White-Hot Hack

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  “I’ve got groceries to put away, and then I’m going to make us something to eat.” Ian loved any sandwich she made with the panini press, so that’s what they usually ate for lunch. “After that, I think I’ll take my birthday present for a drive.”

  He broke into a wide grin. She knew it made him happy to see her enjoying the car, and besides, he’d been right about the Spyder: it was spectacular.

  “But first, lunch,” she said, climbing off his lap and letting out a squeal when he gave her a friendly little goose. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

  After they finished eating, Kate grabbed her keys and backed the Spyder out of the garage. When she was working at the law firm, she’d driven a two-door Accord, but she’d traded it in for the TrailBlazer when she opened the food pantry because she needed a vehicle with enough room to collect and transport donations. She was used to driving an SUV, so when Ian suggested another one, mentioning how much he liked the safety aspects of a larger vehicle, she’d readily agreed. Virginia’s winter weather could be fickle, and the Tahoe’s four-wheel drive would come in handy if there were higher than average amounts of snowfall. But once she’d taken the Spyder out a few times, she remembered how fun it was to drive a car.

  Working with Jade to redecorate the house took up some of Kate’s time. Her Pilates classes, household tasks, trips to the grocery store, and experimenting with new recipes took a bit more. But there were still too many hours left in the day, and she’d discovered that taking the Spyder for a nice long drive was a good way to fill them. She mostly avoided driving down Middleburg’s main street, not that a Porsche would cause any of the affluent residents to bat an eye. But driving the Spyder had become a solitary endeavor for Kate, and she had no desire to draw attention to herself.

  And the Spyder wasn’t just a car. It was an experience.

  She’d begun testing the car to see what it could do. For starters, it could go from zero to sixty in about four seconds according to her rough calculations. It hadn’t taken long for her to become comfortable with the shift paddles, and she loved the way she could toggle back and forth between the automatic and manual transmission modes. Each time she took the car out, she went a bit farther and a bit faster. Driving the Spyder felt like driving a racecar, which she supposed wasn’t far from the truth. The two-lane roads of northern Virginia were perfect for her excursions because they never seemed to be heavily traveled, at least not in the middle of the day.

  She pushed the button for the driving playlist she’d compiled, and the opening notes of Aerosmith’s “Dream On” filled the car. The early fall day was sunny and warm, and the trees were still holding on to most of their leaves. She’d recently discovered a rural Virginia byway known as the Snicker’s Gap Turnpike that passed through Mountville and Philomont and would take her all the way to Berryville twenty-five miles away. It was one of her favorite routes.

  She increased her speed, loving the way the Porsche’s tires hugged the pavement. When she glanced down at the speedometer, she was shocked to realize she’d been humming along at a cool 107 miles an hour, which was the highest reading the gauge had ever shown. The superior suspension and modern engineering of the Porsche made for a much smoother ride than the Shelby, and it hadn’t seemed like she was going that fast. Instead of slowing her speed, she pressed down on the gas pedal until the needle rose to 115. She’d never thought of herself as an adrenaline junkie, but the feeling of being in control of that much speed invigorated her, and the vibrant colors of the leaves on the trees whizzed by her in a sunlit blur of orange, yellow, and red. Aerosmith gave way to Boston’s “More Than a Feeling,” and she cranked the volume and got lost in the music.

  In Berryville, she pulled into the small coffee shop she’d discovered during her first visit. The pecan chocolate chip cookies they made fresh daily were the best she’d ever tasted, and in addition to her freshly brewed Americano, she bought two of the cookies to take home for Ian.

  On the way back, she spotted a sign she’d never noticed before that read Goose Creek Stone Bridge. Feeling a pang of nostalgia for the Stone Arch Bridge and St. Anthony Main, she turned down the narrow gravel road and followed it until she came to a small, deserted parking lot. She locked the car and set off on foot to explore.

  To her right, a wooden fence with a sign that said Wildflower Walk bordered an observation area with an informational plaque stating that the bridge had once been the site of a Civil War battle. In the distance she could see the four arches of the abandoned bridge, and the sight of it—moss covered and crumbling—seemed ominous and filled her with dread. The sun had moved behind a cloud and the wind had picked up, making her surroundings feel even less welcoming.

  She headed back, bypassing the parking lot and walking down a wide path toward the bridge itself. A wild turkey darted from between the trees in the woods to her left, startling her. On the bridge, she peered over the edge at the fast-moving, muddy water. The last time she’d stood on a bridge like this, she’d been more than a little concerned about her mental health, and when she’d thrown her phone into the Mississippi, she’d been certain the likelihood of ever being happy again had sunk with it.

  Now she and Ian were here, together. Married and blissfully content. She felt guilty for her restlessness and the faint tendrils of boredom that had crept into her daily life. Who was she to complain about anything? The husband she thought she’d lost loved her every bit as fiercely as she loved him. They had a beautiful home. A life of luxury. Had she forgotten how fortunate she was? A feeling of foreboding followed the revelation. Maybe they’d cheated fate. What if something happened that would take Ian away from her for real? Don’t buy trouble, she told herself. Be grateful for everything you have.

  He was in the kitchen grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge when she returned. “How was your drive?”

  She went to him, throwing her arms around his neck and knocking him slightly off-balance.

  “Hey,” he said, steadying himself and wrapping his arms around her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just love you so much.”

  “I love you too.” He squeezed her tight, and when she showed no sign of moving away from his embrace he said, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She lifted her head from his chest. “I found a bridge. A stone one with arches. The last time I stood on one of those, I thought you were dead. It seemed like a bad omen.” She felt a little foolish admitting her feelings now that she was home.

  “I don’t want you to worry about anything, sweetness. Nothing is going to happen to me.” He kissed her forehead tenderly, and she believed him.

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “Other than the bridge, did you have a nice drive?”

  “Yes.” She felt a twinge of remorse. She’d been driving way too fast, but both she and the car had made it home in one piece, so there was really nothing to worry about. “I brought you some cookies.” She pulled the small white bag from her purse and handed it to him.

  “All I can say is it’s a good thing we have a home gym. Speaking of exercise, I think I’m done for the day. Do you want to go for a walk?” They often explored the property, their fingers interlocked as they followed the fence line, the leaves of the oak trees rustling overhead.

  “I’d love to.” A lingering restlessness remained, as if she hadn’t quite shaken her anxiety. A walk was just what she needed.

  “Give me ten minutes to finish up.” He kissed her and pulled a cookie from the bag, taking a bite of it as he walked toward his office. “Excellent cookie,” he said over his shoulder.

  Kate sat down at the island, opened her laptop, and scanned her e-mail. Jade had sent a message with several attachments showing different pieces of furniture for Kate to look at. She made her selections and sent a cheery message back, telling Jade how pleased she and Ian were with the way the house had come together.

  Audrey had sent some pictures from a couples’ weekend trip to Vegas that she and Clay had g
one on with Paige and her husband. They looked like they were having a great time, and Kate would be lying if she said she didn’t miss her friends. She would write a nice, long response when she and Ian returned from their walk.

  Kate smiled when she scrolled through the remaining messages and spotted a response from Helena to the e-mail she’d sent that morning.

  To: winealittle@firedrive.com

  From: hsadowski@mainstreetfoodpantry.org

  Dear Kate,

  It’s always so wonderful to hear from you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. I hope you had a great birthday and are getting out more. I know you said things were better and not to worry about you, but I still do.

  The food pantry is doing well. The new director is every bit as dedicated as you were, and we even have a bit of a surplus right now. We’re in good shape as we head into the colder months. Do you remember how worried we were last year at this time?

  Forgive me if I’m being insensitive, but I can’t help but think of Ian and how much he helped us. I hope that someday you’ll meet a man just like him. Someone who is kind and generous and will light up your face the way he did.

  Take care, Kate.

  Love,

  Helena

  To: hsadowski@mainstreetfoodpantry.org

  From: winealittle@firedrive.com

  Hi, Helena,

  Please don’t worry about me. I’ve found that keeping busy really helps. I love my new job, and I’ve made some friends who enjoy going to Sunday brunch as much as I do. Mimosas for everyone! I’ve also been helping Kristin and Chad with the preparations for their New Year’s Eve wedding. And last weekend my mom and I celebrated my birthday by visiting a local winery. I’ve attached a picture so you can see for yourself how much fun I’m having.

  I’m so happy to hear the pantry is doing well, and I’ll never forget how worried we were in the days before Ian made his first donation. Yes, he did help us, and you’re not being insensitive for hoping I’ll meet a man like him someday. I really do think I will. It’s just a feeling I have.

  It’s always so wonderful to hear from you.

  xoxo,

  Kate

  She scrolled through the pictures on her computer and selected one of her and her mother on the wine tour that they’d asked the guide to take. They were sitting at an outdoor table, both smiling, glasses held aloft. She cropped the picture so Helena wouldn’t see the limo parked in the background, the one with the sign on the side that said Virginia Wine Country Tours. Then she attached it to the e-mail and hit Send.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Almost every night Kate would pour a glass of wine, turn on some music, and try out another new recipe, and when dinner was ready Ian would join her and they’d sit down together at their new kitchen table. He rarely worked past seven, and after they finished eating, they spent their evenings much the way they had in Minneapolis: watching TV or a movie. Talking and cuddling. Thankful just to be in each other’s company.

  That night they were having Phillip and Susan over for dinner, and she’d decided on a menu of Caesar salad, creamy risotto, seared sea scallops, and roasted brussels sprouts. Kate had made the meal once already, and since Ian had raved about it, she felt confident serving it to guests.

  “This is delicious, Kate. You’ve become quite an accomplished cook in a very short period of time,” Susan said when they were halfway through dinner.

  “You have no idea,” Ian said. “She makes it look easy too.”

  “Thank you, but not all my attempts have been a success. The roast I burned set off every smoke detector on the main floor, and it took days to get rid of the smell. I’m still not sure what went wrong.”

  “How was your visit with your mother?” Susan asked.

