“Wait, only one file?”
“Yup. The activity on the computer will be monitored. I can mask it with a super awesome rootkit I’ve designed—patent pending—but not for long, and we need to stay below a threshold of activity. You can fool around a little bit, but not much. They will have packet sniffers up the wazoo to check for traffic.”
“Now you’re just making up words,” I said.
Bart shut his eyes and shook his head a little. “I don’t expect you to understand. I just expect you to follow instructions.”
“What if I choose the wrong file?”
Bart shrugged. “Look, the longer you search around, the more likely you will be caught. I can’t help you with that part. You’ll have to use the force.”
My brain felt a little hot. This was all happening so fast. When Choden came up with this plan, it had seemed hopeless. Now with Bart’s help, it actually seemed…possible.
“Bart, I don’t know what to say.” Suddenly I was feeling a little emotional. “Are you really willing to do all this because you’re bored and you want to meet Ryder?”
“No, I’m doing all this for a date with Ryder. That and I need an outlet for my powers. Helping you might be it.”
I smiled. “You have a DVD copy of War Games under your bed, don’t you?”
“I use it when porn doesn’t do the trick.”
“Gross.”
He ignored me. “Well, what about you? Why are you doing all this? I thought you didn’t want to be on your father’s radar?”
I planted my hands on my hips. “I have been the beneficiary of evil doings for far too long.” I shifted my gaze to look at something far off in the distance. “It is time for me to right some wrongs.”
“What was that? A heroic proclamation?” Bart reached for the doughnut wrapper and pen. “Did you want me to write it down?
“Look, my father messed up my karma,” I said seriously. Unfortunately, being serious made it harder to ignore the pain residing in my chest these days. “I have always known there was something not quite right about his business, and I turned a blind eye to it…mainly because I really love expensive shoes and handbags. I have to make things right.”
“Ah, rich girl guilt. I hear it’s a bitch.”
“Sing it, brother.”
“And you say I’m the nerd.”
After Bart’s, I went back to my apartment to feast on stale cinnamon buns.
Training with Choden was supposed to resume first thing in the morning. With my father’s town hall happening tomorrow night, we didn’t have much time, and I still had to fill him in on what Bart could do to help.
I needed to get some sleep…right after I finished writing an email to send to my father.
After three hours of teeth gnashing and banging my phone against my forehead, I had two emails.
The first consisted of two words. The second only one.
Tomorrow, I would have to tell Bart which one to send.
I stared at both.
I had to choose, or I’d never get any sleep.
Finally, I picked the winner and flicked off my light.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Miss St. James? Are you supposed to be in here?”
And just like that…I was caught.
Granted, I’d only had about twenty-four hour’s worth of preparation, but I still didn’t think I’d be caught in the first five minutes.
I swivelled on my heel to face the security guard. His expression wasn’t threatening, more quizzical.
Maybe insisting upon wearing the suit had been a mistake. But it was a work of art! How could I not? And once Choden had realized I wasn’t going to change my mind about it, he had lent me Ryder’s utility belt. I hadn’t really practiced using it all that much, but it gave me confidence. It also made me feel powerful…and slinky. Given the expression on the security guard’s face, it also made me look crazy…and up to no good. Good thing I didn’t wear the mask too.
“I, uh—”
I had no idea what to say.
Choden should have better prepared me for this scenario. He should have known I wouldn’t make it past the guards.
I looked around the marble-floored foyer for some plausible explanation as to what I was doing. The towering ferns and expensive paintings weren’t saying much.
We had decided sneaking in was the best bet. Choden was supposed to cause some sort of disturbance in the back lot while I slipped in the front door. Obviously, Choden had done his part because the security guards at the front desk had jumped up when they saw something on one of the screens at their desk, and they had hurried off down a hall. I then scurried in and went for the elevator. I had only just managed to press the up button when this guard popped up out of nowhere.
Now, I was caught.
“Should I call someone?” the guard asked.
“Oh no, don’t do that,” I said quickly. I glanced at my watch. Bart had probably sent the email by now.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”
“I—”
“I thought the Rehab Center had been moved? To the gym?” the guard said pointing down the opposite hallway.
Rehab Center?
What was going on? Why would I be going to the Rehab Center?
Jenny.
No, it couldn’t be. The guard thought I was Jenny?
“I go there a lot, don’t I?” I said, trying hard to sound normal.
“That stuff you’re wearing,” he said, pointing to my belt, “is that a new therapy thing?”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” I said slowly.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
My heart was running around screaming hysterically, but I was fine.
“You’re right. I’m headed in for some late therapy…but I left something upstairs.”
Just then, the elevator made a classy-sounding ding, and the doors slid open.
