Fake: The Scarab Beetle Series: #3 (The Academy) (22 page)

“It probably happened a while back,” he said. “During high school, we spent nearly all of our time in athletic departments, playing different sports. He didn’t have time for normal classes he wanted to take that required extra computer hours and homework. He focused on what he could learn on the Internet when he got a chance, staying up all hours and sleeping through class. He ended up in chat rooms with hackers who taught him tricks. At first, he did small kiddie hacks, like taking down a website, or discovering access to private corporate emails. Once he started, he said he was hooked. He said it was like figuring out a puzzle, but each one had a surprise inside. Sometimes the result harmed, or it could help. He choose to help...most of the time.”

I pressed my lips harder together, biting my tongue to stop myself before I admitted knowing what I knew. They’d been criminals once. Maybe they weren’t now, but they’d all been arrested, in one way or another. Did their arrest record say something about wire fraud? “And the rest of the time?” I asked.

“Well, he was with hackers,” he said. He looked up, frowning. “I didn’t even know anything about it at first. I just thought he was playing computer games so I didn’t bug him about it. Then one day, I found him with some really odd computer supplies. He’d kept a number of gadgets out in the garage, where I’d stored some motorcycle parts. I asked him about the equipment, and about what he needed them for. He told me about writing security code, and then asked if I’d help him with a project. He said it would help other people. I believed him.”

“He lied?” I asked. It seemed ludicrous, and I didn’t believe for a moment Corey would ever intently harm anyone else.

“He didn’t lie,” Brandon said, his voice a little deeper with the resolve behind it. “He simply didn’t realize it could be illegal. I didn’t either. The police department called it fraud, but they were pressed to define what it was we were actually doing to the judge.”

“What
were
you doing?”

“We were finding money that didn’t exist,” he said. “He found a way to access accounts in banks that were of companies that didn’t exist, I should say. So they weren’t really supposed to be there. Small accounts with no name, no address, no identifiable source. They were old, with no owners. Some were just numbers. I don’t really understand the logistics now, but he told me they were forgotten, dormant accounts. Pockets of money lost in the system of banks. Some, he said, were criminal accounts. Criminals funneling money through places to get the money clean sometimes left these ‘chump change’ accounts open with a few hundred dollars leftover. And criminals would never report their stolen money to the police. So we could take it, and keep it, or use it to give to charities or whatever. The biggest part was, the accounts were super old, and so it was even less likely these people even knew the money was there. Corey said it was wasted money collecting mild interest automatically over the years in the banking system. We were simply taking care of it.”

Stealing. He was trying to make it sound like money found on the street that you couldn’t find the owner for, but really, it was money in a bank. They were stealing from a bank. “And someone reported the stolen money?” I asked.

“Some hacker got nosy, found Corey’s signature and traced him,” he said. “That’s the thing. Most hackers leave a signature, their trademark. Corey developed his own trademark and used it in every single piece of hacking and software he’d ever written. It’s like using spray paint to tag your name on a train or wall. I don’t really understand it but that’s how he explained it. Anyway, this hacker left a little anonymous tip, and the FBI tracked him down, found out what we were up to, and then tried to charge us with everything they could throw at us. Mostly they didn’t want us being able to hack into bank accounts. They were going to lock us away for life, if they could.”

This story sounded familiar. Axel had once told me his own, about how he had caused an accident, and his father had him locked away. That was mostly understandable. Now Brandon was telling me they were picking up forgotten dollar bills on the street, essentially, and trying to play it off like the FBI were the bad guys. I made a face, sat up and shook my head. “Seriously,” I said. “You were taking money without working for it. You had to know it was stealing. If you kept the money for yourself, that’s wrong. It might have been money without an owner, but it was money that didn’t belong to you. You didn’t earn it.”

Brandon’s face twisted into a scowl. “No, you don’t understand. We didn’t use the money for ourselves. We knew keeping it was wrong, but we didn’t see the harm if we were just putting the money to some use. It was tempting to keep it, but we always put the money into charities. Specifically, though we didn’t know it at the time, the Academy’s local charities.”

This was an interesting twist. “The Academy has charities?” I asked.

He nodded. “A few. They’re mostly for redeveloping neighborhoods, like you were participating in. Or sometimes school programs. It’s really open. Whatever the city happens to need. Anyway, the majority of the money went to those. It’s how the Academy found us, really. When it came out in court about what we were doing with the money, Academy lawyers stepped in. It was a good thing. Our father had hired us a lawyer, but he wasn’t any good. He kept kowtowing to the prosecution. We were almost sentenced to prison. Instead, we got community service...for the Academy.” He blinked, and looked down at his phone as it lit up. “Corey’s got the photo of Alice circling. It’ll take time to track her, if she’s anywhere traceable. We’ll find her.” He picked up his phone, and his coffee and I picked up my cup and the now empty plate of doughnuts. “We need to get ready.”

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“Reliving our first date, apparently,” he said with a smirk. “Corey found access to that company, and there is a party tonight. An electronic invitation went out. Guess who it’s for?”

“Who?”

“A
Mr. Murdock
,” he said.

I jumped up, nearly knocking back my chair. “Coincidence?”

“Corey thinks he might live at that house. He’s trying to dig up details, but he’s not exactly the most notable of the CEOs. I mean, he’s on the board, but he’s not in news reports where the company is mentioned. In fact, he can’t find out that much about him or his family at all.”

“And he’s alive? I thought the owner of the core was dead. That’s what…didn’t Eddie say that?”

“Maybe there was a second owner. We’ll have to find out. Anyway, we need to go shopping for clothes.”

