet longer than my browser history.
Price gouging, shady deals, environmental violations, wage theft .
.. He’s basically created a greatest hits album of corporate sleazebags. ”
I couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect creeping in.
“He’s done his homework,” Chloe said. “This isn’t some random pissed-off dude throwing digital tantrums—it’s surgical precision with a social conscience.”
“No doubt about it,” Thorne said. “Everyone on social media is talking about him.”
“But there really are no victims here, per se,” I said, my logical mind scrambling to find a solid foundation. “No one is getting hurt. He’s taking from bad people and giving to people who need it. Aren’t there other cases more deserving of our time and resources?”
Thorne leaned forward, his expression serious. “Theft is theft. Unauthorized access is unauthorized access. We don’t get to pick which laws we enforce. Anarchy is not a viable solution, Mazini.”
I bit back a retort about the inefficiency of the legal system and focused on the facts. “Okay, so people are talking about it, we’ve got that. What other leads do we have?”
“We’ve cross-referenced the families who have benefitted from Good Sam, and they all have something in common,” Thorne said, a glint in his eye. “The community center and the library in Leavenworth.”
“That place certainly brings back some fun memories,” Chloe said with a smile. “I’ll never forget that Oktoberfest weekend we spent there.”
Leavenworth, Washington, is a Bavarian-themed tourist town nestled in the Cascade Mountains. It’s nearly three hours from Seattle—far enough to feel like a different world entirely.
During the Christmas season, the picturesque village transforms into something straight out of a holiday movie, complete with 500,000 twinkling lights, German architecture, and thousands of visitors who come for the Christmas markets, the snow, and the festive holiday atmosphere.
“Is there a common denominator that links the library and the community center?” I asked.
Thorne nodded. “Yes. A man named Samuel Monroe. We’re almost certain he’s our Good Sam. We need the proof, though. That’s where you come in.”
Sam Monroe was Good Sam?
The irony was so beautifully symmetrical it was almost poetic. A self-fulfilling prophecy with his name, if ever there was one. The universe, in its own haphazard way, had a sense of humor.
Thorne’s expression grew more serious. “Sam Monroe is a mild-mannered archivist at the Leavenworth library—been there twelve years and has never missed a day. He’s responsible for the acquisition, organization, preservation, and management of the city’s historical records.
Over five hundred thousand digital archives are available for public access. ”
“Managing that much information would turn my brain into scrambled eggs,” Chloe said. “His IQ must be through the roof.”
“One hundred and sixty, according to his background check,” Thorne said.
“Monroe had been adopted as an infant by a middle-class Seattle family who’d recognized his extraordinary gifts immediately.
By age sixteen, he’d already graduated from the University of Washington with double majors in Computer Science and History—one of the youngest college graduates in the state’s history.
He’d earned a Master’s Degree in Library and Information Science at seventeen, because apparently overachieving was his hobby. ”
Chloe turned to me with a grin. “You’ve got some serious competition. He could be your soulmate.”
I smirked. “I look forward to dating him while he’s in prison.”
Thorne cleared his throat. “Moving on … Monroe runs two book clubs, has also led story-time for the kids, and even teaches seniors how to use the computer catalog. All things that are not part of his job description. But here’s the kicker: he’s also the town’s most celebrated volunteer Santa Claus.
Five years running, voted ‘Best Santa’ by the community.
The guy’s got more fans than a boy band—church groups love him, the Rotary Club thinks he walks on water, and half the soccer moms in town have his number on speed dial for parties and charity events. ”
“This certainly is a fascinating case, but imagine the backlash when Santa is arrested,” I said.
“Which means if we’re going after Saint Nick himself, we’d better have our ducks in a perfect row,” Agent Thorne said. “One misstep, and we’ll have the entire town forming a human chain around the man. Everybody loves him, but he’s our prime suspect, and we need solid evidence.”
He clicked his remote, and a photo of Sam Monroe appeared on the large monitor behind him, his kind eyes and warm smile staring back at me. He looked nothing like the reclusive genius hacker I had been imagining the last few minutes, someone with a hoodie who worked out of his dark basement.
Sam looked … almost normal.
“Holy guacamole,” Chloe murmured beside me, breaking my concentration. “I can think of a hundred reasons the women have him on speed-dial.”
Thorne gave her a look that would have frozen lesser agents in their tracks. “Is that really necessary, Davis?”
“What?” Chloe said, throwing her hands up in a defensive gesture. “Just because he’s drop-dead gorgeous doesn’t mean we’re going to take it easy on him. It just means we can enjoy the view a little, or a lot, before we take him down.”