The guard took a step back. “Oh, well then, have a good night Miss St. James.”
“Thank you,” I replied, practically jumping into the elevator.
I spun and pressed the top floor button while smiling at the guard.
The doors started to close.
Suddenly his hand popped in the gap, and the doors slid open again.
“One more thing,” the guard said.
I froze.
“Check in before you leave. Someone set off fireworks in the dumpster out back. We’ll escort you out.”
I gave him a thumbs up.
The doors slid shut, and I collapsed against the mirrored wall. Then I spotted a camera mounted on the ceiling. I shot up. Hopefully, I had just looked tired.
The building was only five floors, but it sprawled.
When I got to the top, I hurry-walked to my father’s office.
It wasn’t locked.
Atticus St. James did not like visual displays of weakness. No one would break into his office because no one would dare break into his office. Of course, iron-clad security forces lurked everywhere behind the scenes, but the illusion of ultimate power reigned.
I stepped into the office, and shut the door quickly behind me.
This time I allowed myself a good moment or two to slump against the wall with my eyes shut. Luckily, there weren’t any security cameras in here. My father wouldn’t want any of his evil deeds caught on tape.
I took a breath before I opened my eyes. A wave of nausea rolled over me.
Given who my father was, what I should have seen was a giant throne surrounded by stone walls with chains and cuffs dangling down. Instead, I saw modern furniture, and glossy white walls imprinted with orange happy face logos. To most, it looked like the type of office where employees played ping-pong while they brainstormed. To me, it looked like hell.
Lies. Manipulation. The happy face of evil.
I gave myself a shake. I didn’t have time for this. I walked quickly to the computer and turned it on.
Wh
ile I waited for it to load, I couldn’t help but notice Bart had been right. I ran my fingers over the smooth white processor. No ports.
It only took a second for the computer’s password box to come up. I prayed Bart knew what he was doing.
Minutes dragged on. With each passing second, alarms dinged in my head and the sound of imaginary footsteps ran down the hall towards me. I could practically see the security guard downstairs taking a sip of his coffee with a look on his face that said What’s taking her so long?
Suddenly the phone rang.
I screamed.
I stared at it just sitting there on my father’s glass desk.
It didn’t look like it could kill me, but it sure felt like it.
Should I answer it? It was probably the security guard. If I didn’t answer, he might come and check on me.
I picked up the phone carefully. It felt a little like bringing a cobra to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Jesus, Bremy! What took you so long?”
“Bart? I didn’t know it was—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said quickly. “It’s not working.”
“What’s not working?”
“The email! He’s not downloading the file!”
I bit my lip. “He’s at the town hall…maybe he’s busy.”
“Oh no, he opened the email, but he’s not downloading the file.”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and shook my head.
I was so stupid. I had sent the wrong email.
“Send the other one.”
“What other one?”
“The other email. It’s there. Look under drafts.” I slammed the phone down.
I shouldn’t be upset. I hated my father. So why should I care that he didn’t open an attachment labelled Suicide Note?
At one time, I knew with certainty my father loved me as much as Atticus St. James could love anyone.
My world had changed a lot since then.
I stared at the computer screen.
Nothing. Still the password box.
God, this was turning into one colossal failure. Why did I even bother going up against my father? He would always win. I would always lose.
Then the computer screen went dark.
It started to load.
He did it! Bart had gotten in!
As I waited, I couldn’t help but think I had learned something very valuable just now. While my father had no interest in opening files from me labelled Suicide Note, he did apparently have some curiosity when it came to attachments labelled Blackmail.
The computer screen turned blue then icons began to pop into view.
I was ready to go. I grabbed the mouse. Nothing was going to stop me now. Then the computer’s wallpaper lit up. I froze.
It was a picture of my father and Jenny at the press conference. In it, he was holding her hand. She was smiling.
My father wasn’t a sentimental man. He probably posted that picture to convince people he wasn’t a monster, but there was something about it that made me feel…lonely.
I inhaled sharply. Again, I didn’t have time for this. I glanced at the names of the files on the desktop.
Quarterly Review. Mergers and Acquisitions. Performance Measurement.
All useless.
Where was the one labelled Evil Plan?
Then I spotted a file entitled Ongoing.
I clicked on it.
A new screen popped up with about fifty files inside. They were all named CHIP followed by a four-digit number.
Great…just freaking great.
I was running out of time.
I clicked on the details tabs then looked for the most recently updated files. Four had been edited in the last week.
Now what?
I only had one shot at this. I needed to get something good.
I narrowed in on the biggest file. The more information the better, right?
That’s when I noticed another file labelled Jenny.
Crap!
On the one hand, I needed to save the city. On the other, what if my father was doing more than healing Jenny?
Frick!
I moved the mouse back and forth between the two files as a timer boomed in my head.
Finally, I gritted my teeth and clicked.
A new screen popped up. It was blank.
No need to panic. It was just loading. I could see the little scroll thing on the side getting smaller. Pages were being added. I looked to the bottom of the screen…a lot of pages were being added.
Uh oh.
The phone rang.
I screamed a little less loudly this time.
“Hello?”
“What are you doing?” Bart shouted.
“I opened a file,” I replied carefully.
“A file with four thousand pages!”
“You sound worried.”
“Worried! Four thousands pages…and an application attached!” Bart yelled. “What part of staying under the radar did you not understand?”
His hysteria was not at all reassuring.
“Then what are you doing talking to me?” I screeched. “Hide it! Shut it down! Do something!”
“You should get out of there.”
“Done.”
Bart hung up swearing.
I stared at the screen chewing my nail for a second longer. I wondered if Bart was still going for it. Oh God. Why was I doing this again?
Then suddenly the screen went dark.
He was done.
I hurried around the glass desk to make my way to the door when I saw a single piece of paper lying in my father’s garbage.
I grabbed it and quickly scanned the contents. The details were, I was guessing, purposely vague, but it was something about the interested parties being notified of the event scheduled for the 31st at nine p.m. The 31st was tomorrow.
That’s when I heard the footsteps.
Gah! My hands were suddenly clutching my scalp.
What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?
I scanned the room for hiding spots. It was probably the security guard checking on me. I should just play it cool. But somehow the rational part of my brain wasn’t communicating with the part that was wailing and sobbing.
The footsteps echoed loudly in the hall.
I didn’t think. I just dove under my father’s desk. I buried my face in my knees to stop the frantic no, no, no shaking of my head.
Keep going. Please whoever you are just keep going.
Suddenly the doors opened. The lights came on.
Silence.
I knew I should look to see who was there.
I could deal with anyone but my father.
“Brianna.”
God freaking dammit.
I slowly raised my head. “Father.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Breaking into my office was not part of our agreement.”
The sound of his voice rocketed dread through my body. I was too hot and too cold at the same time. Even my teeth were on edge.
I awkwardly got to my feet, trying not to whack my head on the corner of the desk.
I needed a way out of here.
What had Choden said about escape routes? Likely, unlikely and impossible. I scanned the room, desperately trying to avoid looking at my father.
The likely escape route was the door. Might as well go for that first.
“I was just leaving,” I said taking a few steps.
My father was looking at his phone, but he held up one finger in a casual wait gesture. My father did not wait casually. This was not a good sign. I should have kept walking, but my feet, with their years of training, rooted themselves to the floor.
“There,” my father said looking up.
He stared at me, waiting.
I tried to resist the urge to fill the silence, but it finally got to me.
“You’re back early.”
“Given all the recent crime…it wasn’t so much of a town hall meet
ing as a love fest.”
I said nothing.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Brianna? I assume this has something to do with your suicide…or is it the blackmail you’re here about?”
Brianna. He knew I hated it when he used my given name. I had been Bremy for as long as I could remember. My father had always thought it silly. I took that to mean I was silly.
His eyes moved over my suit. “I see you dressed up.”
“Don’t do that,” I snapped shaking my head. “I don’t want to play.”
His face hardened.
“What do you want, Bremy?” he asked. “The way I see it, I gave you your freedom. Apparently that wasn’t enough.” He half-sat on the corner of a conference table. “I suppose you want an apology. Is that it? I think you’ll feel better if you just ask for it.”
“No, I don’t want to forgive you,” I said looking him square in the face. “I want to hurt you.”
Everything was suddenly right there between us.
I hadn’t allowed myself to really feel the pain of what had happened. I had kept the memory under a glass dome like an oddity you might find at a freak show.
Well, the dome was off, and I wasn’t going to let either one of us look away.
“You should know, your mother’s death was her own fault.” His eyes bored into mine. “If she had been loyal, it never would have happened. I had hoped to raise you better…to instil in you and your sister what was missing in her. I can see I only half-succeeded.”
He took a moment to glance again at his phone. A dismissive gesture. Something to let me know how little I mattered to him.
“But as I said, it was an accident. One of her own making,” he added.
“It’s funny,” I replied almost smiling. “Every time you say that, I believe you a little less.”
In my memory, I could still clearly see the note lying on the pillow of my bed.
It had looked innocent enough from a distance. At the time, I had thought maybe one of the maids had left it…a note about dry cleaning…maybe a delivery.
Then I saw the words.
Your father killed her.
It wasn’t hard to guess the her referred to my mother.
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