Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Network
"They're looking for the servers," Ryder said, staring at the live notification on his phone.
Even though Allison had dismantled the visible cameras three months ago, she was smart enough to realize, after Ryder called 911, that he must have had some form of proof. Now, she and Victor were tearing his house apart to find the physical hard drives where the surveillance footage was stored.
"Let them search," Marcus said, tapping his keyboard. "Your home network is routed through a localized fiber-optic loop that mirrors everything to your cloud account, right?"
"Yes, but the primary physical backup is hidden behind the fake electrical panel in the tool shed," Ryder replied. "If Victor is as good as you say he is, he’ll find it within an hour. Once he destroys those drives, they’ll think they’ve wiped the evidence."
"Then we give them a ghost to chase," Ryder said, a grim smile finally touching his lips. As a master designer of industrial surveillance, he hadn't just built a security system; he had built a digital labyrinth.
Ryder sat down at the terminal, his fingers flying across the keys. He initiated a remote protocol code-named Trojan Horse. It was a failsafe he had programmed into his home network in case of a hostile corporate cyber-attack during his time abroad.
Instead of cutting off access to the home server, Ryder opened a deliberate, hidden vulnerability in the network. To anyone scanning the Wi-Fi or local IP addresses from inside the house, it would look like a poorly hidden, unsecured network drive labeled Caldwell_Archival_Backup_Secure.
"What are you planting in there?" Marcus asked, watching the data transfer.
"A beautifully constructed piece of malware wrapped inside a corrupted video file," Ryder explained. "If Victor or Allison attempts to download or delete that file from a local laptop or a USB drive, the malware will silently install itself onto their device. It will mirror their keystrokes, clone their hard drives, and grant us full, unrestricted access to whatever device they are using to manage their offshore accounts."
Within twenty minutes, the trap was sprung. On the remote monitoring screen, Ryder watched as a laptop connected to his home Wi-Fi accessed the honey-pot drive. The file was downloaded.
"Hook, line, and sinker," Marcus whispered.
Suddenly, a live feed from the infected device popped up on Marcus's monitor. It was Allison's personal MacBook. The camera on her laptop automatically activated, providing a crystal-clear view of his own living room.
The house was in shambles. Cushions were ripped apart, family photos were smashed on the floor, and antique vases lay shattered. Allison stood by the fireplace, a glass of expensive scotch in her hand, her face contorted with rage and anxiety. Victor was sitting at the coffee table, typing furiously on his own tablet.
"Did you find it?" Allison snapped, her voice coming through the laptop's microphone with terrifying clarity.
"I found a localized network backup," Victor replied, his voice gruff, his jaw bandaged from the beating Ryder had delivered at the hospital. "I'm wiping the core directory now. Whatever footage your husband had of us is gone. It's completely vaporized."
Allison took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Good. What about the hospital? Why isn't the old woman dead yet?"
"My guy failed," Victor growled, slamming his fist on the table. "Ryder was there. He’s stronger than he looks. He took down Vance’s shooter and managed to smuggle the old woman and the maid out before the police arrived. They’re missing."
Allison scoffed, tossing her hair back with a chilling indifference. "It doesn't matter. They're hiding like rats. Let them. The bank in Zurich just confirmed that the final wire transfer of twenty million from the Caldwell trust will clear at 9:00 AM tomorrow. Once that money hits the account, we leave for Costa Rica. Ryder can keep his broken mother and his pathetic maid. They'll be penniless and homeless by noon."
In the safehouse, Grace covered her mouth to stifle a sob. Ryder reached out, gently squeezing her shoulder, his gaze locked on the screen.
"They think they have until 9:00 AM," Ryder said softly, his voice dripping with an icy finality. "Marcus, how long to trace the exact routing path of that twenty-million-dollar wire?"
"With this malware? Five minutes," Marcus replied, his fingers a blur on the keyboard. "But Ryder, to stop a wire of that magnitude, we need more than just proof of forgery. We need the physical cooperation of the bank's regional director. And guess who just happened to be a major investor in your father’s real estate firm ten years ago?"
May you like
Ryder looked at Marcus, the puzzle pieces clicking into place. "Arthur Pendleton."
"Exactly," Marcus said. "But Pendleton is old school. He won't accept an email or a phone call in the middle of the night. If we want him to freeze that transaction, you have to present the evidence to him in person. And he’s currently attending a private, high-society charity gala at the Fairmont Hotel downtown. A gala that Allison is also scheduled to attend."
