“I like the science kit,” she admits. “Mom says you’re rich.”
I flush. “Elsie?—”
“She’s right,” he laughs. “I got lucky. But your mom, she’s an amazing person, too.”
Elsie tips up her chin. “I know she is. You should keep paying her. She likes that.”
I press a hand against my face, trying to hide the blush staining my cheeks.
“Yes,” Dagen nods. “I plan to keep paying her and protect the both of you.”
“Good,” Elsie says, grinning. “We could use some protecting.”
And then she follows us to the car and climbs in without a second thought, trusting Dagen to do just that. I stare after her, shaking my head. Leave it to Elsie to say something like that at a first meeting.
“She’s cute,” Dagen says, grinning over his car at me.
“She is,” I laugh, climbing into the front seat. “But you made a mistake getting her that science kit. She’s going to tell you all about it now.”
“I don’t mind one bit,” he admits, looking in the rearview mirror as Elsie launches into her explanation of the experiments she’s already done from the kit and future ones she wants to do. Dagen listens intently as he drives us home.
It all feels very homey. Not professional in the slightest.
It’s only at that moment that I realize I may be in real, actual trouble.
Twenty
Ava
Nothing exciting happens the rest of the week, so when Saturday comes with the expectation of a meeting with Dagen, Wylan, and Otto, I’m looking forward to it. I’d offered to host the meeting at my house, to which they’d agreed, but when the doorbell rings, it’s only the robot screen at my door. I have no idea where it came from or who dropped it off, but it’s there in all its static glory. It has two wheels on the bottom that it balances over like a segway. I assume that’s how it gets around.
“Where are the others?” I ask.
The mask flickers in the static. “This part is all me.”
I gesture to the open doorway. “Should I. . . help this thing inside?”
“Nope. It can handle a few steps,” Otto replies, and sure enough, the thing does seem to climb stairs pretty well. I try not to think about how weird that is, but. . . it’s difficult. I’m talking to a robot screen on wheels after all.
I have a tough time remembering that this man, this anonymous screen, is Otto_Bot, the very same hacker responsible for bringing down some of the highest and most powerful people in the world. He uses his power mostly for good, even if it’s chaotically good. Sometimes, when there are no other options, violence is all that’s left. While Otto_Bot has never participated in the violence himself, he’s singlehandedly responsible for a lot of it. I don’t think Dagen could have hired a more high-profile hacker. I don’t even know how Dagen has the connections to hire one of the most wanted hackers in the United States to begin with.
“Which part is this again? That you’re handling?” I ask as I close the door behind the robot and lock it. The alarm system kicks on automatically as I do so.
“You and I are going to set up a definitive plan to take Ricardo down. The financial and social categories are at the top of the list. Physical will come later.”
“I thought we’d already figured that out?”
“Just vague mentions. But we need actual plans, not just concepts of them,” he says, moving over to the kitchen table. The screen bumps into the table and I hear him curse softly. “Sorry. Still getting the hang of this thing. Is your daughter here?”
“Upstairs playing in her room,” I say.
The screen moves a little, rolling back on his wheels almost like a nod. “Good.” The sound of clicking keys on a keyboard filters into the room as he pulls up whatever information he needs on his computer. It’s strange to think of this machine as a man, but it’s easier if I think of it like a videochat. Otto_Bot didn’t get to where he is by plastering his identity everywhere. Anonymity is crucial for every good hacker. Anyone with half a brain knows that. But part of me wishes I had a face to the handle, that I could look him in the eyes as he helps me get revenge on my ex-husband. I could almost argue this man, right now, is no different than using my Alexa or Siri.
“I would offer you something to drink but. . .” I start, my voice trailing off. “Are we ever going to meet in person, you think?”
“That’s still up in the air,” he responds. “But if you ever do, coffee is my preference.”
“Good to know,” I murmur. “I’m going to make myself something while you get set up.”