  “It was wonderful. She was so excited to see the house.” Kate and Diane had spent a whirlwind four days together. They’d shopped for additional household items—especially for the kitchen—and in addition to the wine tour, they visited a museum, checked out a few new restaurants, walked into every single establishment on Washington Street, and spent an entire day sightseeing in DC. At the airport, Diane tearfully hugged Kate and told her she couldn’t wait to return for Thanksgiving.

  “How are things coming along with your company, Ian?” Susan asked.

  “I’m starting to think I picked the wrong name for it.”

  Susan’s forehead creased in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “Succedo is one of several Latin translations for succeed. I think it would be a stretch for me to claim any kind of success at this point. Since I’m supposedly dead, I can’t use the Privasa name or rely on my reputation, which means I’m just another hacker who’s thrown his hat into the security ring.” Ian had told Kate how disappointed he was in the slow growth of the company.

  “There’s definitely more competition now,” Phillip agreed.

  “And they’re all offering something I don’t. Unfortunately, most of the companies I’ve pitched to won’t even consider hiring a security firm unless they include social engineering as part of their pentesting.”

  “What is social engineering, exactly?” Kate asked. She had a vague notion but wasn’t clear on the details.

  “Social engineering is human hacking,” Phillip said. “It can be computer based—sending someone a phishing e-mail with bogus links—or it can be done in person using human interaction and manipulation to gain physical entry or access to information. You’ve actually done it yourself, Kate. Remember when you went to the auto-storage facility and talked to the employee to find out if anyone had been there asking questions? You were pretending to be someone else in order to get the facts you needed.”

  “I said I was Ian’s attorney. I also let the guy look down my shirt.”

  “What?” Ian said, turning his head sharply to look at her. “You never mentioned that.”

  “He was like, nineteen.” Kate shrugged as if it were an inconsequential detail. “And I was in dire need of information, Rhion.” She looked at him pointedly.

  “Let me top off your wine, sweetness.”

  She smiled and handed him her glass.

  Phillip continued. “The man who came into the food pantry was more than likely the hacker who doxed Ian, and I think we can all agree that Zach Nielsen was not his real name. He was using social engineering tactics to try to catch Kate in a lie.”

  Ian draped his arm across the back of Kate’s chair. “He had no idea how smart you were.”

  “You could outsource your social engineering, especially the physical entry portion,” Phillip said.

  Ian shook his head. “I could, but the only three people I trust with any of my business—professional, personal, or otherwise—are sitting at this table.”

  “Maybe the solution is right in front of you,” Phillip said tilting his head toward Kate.

  When Kate realized what Phillip meant, she almost flew out of her chair. “Yes! I could help you.”

  “Why, thank you for opening this can of worms, Phillip,” Ian said.

  “Phillip,” Susan said, gently admonishing him.

  “Women make great social engineers,” Phillip argued. “I’d go as far as to say they’re better at it than men. People are more trusting of women.”

  “This particular woman is my wife.”

  “It was just a suggestion.”

  “I’m sure things will turn around eventually. I’ll just keep plugging away.”

  Ian must have noticed the disappointment on her face because he squeezed her shoulder and said, “I will think about it, okay? But right now what I’m really interested in is that pie Susan brought for dessert.”

  The next morning Kate read everything she could find on social engineering. The art of talking your way past a company’s receptionist or entering a building without a badge sounded wildly exciting to her.

  She went into Ian’s office and sat down on the new leather couch Jade had delivered, which they’d placed adjacent to his desk. It was the
perfect addition to the room, and Kate could occasionally be found lying on it, reading a book while Ian worked. “I could do the social engineering for you.”

  “I know you could, but I don’t want you to.”

  “But Phillip said you needed help.”

  “Listen, Phillip is the closest thing I have to a father figure, but he’s very ‘goal oriented,’ which is fine, but not when it involves my wife. And we both know it doesn’t matter if this company is successful or not.”

  “Of course it matters.”

  “It’s not like we need the money. If I lose out on a few clients, so what?”

  “It’s not about the money. It’s about your happiness.”

  “I’m not unhappy. A little frustrated maybe, but it’s not a big deal.”

  “The thing is, I think I’d be really good at it.”

  “I know you’d be good at it.”

  “Then why don’t you want me to do it? I read everything I could find. It’s not dangerous.” The best part about social engineering was that the client wanted to see if you could get past their employees, and they gave you explicit permission to try.

  “I just don’t.”

  When she didn’t say anything, he pushed his chair back and sat down next to her on the couch. He reached for her hand. “The morning you brought me your laptop and asked me to take a look at it because it was running slow was one of the worst moments of my life. It felt like being sucker punched. I’d always assumed that being doxed meant they’d come after me. The way I felt when I realized it was you they’d targeted was like nothing I’d ever felt before, and I will carry that guilt with me for the rest of my life. Social engineering might not be dangerous, but it requires a considerable amount of deception, and people have been known to get angry when they catch you doing it even if you have every right to be there. I don’t want to put you in that kind of situation.”

  She didn’t push because she knew there would be no convincing him. “You’ll let me know if you change your mind?”