I jumped at the thought that I might be able to help her. “Really? What?”
“This doesn’t seem like you,” she said, clicking to another tab in her browser and turning the monitor to face me.
I leaned in and froze. One of my social media pages filled the screen with a post from today. I hadn’t posted anything since my van had blown up—too shaken up and then too distracted. Besides, what was there to say? The last episode of the season was scheduled to drop in a few days, and I hadn’t yet come up with a game plan for what came next. I couldn’t let myself think about that. Not yet. Not with everything such a mess.
I leaned in and squinted, trying to make sense of the words I saw on the screen.
I can’t say more, but I’m going radio silent for the time being.
The case I’m investigating is bigger than I expected.
I might have gotten in over my head.
Stay tuned. It might be a while before I’m back. If I make it back at all.
“What the fuck is that?” I whispered.
Alice hummed under her breath, the sound a cross between worry and aggravation. “I didn’t think you posted this.”
“I definitely did not,” I said. My knees felt a little weak, and I perched on the edge of her desk, staring at the screen. My listenership was my everything. Was whoever was fucking with me going to take that away from me, too?
“Can you pull up my website?” I asked slowly.
“Already did.” Alice clicked the neighboring tab.
My website popped up, the same message front and center on my home page, where there should have been a graphic advertising my current season. Alice scrolled to the bottom, where the icons for my various social media pages were linked. She opened every one in a new window, and they all had the same message as the most recent post.
A chill went down my spine. Shutting me off from my bank accounts arguably had more of an impact on my day-to-day life than hijacking my socials. Then why did this feel so much worse?
Chapter Eighteen
SYLVIE
“Shit, shit,” I said under my breath. “Hold on.”
I pulled out my phone, opened the app of one of the sites, and clicked to log in. My username and password autofilled. I clicked the button to submit. I watched a circle swirl in the center of the page, and then a red exclamation point followed byUsername and/or Password do not match our records.
“What the fucking fuck,” I muttered. I tried another app. Same thing. And another. Then the back end of my website.
“Alice,” I said, my voice thready and a little high-pitched. Losing my home had been one thing. Having my money disappear was another. Knowing someone had tried to kill me still another. But this. This felt like a stab through the heart. My podcast and my website, how I delivered what I’d learned—all of it was my voice. My narrative. This was my life’s work. And someone else had control.
“Go, show Eli,” Alice said. “I’ll bring the coffee when it gets here.”
“Thanks, and thanks for letting me know.” I hadn’tlooked, hadn’t paid attention. I should have. I should have changed my passwords immediately, should have been more proactive.
I walked down the hall, my eyes still glued to my phone, finding my way back to Hacker Central and to Eli. It was like he felt my agitation as soon as I hit the doorway. His eyes found my face and flared wide.
“Sylvie,” he said, starting to stand.
But I was at his side and handing him my phone. My heart pounded, my palms cold with sweat. As the ramifications of all of this hit me, my knees wobbled more than they had when I’d first seen the page up at Alice’s desk. Someone had been in my socials, in my website. They’d told my fans—the world—I was in over my head, and I might not be coming back. It felt like a threat.
Duh, was all my inner voice had to say.They blew up your van. Obviously, it’s a threat.
“Someone put up a post today?—”
Eli had plucked my phone from my hand and read it out loud.
“Well, that’s a threat,” Emmett said.
