Right on cue, Caleb’s phone vibrated violently on the coffee table. Then Chanel’s phone buzzed. Then the central smart-hub on the kitchen wall chimed with a harsh, red alert notification.
Caleb frowned, reaching for his phone. “What the hell is this?”
I stood perfectly still, watching his face.
He unlocked his screen. The arrogant, smug smirk he had worn for the last half hour instantly froze. The color began to drain from his cheeks, turning a sickly, pale grey. He blinked rapidly, tapping the screen frantically, but the phone was completely unresponsive to his touches, locked on a single, full-screen text document.
It was a real-time ledger of his bank accounts. As he watched, the balances dropped.
-
$420,000…
-
$180,000…
-
$15,000…
-
$0.00.
“What… what is this? This is a glitch,” Caleb muttered, his voice losing its booming authority, replaced by a sudden, pathetic tremor. “Chanel, check your phone. Is the Wi-Fi down?”
Chanel was staring at her screen in absolute horror. “Caleb… my dad just texted me. He… he sent a screenshot of… oh my god. He says he’s cutting off my tuition and cutting me out of the estate. How does he know about us? He says he got an anonymous email with all our hotel receipts!”
“Hold on, hold on!” Caleb panicked, standing up so fast he knocked over his glass of Macallan. The expensive whiskey spilled across the table, soaking into the wood, but he didn’t even notice. He hurriedly dialed his office. “Let me call Mark. There’s a hack. The firm must be experiencing a cyberattack.”
He put the phone to his ear. It didn’t ring. Instead, a robotic voice played through his speaker loud enough for the entire room to hear:
