“I have a quick work project to finish,” I say. “I’ll be out by the time dinner arrives.”
He nods and turns around, leaving me alone in the room.
I jump off the bed as soon as the door closes, finding my belongings. I dart over to the corner where I left my clothes, dipping my hand in the blouse pocket, praying the USB stick is still there.
Thank God it is.
I pull it out, grab my laptop bag that has been propped up against the wall, and return to the bed, my legs slipping back under the warmth of the comforter.
Raising the laptop lid, I type in my login, my fingers a little stiff over the keys.
It’s been a few days since I last logged into my work computer. Hopefully, Father has been too preoccupied to notice.
I blow out a breath. Things have been hectic with the attack and then moving to Nikolai’s penthouse, but it’s finally time to face the truth. Nikolai and I might finally have an understanding of one another, but I’m not going to let that distract me from my mission.
I stare at the USB in my hands.
Time to rip off the band-aid, Lauren.
I pop the flash drive into the computer and wait for the contents to load. Once the external hard drive appears on the system, I double-tap without thinking too much, and wait for the files to appear.
There’s a lot. Way more than I initially realized.
Investment documentation, old invoices, client profiles, and the like.
I keep browsing until a rush of adrenaline flies through me.
Shit.
I blink the leftover drowsiness away from my eyes and stare at the screen again.
What I’m looking at could get me in a world of trouble. Or worse.
My pulse beats thick in my neck as I focus on the screen, scrolling down the long list of files. Shady financial transactions have been taking place for years—years before my mother died. I frown. I bring my face closer to the screen.
What the hell does this mean?
Why has my father been transferring thousands at a time to offshore accounts? And why are all these records kept in an encrypted folder?
The only reasonable explanation is that he’s trying to hide something.
But none of this brings me to awhy.
I drag my finger down the trackpad, observing other documents. There are more transactions with coded messages—helpful. I tut. There’s always an obstacle. Always something in the way. But it’s no coincidence that it’s hard to decipher all of this.
He’s worked hard to hide these files, and that means something.
With a newfound determination, I bring up a new tab and research different code types. After flicking back and forth, trying to match up the letters to the correct form of code, I reach the conclusion that my father has been using Caesar cipher.
Bingo.
All I need to do is decode whatever this is, and maybe I’ll have the answers I’m looking for.
My heart rate increases.
I load a Word document and type the code out, cracking sentences letter by letter.
Most of them don’t make much sense, but I power on until something does.
