Page 115 of What Remains

My God, they really thought this through. “A lot of careful planning and predicting how we’d react. And I bet this air traffic control attack was only the beginning of what they plan to do and blame me for.” I maintain a hold of the blanket with one hand and push at the pain in my right temple, a headache hovering. “Since you didn’t report my rig stolen, it’ll look like I’m lying to cover my arse if I say it was now.”

The room goes quiet after that until Easton asks, “Is there any other program on your laptop you’re particularly worried about them having if this isn’t solely about setting you up?”

“The CCTV nuke,” I rush out. “It’s Julian’s program that he shared with me after we worked together to help his sister last fall. We can play abracadabra with CCTV footage and make it disappear forever. But we can also bring it back from the dead. We built an antidote to the nuke. Thankfully, that part lives on Julian’s rig and my main box—not on the one Jezebel has.”

“So you’re saying they can wipe out footage that only you and Julian can recover?” Oliver asks, angling his head. “Couldn’t that be used to our advantage if they assume they’re safely covering their tracks with that nuke?”

True. I nod. “Julian also has a tool that monitors when and where the program is used, so if they figure out how to work it—and that’s a big if—we’ll know exactly what footage they wiped, and we can recover it. They can also backtrack and scrub old footage, so if they try that, we can see what they’re trying to hide, too.”

“Damn,” Oliver mutters. “So maybe we can turn this problem into a solution.”

“Possibly, but that means they need a hacker almost as good as me. Or Julian, of course. That’s not easy to find.” I lift a shoulder. “And sorry I didn’t mention this before. Julian’s been monitoring our shared programs. We figured we’d bring it up if it became relevant.”

“I assume you don’t go around telling people you have this cyber nuke on your laptop?” Oliver has a point, and nope, I don’t. “And Julian’s dead to the world, so they didn’t find out from him.”

“And only those on my team, the president, and Grandpa know I have it.” I scan the room, then lift one shoulder. “Unless someone we trust slipped and opened their mouth after too much to drink?”

“More than likely they just assumed a hacker like you would have a loaded rig full of goodies,” Natasha says as Gray opens the door and steps into the room.

“The planes landed safely,” he rasps. “The videos were AI.”

The blanket slips from my fingers. “No one died?”

“Not a one,” Gray confirms.

“I’m never going to trust what I see again,” I say under my breath.

“What if that’s the point?” Mya drops onto the couch, and Oliver sits beside her. “Fake attacks. Real chaos.”

“And no one has to die to create a disaster,” Natasha adds. “Flights were grounded. Markets panicked. And money was moved.”

“And someone will get rich off this, I guarantee,” Oliver grumbles.

Carter’s jaw locks. “And we’re the perfect fall guys.”

I look at my father—the man who taught me how to stand my ground. Then at Easton—the man teaching me I don’t have to stand alone.

Gray rubs a hand down his face. “And we report not only to POTUS, but to the man now running for president.”

“President.” Carter echoes back that word, eyes on the floor.

“What is it?” I ask him, because there’s a storm brewing in his head, and it’d be great if he shared.

“There is someone who could benefit from our lives being upended. Someone who’s running ten points behind your father, but a safe twenty ahead of the third contender.” He slowly looks up at Uncle Gray. “Your father could be ruined if we’re dragged into the spotlight and the world finds out about his secret teams. Not to mention his granddaughter being a cyber terrorist.”

The air around Dad changes. Sharp and electric. The way I bet it does before doors get kicked in.

“Wouldn’t the same hold true for you?” Gray asks before I can even wrap my head around what Carter’s alluding to. “Wouldn’t that burn your mother-in-law?”

The room goes still. Not with fear this time, but with something colder. Political ugliness cut along the lines of deep betrayal. And my stomach drops like it does when turbulence hits.

“No.” Carter fists his hands and shoves them into his pockets. “She would throw me under the bus and say no one is above the law. Play the hero card, all the while claiming ignorance about President Bennett’s secret teams.”

“But my dad wouldn’t do that,” Natasha whispers. “He would never let Gwen be punished for something she didn’t do. He’d drop out of the race to protect us.”

“Even if he didn’t, to prove we’re innocent of this bullshit, we’d have to admit who we really are,” I tack on, my stomach wrenching. “And a lot of Americans will view it as vigilantism.” Kind of is, but still. “So, even if Grandpa stayed in the race, he’d probably lose.”

Feels like we’re constantly trying to hide our secrets from the world lately. Heck, we were up against a literal clock just last year to protect the teams from being exposed.