Page 2 of Hacking the Holidays
I physically recoiled at the mention of the jolly man’s name. The holiday season was my personal version of digital hell—a six-week festival of everything that made my cybersecurity-trained brain want to crawl under my desk and hibernate until January. It was like someone had taken all of human civilization’s worst impulses and wrappedthem in twinkle lights. People abandoned every security protocol they’d ever learned, lured by the consumerism marketing, buying impractical items and clicking on obviously fake charity emails just because they had animated dancing reindeer you could superimpose your face on.
And don’t even get me started on the complete collapse of rational holiday behavior or the inexplicable cultural agreement that we should all pretend to enjoy forced social gatherings with the same people we spent the other eleven months successfully avoiding.
We entered the conference room where Agent Thorne stood impatiently, based on the tight features on his face, with two unusually thin files on the table in front of him. He gestured for us to sit.
“We’ve got something that requires immediate attention,” Thorne began, his tone carrying a particular gravity that meant someone important was breathing down his neck. “This came straight from the top, so we need to move fast and keep it clean.”
“Sounds intriguing,” Chloe said.
Thorne pointed at me with a decisive finger-jab. “Mazini, you’re taking point on this one.” He pushed one of the files toward me, then he shifted to Chloe. “Davis, you’ll provide backup as needed.”
My mind immediately began a risk assessment. Top brass involvement typically signaled one of two things: someone seeking the spotlight or someone desperate to stay out of it.
I picked up the file with the name “Good Sam” on theoutside, expecting the usual digital crime scene—thick stacks of network logs, IP traces, a list of suspects, and forensic analyses that would keep me busy for weeks. Instead, I got what looked like a scrapbook someone’s disinterested grandmother might keep.
The whole thing was maybe twenty pages thick. Definitely not the mountain of technical data I’d been mentally preparing for.
I flipped it open to find ... photographs.
A couple with a child beamed as they held keys to a shiny new SUV, the car dealer’s lot visible behind them. A mother in tears—happy tears—hugged her two teenagers in front of three Costco shopping carts overflowing with enough supplies for a small army. A middle-aged man in a hospital gown, standing next to a doctor, and both of them giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up to the camera.
There were many other similar photos, and scattered between them were printouts of news articles, social media screenshots, and forum posts. The same phrase kept appearing like a digital signature: “Thank you, Good Sam.”
I glanced at Thorne, genuinely confused. “This looks like someone’s charity newsletter.”
He leaned back in his chair and gestured to the photos. “The hacker is a modern-day Robin Hood.”
“Takes from the rich and gives to the poor?” Chloe asked.
“Exactly,” he replied. “He’s been on our radar since last Christmas, but vanished completely after New Year’s. Well, he’s back, and this year he’s operating on a much biggerscale. We need to shut him down before he graduates to more serious targets.”
I scanned the next page, which contained a list of digital “gifts.” Cleared medical debts. New cars. Food delivery service. College scholarships. Everything was for struggling families or people in need. The hacks were encrypted and designed to disappear without a trace.
“Wow—this guy is a genius,” I said, flipping to the next page. “Every transaction bounces through so many proxies it’s like following breadcrumbs through a funhouse mirror before it vanishes.”
“He’s the David Copperfield of hackers,” Chloe said.
“We’ve seen nothing like it before,” Thorne admitted.
I scanned the list of targeted companies and individuals, recognizing name after name. “And look at his target selection—these aren’t random hits. Every single one of them has a rap sheet longer than my browser history. Price gouging, shady deals, environmental violations, wage theft ... He’s basically created a greatest hits album of corporate sleazebags.”
I couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect creeping in.
“He’s done his homework,” Chloe said. “This isn’t some random pissed-off dude throwing digital tantrums—it’s surgical precision with a social conscience.”
“No doubt about it,” Thorne said. “Everyone on social media is talking about him.”
“But there really are no victims here, per se,” I said, my logical mind scrambling to find a solid foundation. “No one is getting hurt. He’s taking from bad people and giving topeople who need it. Aren’t there other cases more deserving of our time and resources?”
Thorne leaned forward, his expression serious. “Theft is theft. Unauthorized access is unauthorized access. We don’t get to pick which laws we enforce. Anarchy is not a viable solution, Mazini.”
I bit back a retort about the inefficiency of the legal system and focused on the facts. “Okay, so people are talking about it, we’ve got that. What other leads do we have?”
“We’ve cross-referenced the families who have benefitted from Good Sam, and they all have something in common,” Thorne said, a glint in his eye. “The community center and the library in Leavenworth.”
“That place certainly brings back some fun memories,” Chloe said with a smile. “I’ll never forget that Oktoberfest weekend we spent there.”
Leavenworth, Washington, is a Bavarian-themed tourist town nestled in the Cascade Mountains. It’s nearly three hours from Seattle—far enough to feel like a different world entirely.
