Page 30 of Hacking the Holidays
The purchase flowed through one of my shell nonprofits, anonymous and clean. The dealership would receive payment from what appeared to be a legitimate nonprofitorganization. The car would be delivered to Sophie’s address the next day with a note saying they’d been selected as recipients of a community assistance program.
After the transaction was complete, I pulled up the next form from Alina, the girl with asthma whose parents struggled to afford her medication. I ran their information through the same background check and then?—
A warning flashed across my screen.
Security Alert: Network Abnormalities Detected
I froze as more warnings popped up.
Unauthorized Port Access
Unexplained CPU Spikes
I had a breach.
An unwanted visitor.
A sniffer was trying to capture my network traffic.
Admittedly, I was more than surprised. My encryption was like a bank vault with a lock that re-engineered itself every time someone tried to pick it—constantly changing the core components and key generation algorithms so that by the time an intruder found a way inside, the entire entry point had already morphed into something completely different.
Someone had gotten through anyway.
I accessed my network monitoring tools, tracking the intrusion in real-time. The pattern was sophisticated. Professional. This wasn’t some amateur stumbling across my system. This was someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
I activated my digital exterminator protocol.
With a single keystroke, every footprint I’d left disappeared into oblivion. The intruder would stand in the middle of a digital desert with no trail, no data, and absolutely nothing to look at except their own failure.
Whoever it was, they were next-level good. Not government—the approach was too creative, too unconventional.
Tomorrow, I’d reassess and try to figure out who was sniffing around my network, possibly even run some counter-reconnaissance of my own. But tonight? I needed to be invisible.
I powered off my computer and the library Wi-Fi, then gathered the participation forms and locked them in my desk drawer.
Extra caution was now mandatory. A single slip-up, one detectable pattern, and my whole Robin Hood campaign would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide.
Chapter Eight
ZARA
Our server at Icicle Brewing Company appeared again for the umpteenth time, a college-aged guy with outstanding service and a kind smile that probably earned him excellent tips. “How was everything?” He eyed our empty plates. “It looks like the shredded pork sandwiches did not disappoint.”
“Perfect,” Chloe said, pushing her plate toward him.
“Absolutely delicious,” I added.
He stacked our dishes, then grabbed them along with our now-empty glasses of lemonade. “Can I interest you in dessert? We’ve got a Limoncello Ricotta Cheesecake that’s basically heaven on a plate.”
I glanced at Chloe, who was already looking at me with that expression that said we would be fools to pass that up.
“Yes, please,” we said in perfect unison.
“One to share,” I added.
The server chuckled. “Coming right up.”
As he walked away, I turned to Chloe and narrowed my eyes. “Okay, serious question. Why do we always eat the same thing? Does that mean one of us can’t think for themselves?”
