Page 89 of Honorable Sins

Brice loses his battle and starts laughing.

"This is not funny," Conor grouses.

It's not but also? It is.

"No," Brice agrees between breaths. "It’s fucking hilarious."

"Did you create an avenue for outside access?" I ask.

"No. My account only works from an authenticated device already inside the maintenance network."

I don't point out his phone is not authenticated. Clearly doing so was part of the hack and being able to do so is no doubt the vulnerability he shored up.

Mick was right. Fitz is my son too.

"Did you compromise operational data?" Mick asks, going to the crux of the matter.

"No."

"That's grand then," Mick says. "You and your mam go and get something to eat while I finish up here."

I balk instinctively. Not about leaving. My twelve-year-old son is not witnessing an interrogation.

But there's nothing grand about our son being such a good hacker at age twelve. But then I remind myself that an Irishman saying grand is like he's saying fine. Though, again…is it? Is it fine?

When I think of the things I used my hacking skills to do, a shiver of parental dread runs down my spine.

Chapter twenty

Summer Santa & Frozen Cocoa

KARA

Stepping back from the big bowl of popcorn, I inhale the scent of salt and butter appreciatively. Everything is ready for movie and cocoa night, Christmas in July style.

After what happened today, I need this. We all need this. Mick and Fitz need to be reminded that we may be a mob family and scary stuff might happen, but we are still a family and good stuff happens too.

The man in fake dreadlocks and beard turned out to be Karl Nystrom and he was working alone. But he had an inside source for his intel. Kenneth Shaughnessy.

The bastard.

He put my son's life at risk and I will not shed a single tear when my father passes the death sentence at the tribunal in two days.

Forcing thoughts of mob justice from my head, I focus on my preparations for movie night.

Drapes closed to block out the summer evening sunlight? Check.

Enough buttery popcorn for even my hungry hoard? Check.

Fake flames from the electric insert in the fireplace crackling cozily? Check.

Christmas tree glowing with multicolored lights and bedecked with mini candy canes? Check.

Now, we just need Santa and the frozen cocoa.

My phone chimes with a text.

After a quick glance at it, I tell Mick, "Get the kids. He's here."