Well, since I have an hour, I might as well put it to good use.
Picking up my real phone from my desk, I ring Tessa.
“Hey, Tris.” Ah, my bubbly little sister’s voice never fails to bring a smile to my face.
“Tessa, how are you?”
“I’m excellent. Just finished hacking into one of the offshore accounts for Howard McDougall. You know, the CEO for Brixon Oil?”
Coincidentally, Howard is Mrs. Sokolov’s father—such a small world when you’re in the top one percent.
“Oh? And what’s your plan for the millions of dollars you’re stealing this time?”
She giggles. “Transferring it to untraceable bitcoin and finding a nice charity to donate it to. What do you think this time? Warrior Women is my go-to, but I’m leaning towards saving the oceans after they fucked up with the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico last December.”
“Sounds fitting. So, listen, could you do me a favor once you’ve finished with your oil baron?”
“Foryou? Name it.”
My chest warms at her words. My sister, my twin brother, and I have been through our own varying levels of different colored shit through the years, but no matter what, we’re always there for each other. Dad taught us that family is all you can depend on when times are hard.
We went from having nothing to having enough money between the three of us to buy our own private island if we wanted to. We’ve joked about it over the years at family dinners. Tessa’s hacking skills mean she has access to bank accounts from the richest people on the planet. Tuck’s a kids’ doctor. A pediatric something-something-fancy-doctor jargon.
I ended up an accidental crypto bro. I got out of the game a long time ago, but my investments earn me more money in a day than I can spend—even with running my own dog shelter. That place barely scratches the interest from my investment portfolio.
“Tessa, can you install spyware on someone’s personal cell phone? I need it on two phones.”
“Do you have her numbers?” Her cheery voice clips into a business-like tone, like hacking phones is a normal, everyday job for her. I love that she never asks “why” and rolls with the proverbial punches. I relay Daphne’s personal cell phone number and her burner phone’s number.
“So, who are you stalking this time?”
“The president’s daughter.”
The sudden wariness in Tessa’s voice douses me in cold. “You know that Tuck and I trust you with yourhobbies,” She stretches the word like taffy. “But aren’t you flying a little too close to the sun, Icarus?”
“I’d rather burn my wings and fall if I can stop this bill, Tessa. I told you and Tuck at family dinner that it allows any health insurance company to reject someone for anypreexisting health condition. It’ll ruin people’s lives.” Lives like hers and Tuck’s.
Tuck’s migraines and Tessa’s anemia make them both ineligible for insurance. That’s my entire family knocked out, and for what? For health conditions completely out of their control?
And then there’s dad… Dad, who had a heart attack and told me to drive him to the hospital because we couldn’t afford an ambulance. Dad, who died alone in the cold room of an ER surrounded by strangers and beeping machines, while I sat waiting for news, before my siblings showed up.
Dad, who was gone in less than half an hour after collapsing in our garage while we replaced the brake pads together. Dad, who would have pummeled the doctor for telling his oldest son that if he’d called an ambulance, then he might still be alive.
But, no. Dad’s gone. Because he didn’t want to risk a fucking ambulance bill.
“Tris.” Her soft voice dampens with pity as it punches through me. God, sometimes she sounds exactly like Mom before she died, and it’s like I’m seven years old again, and the world’s all colorful and shit. There aren’t monsters behind every door, and the three of us have a shot at a normal backyard-barbeque-and-white-picket-fence life.
“How long will it take?” Damn, the tightness in my voice slips out—Tessa’s sharp. I’m sure she noticed, but she doesn’t comment.
“I’ll have it ready tomorrow. You want me to send it on this phone?”
“No, I’ll call your burner with a new number. Use that one.”
“Alright. But after that, I’ll need to change burners again.”
With our side hustles, we change burner phones more often than a frat boy changes his briefs. Genius Tuck’s idea. Between our three, um, hobbies, we need to make sure our records stay clean. To the phone companies and everyone who bothers to pay attention to us, we’re a normal trio of siblings who have weekly dinners and catch up nearly every day like best friends.
No one suspects that the three of us have enough murders between us to be considered serial killers.
