Page 33 of The Mogul: Leonard

“When you look at the entirety of the transactions, there’s a pattern, some numbers appearing more than others. I can’t help but think they’re not purchases—something that was paid for, and the money went out. You usually see round sums or a ninety-nine-cent decimal place—ninety-five sometimes. But who prices something at exactly fourteen dollars and seventy-three cents?” She frowns, like something is bothering her, but she can’t grasp it yet.

She is right. I always looked at the numbers but not at the meaning behind them. A sense of excitement flutters in my stomach. I haven’t felt this hopeful in a long time.

“So you mean they didn’t use it to buy something? It’s not like credit card fraud.” I try to follow her reasoning.

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I haven’t dug into the credit cards yet, but I feel confident ruling that out.”

I nod.

“And then there’s the fact that it stopped. There was a regular pattern to how the money was going out, but then it just stopped with a random sum of five dollars and sixty-two cents. Like they had to reach that precise amount. Does the amount mean anything to you—one thousand dollars?” she asks.

She gets it. This is the same direction I was going, like it’s not so random after all.

“It’s the capital we had in the bank account when we founded the company. We started all of this with one thousand, four hundred seventy-six dollars.” I smile, remembering that day.

She thinks about it.

“So, this is personal. It’s not just someone stealing from you. This is someone wanting to send you a message,” she points out.

I didn’t think of it in those terms, but she has a point. The dread sinking in my chest dries my throat and suddenly I’m not hungry anymore.

“Does anyone know about this sum?” She softens her voice, maybe because she senses the sudden change in my mood.

“It’s not public knowledge, but people working in this industry know it. We were quite a legend back in the day because we started literally from scratch and built an empire,” I admit.

She chuckles, and her reaction surprises me.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing, you talk about ‘back in the day’ like you are an old dude. It’s funny.” She smiles.

I can’t hide a smile tugging at my lips. “Why? Isn’t it true?”

“You know you’re far from it. Don’t fish for compliments. It doesn’t suit your devil-billionaire persona.”

With that, an honest laugh rips from my chest.

It’s already ten o’clock at night, and we are still struggling with the ins and outs of transactions, firewalls, and networks. The feeling of desperation is creeping in. I helped Roxanne search through every directory she could think of, leaving no stone unturned. I granted her access to more information than I am comfortable with, but at this point, I’m not sure anymore what to keep confidential.

“I’m done for today,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. They are red-rimmed, and she looks tired. I am too.

“We can pick this up tomorrow. Do you want to have dinner? I can order something delivered. It’s the least I can do after keeping you hostage all day,” I suggest feeling a bit guilty.

I liked picking her brain so much that I didn’t want today to end. Finding someone who intellectually challenges me like she does isn’t easy. She’s more than just brilliant. She’s a brainiac in the most unique way. She uses her intelligence to think through the most ordinary things and gives you a new perspective on those problems. She can turn all your certainty upside down with simple reasoning. She’s used to thinking outside the box, and I love that in a person.

She seems to consider my offer and then she finally nods.

“If you don’t have somewhere else to be, I mean. I didn’t even ask,” I add, not sure if I’m disrupting her night.

I’m used to not having plans for the night, and sometimes I forget that other people may have other things to do.

“No, it’s fine. I usually work during the night.” She dismisses my concern, revealing a glimpse into her nocturnal routine.

“Really? How so?” I’m genuinely intrigued, my curiosity piqued by her unconventional work schedule.

She shrugs. “When you always have a bunch of people playing video games in the other room with no regard for others, you get used to working when it’s quieter.”

She doesn’t seem happy about that living arrangement, and I can understand why. The place, from what I saw, was a chaotic den of video games and noise. I can’t fathom why she doesn’t move out, but it’s none of my business, and I don’t pry.

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