Chapter 23
MONDAY, TEN A.M. The perfect time to break into Ben’s desktop computer: Hailey is at school. Lily is asleep. Amber is at Pilates. And nobody has diarrhea.
I sit down on his desk chair and turn on his PC.
As I expected, the laptop is password-protected, but that’s not a problem.
One of the FBI dossiers showed ways to override passwords with various formulas and keystrokes, depending on the make and model of the computer.
It’s complicated, and it might take some trial and error, but I’m ready.
Step one: Cautiously, I press the Windows key plus R. The screen shifts. Good.
Step two: Now I have to figure out whether to launch a Run Command prompt or type the word netplwiz or…
“What are you doing at my dad’s computer?”
I freeze. Hailey is standing in the doorway, wearing a sweatshirt about six sizes too big.
“What are you doing home from school?” I ask.
“Forgot my homework,” she says. “And Amber forgot to remind me.” (Amber forgot? Does this kid not take responsibility for anything?) “But what are you doing in here?”
I turn from the desktop. “Okay,” I say with a sigh. “I’ll tell you. But you have to promise you won’t tell Amber or your dad.”
She thinks about this for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. Clearly, she likes having something over me. But she likes the idea of keeping something from her father and stepmother even more. She’s practically licking her lips.
“So,” I ask, “do we have a deal?”
“Oh, fine,” she says.
I take a deep breath. “The truth is, the FBI needs me to dig up some dirt on your father.”
There is a moment of stunned silence. Then she bursts out laughing. “C’mon,” Hailey says. “What are you really doing?”
Works every time. An old FBI trick called Hiding in Plain Sight. If the truth seems even mildly far-fetched, you can use it to throw the subject off guard.
“Oh, okay. Ever hear of something called Fortnite?” I ask.
“The video game? Well, duh.”
“I’m a big fan,” I say. “But I can’t play it on my very basic un-smartphone.”
“Aren’t you a little old for that?” she asks with a smirk.
“Actually, I’m a ranked player. I want to play now but I guess I need a password to use this computer,” I say. “Do you know it?”
“Sure.”
“Will you share it?”
“Nope.”
I wish I had something I could hold over Hailey’s head. An ounce of weed hidden under her bed, maybe. Some sexting I spotted on her phone. But no. I’ve got nothing yet.
“Tell ya what,” I say. “How about you just type it in, and I won’t look. Promise.”
She thinks about this for a moment. It could go either way.
“Fine,” she says. I get up from the chair and she sits down and types. I look away, out the window, keeping my word. When she gets up, Ben’s desktop screen is in full view. Now it’s my turn to lick my lips.
“Thanks,” I say. I start typing, pretending I’m downloading the game. She’s still there watching me. I know I’m on thin ice here, but I’m feeling smug and a little brazen.
“You want to see my kill stats?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “You’re weird,” she says.
“That’s true,” I say. “But it sure beats being normal.”
Once she’s gone, I scan the files. Some names are in English—Roof, Receipts, Bios.
Some are in Spanish—Fuego, Empezar. (Ben speaks Spanish?
Metcalf didn’t mention that.) Some are just letters—JJ to REV, C&L, BJK.
Are they artists? Code names? Hard to say.
Any of them could be hiding the information Metcalf is looking for.
But there’s no time to wade through it all, so I insert a flash drive and copy everything.
Let the FBI do its own research. My job is just to steal it.