~ 43 ~
PEYTON
It was well into the evening when Theo called us together. The house was warm and dim. The lights were low.
“Martin Wayland, CFO,” asked Ripley, squinting. “Who the hell is that?”
“He’s the chief financial officer for one of Donovan’s shell corporations.”
The glow of Theo’s screen was reflected in his glasses. It shifted wildly as he punched more keys.
“So what’s he doing?”
“It’s not what he’s doing, so much as what he’saboutto be doing,” Theo said smugly. “And he’s about to start shitting his pants.”
He typed some more, then slammed down on the ENTER key. It was like firing a battleship cannon.
“What’d you just do?” I asked.
“I exposed him.”
“Now we’re talking,” laughed Ripley.
Theo pushed back in his chair, interlacing his fingers behind his head. “The first domino to fall.”
“The first of many,” added Colson.
“Hey, one step at a time, boss.”
I knew the process, because we’d discussed it before: exposing the billionaire’s mid-level, expendable assets first, before going after the bigger fish. Basically, giving Donovan just enough time to join Mr. Wayland, in shitting his pants.
“And they can’t track this?” I pressed. “What you just did?”
“Encryption packets routed and re-routed through shifting URL’s, bouncing back and forth between servers on four different continents?” Theo grinned. “Not a chance.”
His pride made me smile, even as Ripley rolled his eyes. I knew the big fighter secretly admired him, though. It was just one of the things you picked up on, watching three guys interact as closely as I had.
“What comes next?” asked Colson.
Almost on cue, an alert flashed across Theo’s screen. Then another. And another, after that.
“Shit, meet fan.”
Together, we checked the screen again. It was filled with news alerts. Journalists and regulators and watchdog groups, all vying to be the first one to break the story.
“Investigations into Wayland will start pretty much immediately,” Theo explained. “His accounts will get frozen. His connections will be traced.”
“Traced back to Donovan?” I asked hopefully.
“Not at first,” he admitted. “But eventually.”
“And when that happens?”
“He’ll know it was us who fired the first salvo.”
We sat there quietly, amidst the low hum of the heating system. None of us wanted to say it, but we all knew what it meant.
From this moment on, we weren’t running. We weren’t hiding.
