Page 68 of Hacking the Holidays
The access window had vanished.
Not closed—terminated.
It was like someone had slammed a door in my face and then thrown the deadbolt for good measure.
I glanced across the table at Rose, wondering if what had happened was just a coincidence or if she had actually booted me out herself.
She glanced in my direction, her expression pleasant and curious. “Do you need something?”
My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my face neutral. “No, just wanted to make sure you’re all set, since you were quiet over there.”
“I’m quiet because I’m working,” Rose said. “Isn’t that normal?”
“Normal as can be,” I said like an idiot. “Let me know if you have questions.”
“I doubt I will—this is straightforward stuff,” she said with a smile.
We both dropped our heads and returned to our screens.
I took a breath, reassessing. She’d blocked my primary entry point, which meant she was running serious security software or—more concerning—she’d been watching for intrusion attempts. But every system had vulnerabilities. You just had to know where to look.
I switched tactics, going lower level. Instead of trying to access her files directly, I targeted her system logs. This time, I slipped in easily, and the terminal window bloomed with data.
My eyes scanned rapidly through the information flooding my screen from her computer. Registry entries.Recently accessed files. Application data. I pulled up her browser history. Nothing at all. She must wipe it clean every day before she shuts down her computer.
I dug deeper, checking for hidden partitions, anything that suggested a second layer beneath the surface.
Then I found something …
A folder labeled “Archive_BU_Research.”
Did it stand for Boston University research?
My pulse quickened.
I tried to access it, but it was encrypted.
Of course, it was.
I checked the encryption type—military-grade. Breaking that would take weeks, even with dedicated hardware.
Switching directions again, I pulled up her email client, trying to access cached credentials. If I could get in, I could see who she’d been corresponding with, what she was really?—
A notification flashed across my screen.
INCOMING FILE TRANSFER.
I froze.
Was Rose actually sending something to me? Had she turned the tables on me and accessed my computer?
A text file suddenly appeared on my desktop:
Nice_Try_Amateur.txt
I clicked on it and read the message:
You’re not as subtle as you think you are.
