Page 12 of Savage Ruin
CHAPTER7
MATEO
After downloading the program and setting up the laptops, we write additional code to pull the employee information automatically from the list I created into the software, so we don’t have to type new search queries each time. Since this isn’t legal, I didn’t want any APIs connected to SEI or our networks, but a simple table works fine in this instance.
My stomach rumbles with nerves while I wait for the first results to come back, but Henley is practically vibrating. “Do you find this exciting?”
She hesitates. “Yes, I do.” Her chin rises high in the air. “When I first started hacking, I felt guilty. Why should I use my brain to help someone deceive the system or get something they didn’t deserve? My first jobs were simple modifications to grades and degrees. They were quick, easy, and paid well. To stay hidden and flush with easy cash, I constantly pulled in the same jobs over and over. It was mind-numbing, honestly.” Her mouth twists in memory.
I scowl, hating the thought of anyone changing their grades. “What made you… graduate into bigger things?”
“Two things. One: I needed a more secure identity for myself so I could establish bank accounts and find better living accommodations. Weekly motels are a bit hazardous. Two: if I learned how to make quality fake IDs for myself, I could use the skills to create identities for others. IDs are considerably more lucrative than changing grades,” she replies matter-of-factly.
The image of a weekly motel near downtown Miami pops into my mind, and I can’t help but look at her in shock. “You were living in weekly motels? How did you even stay safe?”
She gives me a wry expression, but I honestly can’t fathom living in one. It really brings home the reality of her situation.
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to understand,” I promise her. One of our first real conversations pops into my brain. “And this is where Marcos stepped in to help you? He taught you to create the identities, create back-up accounts, and all the other stuff you needed to learn to stay hidden.”
A radiant smile bursts across her face. “He did. I’ll never forget it. When I tell you he saved me, I mean it. Not only from my stalker. Who knows what would have happened if I’d continued to live so precariously close to the bottom?” She purses her lips. “I never felt guilty again. People do a lot of terrible, terrible things out there. Marcos helped me establish my own moral code to guide me on my shadowy path. He pointed me to areas of the dark web where good people were desperate for help and made me research every job to ensure I wasn’t helping the worst of humanity.” She levels a serious look at me. “I survived and made a life. And slowly, Marcos and I found a new way to make money together. Although, as you know, I’ve never quit making IDs. They’re too important.”
“I wish I’d known all this before Marcos died,” I rasp. “He must have needed those skills when we fled South America. I know Thiago often felt guilty for the things Marcos had to do, but I never understood it until now. Marcos came to get my mom and me when I was seven. Once we reached Miami, there was never a time I didn’t have everything I needed, or even most of what I wanted, but I never realized what it took for him to give that to us.” My brow furrows. Thiago’s right. I really have lived in my own world, protected from everything. First by my mother and Marcos and now, Thiago. It feels so selfish.
She reaches over and grabs my hand. “Don’t. Marcos wouldn’t want you to feel guilty because you had a good life. He gave you a gift. Find a way to give it to someone else. Pass it on. Get involved with the rescue missions or with another cause where you can use your incredible brain to find solutions to help others. It’s the best way to honor him.” Her blue eyes are incredibly earnest in her quest to encourage me. The computer dings. She peers down at the results. “We found our first potential traitor. Paul Masterson. Name ring a bell?”
I think about it for a second. “Security team. High probability it’s true. Now what do we do?”
“Basically, the program found several substantial deposits unrelated to normal income flow,” she explains, reading the data from the screen in front of her. “We simply trace the money to see if it’s legit income. Maybe he has a rich uncle sending him regular money or a side business. If it’s honest income, it will be traceable.” She wrinkles her nose, and I laugh at the irony of her statement.
“Excluding you and Marcos?” I tease.
Her mouth twitches, but she doesn’t reply. It takes me a full minute to realize she’s zoned out. I chuckle. This must be what it feels like when I go off into my own world. No wonder they get exasperated with me.
She suddenly leans forward, then gasps while holding her ribs. “Damn, remind me not to move quickly.” Her face is ashen with pain despite the colorful bruises decorating it. She carefully straightens and breathes in and out for a few minutes.
“Okay. That hurt. A. Lot. Where was I?” She darts a glance at her computer to find the answer. “Oh yes, I might have found an interesting pattern that could help identify some of the early dissenters. All the early deposits in Paul’s account can be traced to a closed account at a bank in Houston, Texas. The name on the account is fake, and the trail stops there, but it means our enemy wasn’t quite as sophisticated in the beginning. That came with time, and possibly the hiring of our invisible man who is obviously a genius.”
“If the trail stops, how does it help us?” I frown, not following her train of thought.
“If my stalker taught me anything, it’s the fact that nobody is invisible, no matter how hard they try to hide themselves. Which is why Marcos let Thiago’s father think he died and set up my death, too. People don’t look for the dead,” she informs me with a shrug. “Maybe Zane and his team can follow the trail physically or check old security footage. I’m not exactly well-versed in the more espionage aspects, but I’m sure they’ll have some ideas.”
I relay the information to Thiago via text, and he agrees with Henley. It’s worth checking out. He’s meeting with Raider and Zane in an hour to go over the new candidates for the security team, so he’ll see what they say.
Her shiny pink hair catches my eye. It’s completely dry. “With this new variable, we can separate the employee list into two tables with different search queries, which means we should be able to finish this afternoon. Before we start on this final batch, let’s move to the couches on the patio. They’re considerably more comfortable than these loungers.” Helping her up, I get us moved and resettled on the softer furniture.
My list finishes quicker than I anticipated, and I glance over at Henley to see if I can pick up some of her names, but those beautiful blue eyes are closed. I reach over and set her laptop on the coffee table, letting the program continue to run, then make her more comfortable with a pillow and blanket. With her bruises, sleeping upright probably feels better, so I don’t move her.
I grab a seat next to her on the couch to give her a bit of structure. A few minutes later, her head slides onto my shoulder and I decide to forego my usual rabbit hole tendencies to live in the moment with her. With a sigh, I lean my head back and close my eyes.
Our conversation from earlier has been silently weighing on my mind. The things she’s done go against every principle of mine, but all I feel is admiration for her ability to survive and thrive with the cards life dealt her. In comparison, my life has been easy. Doors have never been closed to me. Either Marcos’ influence or my intelligence opened them.
Even the bullying in my early years stopped once Grayson joined our family. He didn’t even have to threaten most of them. He accepted me, and as a result, others did too. Some might have thought me odd, but they have never said it out loud because they didn’t want to risk losing Grayson’s friendship.
Growing up, college, the present. All seem to blur together with only a few high points standing out, like my degrees, SEI, and family events. The lows are barely a blip on the screen.
Women I’ve dated in the past follow the same pattern. High achievers, smart and extremely capable women, focused on their careers. The relationships were… satisfactory for all parties. A meeting of the mind and body. Except for one five-year relationship, none of them disrupted my life, and even when the more serious one ended, my heart might have been a bit bruised, but I can’t recall thinking about it too much.
Why does it feel like I’ve been living on the surface of life? Before Henley, I never looked to deepen my experience in anything; my only focus was the accumulation of more knowledge.
