Chapter 56
“I WAS THINKING ABOUT something Erika told me yesterday,” I say, glancing up from Erika’s response to the question I texted.
Over the next few minutes, I explain about the social networking connection of payment apps.
If you use one of these services, you can let your friends or even the whole world know you’ve gifted or paid someone.
If you get your nails done with your girlfriends, you can put a little polish bottle in the transaction feed.
I go on to explain how Erika’s tutoring partner has been able to track the trends in the notifications and see the details.
“If we knew how everyone was being paid, we might be able to track it.”
“Actually, I think I have someone who could help.” Candace scrolls on her phone. “If we knew Hippa would be used again—”
“That’s the same app,” I say. “Can we track it even if the user has turned off the social announcement setting?”
“Yes. I think we can.” Candace continues to explain about a friend of hers who’s a genius at these kinds of things.
Clint makes a noise that sounds like a growl. “I don’t like this. I don’t like using anyone’s shady friends to hack into apps. We need to get back to our kids and then meet up with the police. None of this is convincing me to delay.”
“Sorry,” Candace says in a small voice, having gotten quite animated in her description.
Her apology hits me. She hasn’t actually apologized for getting herself embedded in all this. Instead, she’s said a lot about how it wasn’t her fault.
As if she also recognizes her lack of accountability, she doubles down. “I am truly sorry. Each time I was paid for a security task, I was paid using the same app by the same username. I think Meredith is onto something.”
“Honey.” I shift toward Clint. “If someone was paid to harass our daughter online and spray-paint our garage and car, we can trap them.”
“If the same app was used to pay everyone,” Clint says.
“Candace. Can your friend put a tickler on the account that was used? If it’s used again, we can get a ping on the account.” I glance at Clint.
“A lot of what-ifs you’re relying on,” he says.
“True,” says Lucas. “But we could get evidence.”
“Evidence of criminal payoffs to the people who went after our family.” I squeeze Clint’s hand again.
“But we can’t just wait around for him to come up with another way to harass us.” Clint leans forward, the gears ticking in his head.
“We could set up a fake meet at our house. Maybe I make it known that I’m going to try to talk to Betsey.” A sick feeling crawls up my chest. “But maybe not. What if this is bigger? What if she’s in trouble? The SEC said they didn’t know where she was.”
“She’s fine,” Lucas says with an assurance that makes all his previous sentiments sound fragile.
“How do you know?” Clint asks, bits of the wariness and anger edging back into his voice.
“Because I’m here.”
I gasp. The woman I want to both hug and pummel stands at the end of our booth.
Betsey’s hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her face is freshly scrubbed. She looks like she’s slept. “Thanks for texting me. Can I sit?”
Candace scoots in next to Lucas.
My dilemma of whether to welcome her or grab my husband and flee must be obvious on my face.
“I know, Meredith.” She speaks quickly as if peppering me with her words will tie me to my seat.
“I wish I’d come to you much earlier. I thought I could assemble a full picture of how our ETFs were being manipulated and the mutual funds given advantage.
But I was stymied on every approach. I got desperate. There was only the—”
“You threatened me with pictures.” Anger at her deception and relief over her safety war inside me.
“Bad judgment. I don’t know what made me take them. I guess at that point I didn’t know if you were behind all this. My boss and head of wealth at Meymack—something was not right. I wouldn’t have actually done anything with them.” Her eyes dart to Clint.
“Right, well, I’m glad you’re okay.” I believe my own words, but there’s no joy in them.
“For now, I think we need to focus on our next step.” I summarize where we are with the planning to set up the fake meet at the house and watch the app.
If someone is paid to go watch our house, or worse, we’ll have the proof.
“We should do this.” Betsey glances around the table.
“Candace, do you think your friend will be able to set the trap on the app?” I bite down on the inside of my lip. This is a pivot. Are we making a mistake? Now that I see them sitting all together across from us, how can we possibly trust these people?
Candace nods as she pecks at her phone.
“No one will be at the house. It’s worth the risk,” Lucas says. His Meymack executive posture has returned. I want to warn him to approach carefully, but if the brothers have any chance of mending their relationship, I’ll need to stay far away from the middle.
“I hope our house is left standing. This is a desperate situation.” Clint’s hand grips mine again. I look up at his surprisingly untroubled eyes. It’s more than resignation. He wants to bring on this fight and get the evidence we need to end strong.
“Anything else we’re missing?” I ask.
Lucas leans forward. “Stay at the cabin—”
“Don’t tell me where my family will be.” The heat of Clint’s glare falls on all three of the adults pressed together on the other side of the booth. “I don’t trust any of you.”
At least the two of us are on the same page, as this uneasy alliance could shatter at any moment.
“I didn’t mean . . . I meant just stay away from the house until you hear from us. I promise, we’re done tracking you,” Lucas says.
“Don’t promise me anything. None of this is as simple as you say.” Clint shakes his head as if we’ve all been duped. “I’ll take care of my family.”
Lucas swallows and then nods. “Fair enough. We won’t ask. There’s enough disinformation swirling around. I mean, the things we were told about Betsey . . .”
I stare at Betsey’s hands, folded and trembling on the table.
No one says anything for a full minute, perhaps each imagining a very different way this all could end.
I look hard into Clint’s eyes. “All right. We’ll head somewhere.”
Lucas nods. “And we’ll contact you when we have proof.”
A half hour later, we’re on our way back to the cabin.
Rob texts that Reid is still sleeping, curled up around his stuffed dog, Henry, who came with him to camp but spent the week in the bottom of his bag, as apparently no one else brought their stuffies.
I finally make Rob go in and let him know breakfast, boxed in to-go containers, is on the way.
We sit in silence for a couple more miles before Clint says, “I’m going to ask Rob to return Ella’s Accord.”
“Gassed and with some cash?” I ask. Not enough time to get it washed and detailed, but she’ll probably prefer the cash anyway.
“Sure thing, and we’ll take Rob’s F-250 for the day.”
“We’ll take his truck?” This sounds like the least sure part of the plan. Rob and his Ford are more inseparable than Clint and his Tacoma, and that’s saying a lot.
“I’m going to ask him to head over and pick up the Range Rover. He’ll love being decoy man. I just need to sell him on the danger. If he thinks he might be able to break a tail, he’ll be all in.”
I chuckle. Good to find some humor in all this darkness. “Are you going to ask him to try to find the tracker on both cars?”
“Even more fun for him.” Clint stares out the windshield as if all these logistics are the most important things to be talking about, but I can see the pain in the etched grooves across his forehead.
His home is not safe. His family is on the run.
And his brother, who robbed his mother of comfort in her dying days, is back in his life.