I had a mental freeze as to what he was talking about, but when I thought about it, I realized our first date had been a party, where I was supposed to steal a wallet, and then replace it.

I cringed. I’d have to wear a dress.

MISTAKEN IDENTITY

H
ours later, at twilight, we approached Kiawah Island inside the back of a town car. The driver was part of the Academy. I only caught the name, North Taylor, apparently the same one who was supposed to give Avery a car. I hadn’t said a word to him nor had I gotten a good look at him, but he picked us up outside of a strip mall, and his brother drove Brandon’s bike back to his garage for him. Brandon said he called in a few favors, and some Academy people would be helping us out from this point.

I was in the back seat with Brandon. The plan was to get dropped off for the party giving us the appearance of being guests. North would have to drive off, preserving his safety. When we were finished, we would meet another driver in a different car by walking the beach and heading to the gift shop parking lot.

Corey, in the meantime, had himself and a security team at the hospital working to scour the city for this Alice and anyone associated with her. We weren’t sure if it was her real name, or who she was, but they were searching local driver’s license photos, and then extending those to national databases when that was unsuccessful. It would take a few more hours.

Our only goal was to confirm the core was here, and to possibly learn as much as we could about Mr. Murdock. Brandon and I needed to figure out who really owned the core and gather as much information as possible. It would be just in case we couldn’t find Alice and her goons before time was up. We would have to negotiate. Brandon said the Academy would have us put a tracker on anything we handed over to Alice, if we did exchange for Axel and Marc, and that proper negotiators would be in place to make the trade with us.

“Corey says if this core is anywhere, it’s probably in a room with the highest security. So look for doorways with control panels in the wall next to them.” Brandon fiddled with his suit jacket buttons, buttoning and then unbuttoning the coat. “This thing doesn’t fit very well. If it’s undone, it feels like it’ll slide off my shoulders, but then when I’ve got it buttoned, it’s too tight around my chest.”

“Try wearing a dress,” I said. I had on a short red dress with spaghetti straps. It was a cold night, too, and I didn’t have a jacket to wear. It was hard enough finding a dress I’d actually wear. It was the last one I looked at, and had rejected offhand before Brandon yelled at me that we were wasting time, and who damn well cared what I wore, and that the last twelve dresses I tried on had looked fine, and to just pick one.

“You look good in your dress,” he said in a monotone. “I know you don’t like them, but you really can wear a dress, you know. You’ve got the body.”

I ground my teeth to bite back a retort. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the compliment, but I was completely uncomfortable. I knew he was trying to be nice, and I didn’t need to overthink his comment. “You look pretty good in a suit,” I said. “But I think I like it when you dress down better.”

Brandon didn’t reply, but I caught the edge of his smile in the darkness, and his arm threaded around my shoulders, holding onto me.

North pulled the car up to the gate, said two words to security, and then the gate opened and the car rolled forward.

Moments later, we were at the front of the house we’d spied on earlier. The house was lit up, the yard was full of guests. Cars were dropping off people by the driveway and then moving on into the night.

“We’re lucky this wasn’t some sort of small family event,” Brandon said. “Or some quiet affair.”

“What kind of party is it?” I asked, eyeing the guests as they walked up to the front door. North pulled up behind another driver dropping off guests, stopped the car, and ran around to open the door on my side first.

“A wedding reception,” Brandon said as he slid out behind me. “We can pretend to be on the husband’s side. The employees at his company were invited to attend.”

Mr. Murdock was getting married? I guess he didn’t realize two teams were trying to break into his precious illegal cell phone service. It seemed pretty ballsy to have hordes of guests at the same location where your core was.

Standing outside, the chill prickled my skin. I glanced once at North, who remained quiet, but studied me in my dress once and then looked away.

He didn’t look like a driver. He was barely our age, maybe younger. It was hard to tell. He had such a serious expression.

Get out while you still can
. It was the only thing I could really think to say to him, but couldn’t say out loud. He didn’t need to be in the middle of this.

Brandon took my hand, guiding me up the sidewalk. North moved quickly back into the driver’s seat, and the car followed the line and turned around to leave. Brandon focused ahead. I tried to do the same, ignoring the desire to slide back into the car and run off and not go into the lion’s den.
Think of Axel. Think of Marc. Do this for them.

The wedding reception was mostly inside the house. This made me nervous. We did need to be inside, but this meant more eyeballs and the increased chance we might be noticed trying to sneak around.

Fortunately, the party itself was packed. There was a formal parlor that had been cleared of furniture and in the corner, a string quartet played instrumental versions of popular songs. People held onto tiny plates of finger food and flutes of champagne. There was a pile of wedding gifts stacked up on one large table in the front entryway. Attendants all wore black suits and white gloves.

“Blake didn’t have a quartet,” Brandon said to me as we dove into the thickest part of the crowd.

“He had a band,” I said. I used our cover to study people and look around the house, searching for doors that had security panels. “I think that’s more than a quartet.”

“He didn’t have an ice sculpture,” Brandon said.

“Yes, he did,” I said, although I couldn’t really remember. I just wanted to contradict him. Why were we comparing parties?

“This house is bigger,” he said.

I looked around the house. “Yes,” I said, noting the rooms were large and open compared to Blake’s old-fashioned house. “But Blake’s house is an antique built two hundred years ago. This one is new. And why do you care whose house is bigger? Is this a guy thing?”

Brandon grunted as he scanned the room. His hand covering mine tightened. “I don’t know,” he said. “Just ignore me.”

What was it about parties that made him agitated? I tried to forget about it. I focused, trying to figure out where I’d hide a core in my own home. I didn’t even know who Murdock was. Corey had said he had dark hair but I hadn’t seen a picture.