CHAPTER EIGHT

The sounds of fingers tapping on keyboards echoed in the massive board room on Belle ?le. Code, Hiro, AJ, Tanner, and the kids were all helping to find the sources of the viruses and the organization or individuals causing them to happen.

"Anything?" asked Whiskey.

"We're still digging. This shit is pretty complex. What we see so far is that they send out a message stating that someone's computer has a trojan virus or malware or has been hacked into. They put up a phone number that they have to call, claiming that they are the computer's software protection. We think they've got a call center or centers somewhere telling the user to type in a phrase or code that allows them to have access to the computer. Once that happens, everything on their computer is within their grasp.

"For a company, they could have access to payroll records, 401k accounts, pensions, benefits, everything. They could scan every payroll record within their organization, assume, based on deposits to retirement plans, who has the most money, and target them. If it was an individual, they could get into their checking account, savings, credit cards, everything."

"This is fucking shitty," growled Angel. "They're stealing money from non-profits, corporations, and individuals. Hardworking people. How do we stop this?"

"We have to find out who they are and where they are," said Code. "That's what the team is trying to do now. I would suspect that Amy isn't the first person who has taken the fall for funds transferred or misused. This isn't like what happened with Shelby and the dating apps. That was stealing someone's identity and credit card theft and fraud. This is much more sophisticated."

"She's the fifty-third," said Monroe. Code turned to stare at the little boy, Angel slowly looking toward the little man in the chair in front of the computer. "Oh. Was I not supposed to talk?"

"No, Monroe," smiled Code. "I told you. You can always speak up here and tell us what's on your mind."

"Okay, cool. Anyway, she's the fifty-third person to be a victim of this scam. The last one was a man by the name of Harold Winger. He worked for the Children's Medical Relief Fund in Tallahassee, Florida. More than seventeen million dollars was moved to an account with his name on it, then transferred again to an untraceable account."

"Is it really untraceable?" Angel asked Monroe.

"Oh, definitely not. I can trace it everywhere. I just have to find where it stops." Angel smirked at the kid, shaking his head.

"Alright, when do you think it will reach its end?"

"Beats me," he shrugged, turning back to his computer.

"Angel, why don't you and Jean go visit Mr. Winger and see if you can find any other information for us," said Code, taking the information sheet from Monroe.

"Sure. Do you have an address?"

"Yep. Florida State Penitentiary."

"We're here to see Harold Winger," said Jean to the guard.

"Sign in." He pushed the book toward the two men, not even bothering to ask for identification. He led them to a small alcove with glass in the front of them. They were the only ones that day to request visitation for some reason.

"Can you tell us anything about Mr. Winger?" asked Angel. The guard shrugged.

"He's in jail. Says he didn't do it, but that doesn't matter. He was found guilty. End of story."

"End of story. So, you don't believe him?" asked Jean.

"Dude, if I believed every man who said he didn't do it, I'd have no one to watch over. Courts found him guilty. He's guilty."

"Very enlightened of you," frowned Jean.

They waited for nearly fifteen minutes before Winger sat on the other side of the glass. He was probably mid-fifties, his paunchy middle and thinning hair telling them he wasn't a man who spent time or money on himself.

"Do I know you? Are you with my new lawyer's office?" he asked.

"No, sir. We are not, but we believe another young woman was placed in the same predicament as you. Funds were stolen from the non-profit she worked at, transferred to an account with her name on it, and then transferred again to a ghost account."

"Did they put her in jail?" he asked in a whisper.

"No, sir. We were able to prove that it was not her. However, they did ask her to resign. It was a job she loved."

"I know the feeling," he said, looking forlorn. "I worked at CMRF for more than twenty years. I lost a wife over my dedication to them, and this is what they did to me."

"Can you tell us what happened?" asked Jean.

"Sure. I came into work, and my boss asked to see me. When I went into his office, there were two other men. They were with the FBI. They asked me a number of questions about my finances, how much was in my savings account, all sorts of strange things.

"Then, one of the agents pushed forward a confirmation of the transfer of funds from the CMRF to my checking account. When they said that they did see it was transferred again and couldn't find it, they started drilling me about where the money was."

"What did you do?" asked Jean.

"I asked to call a lawyer, and they obliged. He was a shitty lawyer. He said the paper trail was clear despite the fact that I had no money. Everyone believed that I'd placed it in some account in the Caymans under a false identity. Next thing I knew, I was given a ten-year sentence since it was my first offense.

"Do you have any idea what they do to guys like me in prison? It's not pretty. I've done nothing wrong, and I can't get anyone to listen to me."

"Mr. Winger, did you have a computer virus or anything like that in the days or weeks before?" asked Angel.

"No. Not me, but I remember we got an e-mail about being more cautious about opening unknown e-mails from outside the organization. Apparently, someone opened a funny meme, and it downloaded some super-virus on the computers. It was over the weekend, and by Monday, they said everything was okay. I guess it wasn't."

"It most definitely was not okay," said Jean. "Do you remember the name of this super-virus?"

"I sure do. It was called Pirate's Booty. There was all this gold flash and dollar signs claiming that the individual had won the random drawing in the state's lottery and a pirate's chest opened and closed. They were so excited by the prospect of money that they didn't stop to think that they wouldn't contact them at their work e-mail address."

"Who opened the virus?" asked Angel.

"I'm not sure. No one ever said the name of the person, but we're a small non-profit, less than a hundred people."

"Mr. Winger, we're going to have our attorneys reach out to you and see what we can do. We think this is something much bigger, and you were in its path." The man lowered his head, shaking it from side to side.

"You have no idea how much of a relief that is. Just to have someone who might believe me is a blessing. Thank you."

Leaving the prison, Angel and Jean immediately made the call to Kat and Kari, then boarded the chopper with Chipper and headed home. By the time they landed, they knew that they'd stumbled onto something bigger than they ever imagined.