Page 124 of Blind Prophet

Dorian reaches the freeway. Surprisingly, traffic is light. He floors the vehicle.

“I’m not sure how far back his decline goes, but he’s been messaging me,” Nick says. “Not too recently, but not that far back. When you gave me the news, it got me thinking. I went back and confirmed. Over the last two years, he’s messaged regularly.”

“I have his messaging app set up to interact with an AI assistant.”

“You do?” Why didn’t he mention that?

“He gets too flustered if he can’t send and receive messages. But they’re cocked. So, to protect him, I created an app. Uploaded his message history and email history to give his friends and colleagues some authenticity in responses, but really, it was probably unnecessary. He’s mostly nonsensical.”

“Sometimes his messages do feel cocked, but not AI cocked,” Nick says. “Any chance someone’s got access to his accounts?”

“I’m not sure. I’d tell you to trace it, but our current bet is someone on staff has been entering his office.” Dorian side-eyes me. “Actually, I learned that I have a half-brother. He doesn’t live with my father, but he’s frequently present. Can you have your team see what they can find about Geoffrey Cromwell?”

“Why is that name familiar?”

“You’ve probably met him. He’s my father’s primary financial advisor.”

“He’s not with Bedrock?”

“No, but he oversees the team at Bedrock that handles my father’s investments.”

“We’re also researching the medical staff,” I add, wondering why Dorian would suspect the worst from his newly discovered brother. Although, in all fairness, Geoffrey Cromwell is now on my mental person-of-interest list, and I plan to request a background report on him.

“Who’s doing that research?” Nick asks.

“The company I work for. It’s called Arrow Tactical.”

“I’m familiar,” Nick responds.

“I don’t know who is pretending to be my father, but his symptoms began about three years ago. About two years ago, I brought in full-time staff. Minimized his interactions. It might’ve been eighteen months ago. I’d need to check my records.”

“And never said a word? How are there not at least rumors?”

“He’s ninety-two,” Dorian says, exasperated. “Most people assumed he retired and was taking a step back. And he was making a lot of gaffes. I think he knew it, which is why he agreed to move to Colorado.”

“I had wondered,” Nick answers.

“Well, whoever is acting as your father, if they speak, we’ll get clued in fast,” I say.

Dorian grins. “You bugged Dad’s office?”

“It was the assignment.”

“Well, all my communications with your dear father have been in writing,” Nick says. “Nothing on the phone. I assumed he might’ve a hard time hearing, so he preferred messaging. Assumed that given his age, he wasn’t as wary of the risks.”

“Can you send a note to our contacts, letting them know that Halston Moore has been compromised and not to trust any communications from him?” Dorian asks.

“Certainly. What about your father’s accounts? Does he still have access?”

“Geoffrey obviously knows his condition. He has full control of his financial accounts. I changed the password on accounts I was aware of, but if someone is in his office…”

“Nothing would prevent them from gaining access to everything.”

“Right.”

“What about your satellites?”

“That’s my company. Halston never touched it.”

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