Ortíz shares a long look with the accountant. “You are welcome to an attorney, sir, but we’re just asking questions at this point. We spoke with your wife this morning, who confirmed that you were not home at those specific times. Nor on September tenth at ten p.m. We are currently investigating alleged bank fraud, wire fraud, identity fraud, computer fraud, computer invasion of privacy, and you are a person of interest in those—”
“Fine! Fine. You win. I’ll come. But you’d better get ready because I will not sit back and allow you to perpetrate this witch hunt. This is harassment. I’ll be talking to my lawyers.”
Lawyers? Plural. My god, this man is really atrocious.
He turns to the investors, who are looking decidedly queasy now.
I glance at Rachel, and she looks pissed. She also looks like she might have known this was coming.
“I’m not responsible for any of that. If anyone’s guilty here, it’s him.” He points at Grant. “And her.” His attention moves to Dorothy. “She’s mismanaged this place like you wouldn’t believe. Treats employees better than her own daughter. Than us!”
Rachel rolls her eyes. Wow. Okay. This is unexpected.
“Do you know what their end-of-year bonuses are like? It’s insane. Highway robbery. She’s stealing from you to pay those. It’s robbery! Fine, though.Fine, I’m coming. I’ll come. We can pick this back up later. Just let me—”
“Now, Mr. Wabash.”
Dane stomps out, followed by the two women. Bethanne Wilson throws me a sly wink as she makes her exit, and in a flash, I know exactly where I’ve seen her: at Off the Cuff. I think I recognize her from my first time at the club.
This is wild.
“What’s going on?” asks a woman about Dorothy’s age, who’s been following the proceedings wide-eyed. Company legend says that Dorothy reached out to friends for seed money back in the day. I’ll bet this is one of the people who loaned it.
“This is Grant Bowman,” Dorothy announces to the room. “He’s the corporate security expert I called in when my son-in-law first mentioned rumors of a Sugar App data breach.”
“Apologies for the interruption.” Grant nods at the assembly, plugs in his laptop, and turns to the screen.
“I’m sorry to inform you all that you have been lied to, repeatedly, by Dane Wabash. I’ve compiled the evidence proving his embezzlement from Sugar, as well as funds he siphoned from Ms. Gold’s personal accounts. Mr. Wabash has worked to tarnish both the company’s and Ms. Gold’s reputation. His efforts to oust Ms. Gold as CEO have potentially impacted the company’s image as well as team morale. I also want to lay your minds to rest regarding the breach of user data. While data was accessed—illegally—it was not disseminated.”
Grant’s eyes flicker as they briefly meet mine. He looks exhausted but strong. Unbeatable.
“The data stolen from the Sugar servers was not, in fact, user data, but a dummy list uploaded for security purposes.”
A list of names appears on-screen. I scan it, expecting to find nothing special, and then cough out a shocked sound. If there’d been coffee in my mouth, I’d have spit it all over.
Jean Valjean
Betty Rizzo
Velma Kelly
Eliza Hamilton
Percy Blakeney
Henry Higgins
They’re all musical theater names. Every single one of them. With email addresses beside them and, past that, credit card numbers. Those all fake, obviously.
Matilda Wormwood
Agatha Hannigan
The list goes on.
“This is ridiculous,” one of the men cuts in.
“It would be.” Dorothy looks at the people who came today to watch her fail. “If Dane Wabash hadn’t used my personal computer to access this list while both my partner and I were away. On business.”
