I grit my teeth against the shiver and open Norcut’s internet browser, go straight to my online bank, and select the log-in. The account number was unwieldy to remember so I had switched to a username years ago.
It opens a home screen. There are options for transfers and payments, a quick overview of the account contents.
And the overview . . . that can’t be right.
My mouth goes dry. I click another link, drilling down to the details page. Unsurprisingly, it matches the overview. The account is empty.
All the money’s gone.
25
I refresh the screen.
Same result: no money. All the funds were swept from the account in a single transfer. Even everything I’d earned on my own is gone. I stare at the page. Now would probably be a good time for some tears. Too bad all I want to do is vomit.
“Well, well.” Norcut’s voice is slippery and smooth.
And satisfied.
“Isn’t this interesting,” she says.
“I can get it.” The words shoot from me so fast, I’m barely aware I’m saying them until they register with Norcut. She raises one brow.
“I can get it,” I repeat.
“How? You clearly thought you had it and you don’t.”
“Yes, but I did have it.” I tilt the screen toward her and point to the transfer. “I can track down whoever did this. There are only so many people who know about the account.”
“And they are?”
I press my lips together, but the names are a heartbeat in my brain: Lily. Lily. Lily.
Griff. Griff. Griff.
He knew about my offshore account. He knew why I had it, how I funded it. When my computer was confiscated by Carson, Griff actually loaned me his laptop for a while. I used it to access my banking. If there was a keystroke tracker on it, he’d have my usernames, my passwords, my . . . everything.
No. No way. I tuck both hands under my legs and grip. I trust Griff. He would never use that against me. He warned me about the money, about my dad, about Carson.
The thought makes something else climb to the front of my mind: what about Detective Carson? He had my computer at his house. Just because it didn’t look tampered with doesn’t mean it hadn’t been. If he had me working for him, who’s to say there wasn’t some other computer kid too? Maybe he had someone else go through the files, comb for keystrokes. It would take forever. He’d have to go deep . . . or I would have had to make just one mistake.
Like Alex said, if you have enough money, they can hunt you all they want, but they’ll never find you, and Detective Carson has been missing since that night I took down Ian and Jason. No one’s been able to locate him.
What if it was because he had enough money to run?
I give myself a mental shake. No, impossible. Lily took the money while I was in here and Carson was gone before then.
Unless he accessed the account after going into hiding. Once he saw the sudden deposit of eleven million dollars.
“Tell me who else, Wick.” Norcut takes another step toward me and I flinch.
“Detective Carson,” I say, flicking my attention from the therapist to Hart and back again. They were interested in him before. Are they still now? I know the timeline doesn’t work, but will they?
“He could’ve accessed the account,” I continue. “Transferred the funds. You said yourself you haven’t been able to find him. This is probably why.”
“That’s quite a suggestion,” Norcut says. “Are you sure it couldn’t be someone else? Someone closer to you?”
Chills crawl up my spine. They’re thinking Griff. Have to be.
I start to deny it because it can’t be. But the thing is . . . if they stop looking at Griff and start looking at the other people around me . . . how long until they suspect Lily? Just because I was blind to her doesn’t mean Norcut will be. She treated my sister as well. She knows her.
But will she suspect her?
“I keep telling you I work alone.”
Norcut scoffs. “Clearly, someone knew about you.”
“Someone like your son?” I regret the words as soon as I say them but it is possible. Milo was Griff’s builder long before he was mine, and I used Griff’s laptop for months. If Milo had installed something on the computer, it’s very possible he knew my log-ins . . . I just don’t think he did.
Or is that just my hope talking?
I sigh and try to look bored. “Again, I work alone. The closest I ever came to having bosses was Michael and Carson.”
“So wiping your account is what? The detective’s revenge?”
She might have a point. I did help expose his blackmailing habit. Milo may have planted the bomb evidence on Carson, but I motivated him to do it.
“I dunno,” I say. “I think eleven million is pretty good motivation all by itself.”
I don’t bother asking Norcut if she agrees. Judging by the single muscle spasm in her jaw, I’d say she does.
“I want the money,” Norcut says at last.