Page 42 of Stolen Vows

My fingers hover over the touchpad. One click, and I could open any of these files. I could know everything.

“You don’t need everything,” I remind myself. Just a few details. Simple shit.

I scan the highlights. Her name isn’t on any property records. No legal ties to Fiction & Folklore. So she’s not tied to the shell company that owns it?

I lean back, flexing my fingers against the desk at that information. That’s usually a red flag.

I don’t likenotknowing things.

The cursor flickers over the document. My hand moves on instinct, the cursor hovering over another document, but something holds me immobile.

Something that feels . . . wrong. Like peeling back a layer I’m not supposed to see yet.

The logical part of me understands this is what I do. Information gathering, assessing risks, protecting assets.

But she’s not an asset. And for the first time in my life, I don’t want to solve the puzzle. Not yet.

I exhale sharply, rolling my shoulders back before clicking out of the folder. Not tonight.

Instead, I save the files just in case. A failsafe. I zip the folder, stash it on one of my encrypted drives. Close enough that it’s there if I need it. But not in my face, tempting me every day.

An email pops up with a ping. I scan the contents, my brows lifting as the words register. It’s a request from a prospective new client, a mid-sized school district on the East Coast. They’re looking for a full security audit, a possible system overhaul, and advice on how to handle a data breach due to ransomware attack.

I sit back in my chair, drumming my fingers along the edge of my desk as I read over the email once more. A preliminary search shows the school district is legit. It’s a small district, but they have a solid reputation. Good test scores, seemingly dedicated teachers, a focus on STEM education and the arts. They have robotics clubs and coding classes starting in elementary school. Smart.

A deeper but still rough search shows their budget is fairly modest as far as school districts go. Enough to keep things running smoothly, to pay their staff a living wage, to provide resources for the students. But not enough to weather a major crisis like a ransomware attack. Those can easily cost hundreds of thousands, if not millions, to resolve. Most school districts don’t have that kind of petty cash lying around.

I lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers as I consider the school district’s request. A slow smile spreads across my face. This is exactly the kind of challenge I enjoy. The chance to outsmart some wannabe hacker, a keyboard warrior living in his mama’s basement. To turn the tables on them and make them regret ever targeting anyone, let alone an innocent school district.

My mind races with the possibilities, strategies and countermeasures already forming. I’ll need to do a deep-dive into their systems first, map out every vulnerability, every backdoor and weak point. Then I can craft a multi-pronged attack. Smoke out the ransomware hackers and get the school district their programs back.

My fingers fly across the keyboard as I type out a response to the school district, adrenaline already pumping through my veins at the prospect of a new challenge. There’s nothing quite like the thrill of going head-to-head with an adversary, pitting my skills and intellect against theirs in a high-stakes game of digital chess.

I hit send on the email, including a secure link for them to schedule a time to discuss the details of the attack and share any pertinent information. Then I push back from my desk and stride over to the large whiteboard that takes up most of one wall.

I stare at the whiteboard for a long moment, the blank expanse beckoning me. Then I uncap a black marker and start writing, my mind already whirring with possibilities.

Potential attack vectors. Likely vulnerabilities based on the typical school district IT infrastructure. Strategies to isolate and contain the ransomware. Countermeasures to prevent future attacks. The flow of information and ideas pours out of me in a steady stream, filling the whiteboard in minutes.

This is what I live for. The rush of the hunt, the high-stakes game of outwitting my opponent. It’s a puzzle, a challenge, a test of skill. And there’s nothing more satisfying than cracking a system wide open, exposing every flaw, every weakness, every overlooked vulnerability.

I cap the marker and step back, scanning the whiteboard. The initial framework is there, but the real work begins when I get my hands on their data. When I start peeling back layers, combing through the digital wreckage for breadcrumbs left behind by the attacker.

I flex my fingers, the anticipation buzzing through me like static electricity.

A job like this isn’t about patching up security holes or rebuilding firewalls. It’s about taking control. About proving that no matter how clever someone thinks they are, I’m always one step ahead.

A notification pings on my monitor. The school district has already scheduled a call. Tomorrow morning at 8 a.m.

Perfect.

A slow grin tugs at the corner of my mouth as I cross the room, shutting off the whiteboard lights.

They picked the wrong school to mess with.

And I can’t wait to show them why.

12

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