Izzie arrived at work half an hour early to prepare for the lightning-fast operation she had to perform. It wasn’t as if she had a lot to do beforehand, but having her thumb drive ready and her wits about her were key. This type of chicanery requires a lot of focus. Doing it on three hours’ sleep made it more challenging. If she didn’t accomplish her goal, the entire operation could take several more weeks.
This was some serious security. Almost as good as their own, and almost as good as the U.S. Government, which begged the questionsWhy?andHow?Why would a senior residential community come under such tight safety measures? It was far beyond any gated community could want or need. It also struck her that it appeared the internal offices were far beyond normal scrutiny, as well. She was about to find out; or at least, Charles and Fergus would. She checked the time.
At exactly 9:27, the ceiling lights flickered. Izzie slipped a device into the port on the side of the monitor. Thanks to the special coding she and her husband Abner had created, she bypassed all the passkey and verification methods with ease. In a few seconds, she was in the mainframe of Sunnydale. Thousands of numbers and letters appeared on the screen. It looked like a launch code. She made a few keystrokes and began to send the information to Charles and Fergus. Her pulse was racing, her heart pumping. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She had only one minute left before the entire system would shut down due to a breach, and not an electrical glitch. She whispered under her breath, as if she could make the download move faster. “Come on. Come on.” There were seconds left when the download was finally complete. She pulled the clip from the monitor just as Crabby Clayton flung the door open.
“You alright?” she asked sternly.
“Yes, I’m fine. Why do you ask?” Izzie said casually.
“There was an electrical glitch, and some of the programs froze.”
“I hadn’t noticed. I often print out the sheets I’m working on as a backup.” She pointed to the small printer next to her desk. Clayton peered at the pages, and then turned Izzie’s monitor and checked on what she was working.
“I see. Don’t you think that’s a waste of time and supplies?”
Izzie was surprised at the comment. “It’s a method that works for me. I reuse the paper. Turn it upside down and feed it back into the printer. But if you’d rather I not, I’d be happy to bring in a ream.”
“That won’t be necessary, but do reuse those sheets,” Clayton said, and stomped out.
Izzie let out a huge burst of air. The thought of printing out the pages came as a last-minute idea. Good thing. That Clayton woman was suspicious of everything. Not that Izzie didn’t have a secret agenda. Now she had to wait to see if the information was received on the other end.
Myra’s Arrival
A sleek white Mercedes-Benz C-class pulled up to the security gate at Sunnydale. A striking woman with platinum white hair slowly released the automatic window button. She smiled up at the man wearing a white uniform. “Good morning.”
The young man did a double take. Myra truly resembled Helen Mirren. “Good morning. How can I help you?”
“I have an appointment with Edith Clayton.” She gave him a polite smile and handed him her new/fake business card—white duplex paper stock, with raised gold foil letters:
Myra Regan
Concord, New Hampshire
Mobile: 888-555-MYRA [6972]
“Yes. Of course. One moment.” He turned, picked up the phone, and pressed a button. A moment later, he announced Myra’s arrival to Crabby. “Follow the road to the main building. A valet will park your car for you.”
She held out her hand for him to return her card. “Oh, yes, sorry.” Myra didn’t want to leave too many clues behind. Fingerprints were always a problem. The fewer people with access to them, the better.
Myra placed the card in her purse and proceeded toward the luxurious building. “This is something. Very high-end.” She fussed with her pearls as she pulled in front.
A spirited young fellow opened her door. “Welcome to Sunnydale, Ms. Regan.”
“Thank you.”They really turn on the charm when they want you to sign up, don’t they?she thought to herself. The young man was quick to get in front of her to open the main door. Myra noted his name tag, nodded, and said, “Raymond.”
A stocky woman wearing a light blue pantsuit was standing in the middle of the lobby. “Ms. Regan?” She was beaming. Myra did not think this could be the cranky pants Izzie referred to.
“Yes. Hello.”
“I am Edith Clayton.” The woman held out her hand and continued to smile. “It’s so very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Myra was intrigued.Quite a ruse. But which one was the real Edith? Cranky? Or Congenial?She suspected the cranky version. She didn’t want to prejudge the woman, but she already had enough information to trust her instincts that screamed:Cranky!
“Let me show you around. As you can tell, this is our main lobby. It leads out to a palazzo, where we have several restaurants, a nail salon, hairdresser, and barber. From there it leads to the sporting activities. We offer tennis, pickleball, and golf. There is also a pool and sauna. You’ll notice you can enter the main dining room from the lobby or the patio.” Clayton began to walk toward one of the large automatic sliding glass doors. “We offer rentals for golf carts, which most of our residents enjoy. They can move around the complex with ease. Small parking areas are designed to accommodate the least amount of walking.” She paused. “Not that walking isn’t good for you.” She gave a forced chuckle. “But some of our residents prefer to walk at their own pace and distance.”
“I totally understand,” Myra answered, allowing Clayton to babble on.
The palazzo was as beautifully landscaped as the rest of the complex. It had a few fountains and statues that gave the space a sense of tranquility.