My internal monologue, which usually contained a symphony of algorithms, was now a single, repeating question mark.
My mind admitted he was handsome—it would be illogical not to—but then hurried on to a list of potential flaws.
Bad posture? A grating laugh? A horrible case of halitosis?
He was probably a terrible dresser, although it was hard to tell since the photo was from the neck up.
I was sure he had a list of faults a mile long.
Agent Thorne turned back to me. “Thoughts?”
I shrugged. “He could certainly use a haircut.”
Chloe snorted.
Thorne crossed his arms. “I’m talking about the case.”
“Piece of cake,” I said, grabbing the files and standing to head back to my sacred cubicle. “Don’t be surprised if we have this wrapped up before the end of the week. I’ll get right on it.”
“Not so fast …”
Thorne’s expression shifted into what I recognized as his “you’re really not going to like this” face.
“We’re handling this case differently,” he added.
My fight-or-flight response kicked in immediately.
Differently was FBI code for we’re about to ruin your entire week.
Different meant leaving my citadel of monitors and venturing into the terrifying realm of face-to-face human interaction.
Different meant he wanted me to do something that required zippered pants without an elastic waistband.
“Different how?” I asked, though every survival instinct was telling me to just nod and back away slowly.
“You’re going undercover,” Thorne said. “You leave for Leavenworth in the morning.”
His words hit me like a system crash. My carefully constructed world of predictable code and logical algorithms suddenly felt very far away.
“This is going to be epic,” Chloe said.
I glared at her, which had zero effect, then tried to reason with Thorne. “I’m sure I can crack this case at my desk. Why do we need to go to Leavenworth?”
“Because we believe this case may be much bigger than it appears,” Thorne said.
“We need someone inside Sam Monroe’s circle.
Someone who can get close enough to observe his patterns, his access points, and his daily routines.
The library’s our best entry point since that’s where he spends most of his time. ”
This can’t be happening …
“Your cover will be as a new volunteer at the library. Your name is Rose Thompson. You already have a profile on LinkedIn with your extensive resume. Here are your IDs and background info.” Thorne slid the second folder across the table toward me as my mouth hung open.
“Monroe coordinates several community outreach programs, including multiple Santa events throughout December. We need you embedded in his activities at the library, gaining his trust, documenting his digital habits, and any suspicious behavior. We need to understand his methods, his network, and his next likely targets. The closer you can get to his inner circle, the better our chances of setting a trap and building a case that’ll stick. ”
“What happened to our deal?” I managed, my voice slightly strangled. “You assured me I would not be going out in the field anymore.”
This was exactly what I’d fought to avoid when I’d negotiated my way into the Cybercrime Division. Thorne had promised I could stay tethered to my desk, safely analyzing digital evidence instead of interacting with human beings.
“I know, and I hate asking you, but we’re short-staffed and this case got flagged as high-priority,” he said, having the decency to at least look a little guilty before delivering the killing blow.
“Of course, if you’d prefer, there’s also a high school case that just came in involving a teenage hacker, but undercover work is required there as well. Take your pick.”
Teenagers were like malicious software in human form—unpredictable, chaotic, and impossible to debug. I wouldn’t accept that case, even if my life depended on it.
“I’ll take Good Sam,” I said through gritted teeth. “But I want it on record that this violates our original agreement.”
“Noted,” Thorne said, looking relieved. “Chloe, you can keep your first name while you’re undercover, but your last name will be Stanton. We’ve already got you both booked at the Bavarian Lodge.”
“I love that place!” Chloe said.
It wasn’t even worth my energy to glare at her again.
“And who knows?” Thorne said to me. “Getting out there may help you embrace a little Christmas spirit.”
I stared at him as if he’d suggested I take up competitive fire-breathing. Christmas spirit? Me? Did he forget who I was?
“Christmas spirit is an unquantifiable variable that defies basic logic,” I said. “It’s like asking me to run diagnostics on happiness.”
Admittedly, there was a time when I actually enjoyed the holidays—back when Old Zara still believed in the goodness of people.
But life has a way of installing some serious anti-Christmas malware in your system when things go south during the holidays.
And once it’s there, it’s nearly impossible to remove.
“It’ll be fine,” Thorne said, clearly trying to convince himself as much as me.
It would be nowhere near fine.
This case was a train wreck waiting to happen, and the worst part was, my sanity was tied to the tracks like a silent movie heroine.