Francisco to Washington, D.C. Maybe she’d be able to remember which box it might be in. It was nine-thirty here, six-thirty back home. Angie would be up, getting ready for school, and Sydney called, figuring it would be faster to ask her sister, rather than emptying every single box.
Her mother answered. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine, Mom. I was just sort of hoping Angie might remember which box she packed something in.”
“ Angela . . .” Sydney heard Angie’s footsteps as she bounded down the stairs. “Your sister’s on the phone.”
“Sydney?”
“Hey. You remember which box you packed my old laptop in?”
“Yeah. The one marked ‘Doodads.’ Why?”
Sydney glanced at the box marked in her sister’s writing at the very bottom of all the others. Apparently Angie considered a half-working laptop as odd. “I just need a backup computer.”
“But the wi-fi’s broken, and— Oh . . .” she said, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. Angie was all about mystery, and wanted nothing more than to grow up and follow in Sydney’s footsteps, much to their mother’s regret. “You don’t want to connect to the Internet. I get it. What kind of case are you working?”
“None of your business, squirt. And what makes you think it’s related to any case I’m working?”
“Because you wouldn’t have called home first off, and second you wouldn’t have said it’s none of my business.”
“It just so happens I need an extra laptop. That’s all.”
“Yeah, right, because—”
“Angie . . .”
“Your secret’s safe with me. Here’s Mom.”
“What secret?” her mother asked.
“Nothing, Mom. Angie’s just being her usual silly self.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t finished unpacking. I could fly out there some weekend to help—”
“Gosh, look at the time, Mom. Don’t you have to get Angie to school?”
“She’s fine.”
“But I’m running late. Have to go. Love you, bye!”
She hung up before her mother had the chance to pin her down for some visit she wasn’t ready for. Not in the midst of this can of worms. She turned to the closet, saw the box on which Angie had scrawled, “Doodads, Odd Items.”
Most of what was in the box was junk, she realized, after hauling it to the bed, opening it, finding the laptop, then digging around for the power cord. Hating any sort of mess, even in a room she didn’t use, she repacked all the boxes, returned them to the closet, then finally carried the bulky laptop to her kitchen table. The thing was as slow as molasses, the battery had long since given out, and, as Angie had mentioned, it was not wi-fi capable. That, however, meant no one was going to tap into this machine unless it was hardwired to the Internet via Ethernet. And since she wasn’t about to do that, it was probably the safest machine she had to look at the files Scotty had given her.
She only hoped it still worked. She plugged it in, then made herself a cup of tea while the thing booted up.
There was only one folder on the thumb drive and she double clicked.
A list of case files. Or rather the face sheets, which included names and a few lines stating what was in the original report, which was not attached. She read the first one, an anonymous report that the lobbyists at Wingman and Wingman were paying off lawmakers to curry favor for certain bills.
Nothing new there. Wasn’t every lobbyist and lawmaker guilty of that? In fact most of the older reports were of a similar type, she found, after quickly scanning several.
Her stomach knotted as she read the next report’s synopsis. Even though Scotty had warned her, she hadn’t expected that seeing her father’s name as a suspect on an actual case file would still hurt.
He and Robert Orozco were accused of breaking into a travel agency in Washington, D.C., that was suspected of being a front company for Wingman and Wingman’s lobbyists. Apparently the FBI had been investigating the company,
Her mother answered. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine, Mom. I was just sort of hoping Angie might remember which box she packed something in.”
“ Angela . . .” Sydney heard Angie’s footsteps as she bounded down the stairs. “Your sister’s on the phone.”
“Sydney?”
“Hey. You remember which box you packed my old laptop in?”
“Yeah. The one marked ‘Doodads.’ Why?”
Sydney glanced at the box marked in her sister’s writing at the very bottom of all the others. Apparently Angie considered a half-working laptop as odd. “I just need a backup computer.”
“But the wi-fi’s broken, and— Oh . . .” she said, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. Angie was all about mystery, and wanted nothing more than to grow up and follow in Sydney’s footsteps, much to their mother’s regret. “You don’t want to connect to the Internet. I get it. What kind of case are you working?”
“None of your business, squirt. And what makes you think it’s related to any case I’m working?”
“Because you wouldn’t have called home first off, and second you wouldn’t have said it’s none of my business.”
“It just so happens I need an extra laptop. That’s all.”
“Yeah, right, because—”
“Angie . . .”
“Your secret’s safe with me. Here’s Mom.”
“What secret?” her mother asked.
“Nothing, Mom. Angie’s just being her usual silly self.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t finished unpacking. I could fly out there some weekend to help—”
“Gosh, look at the time, Mom. Don’t you have to get Angie to school?”
“She’s fine.”
“But I’m running late. Have to go. Love you, bye!”
She hung up before her mother had the chance to pin her down for some visit she wasn’t ready for. Not in the midst of this can of worms. She turned to the closet, saw the box on which Angie had scrawled, “Doodads, Odd Items.”
Most of what was in the box was junk, she realized, after hauling it to the bed, opening it, finding the laptop, then digging around for the power cord. Hating any sort of mess, even in a room she didn’t use, she repacked all the boxes, returned them to the closet, then finally carried the bulky laptop to her kitchen table. The thing was as slow as molasses, the battery had long since given out, and, as Angie had mentioned, it was not wi-fi capable. That, however, meant no one was going to tap into this machine unless it was hardwired to the Internet via Ethernet. And since she wasn’t about to do that, it was probably the safest machine she had to look at the files Scotty had given her.
She only hoped it still worked. She plugged it in, then made herself a cup of tea while the thing booted up.
There was only one folder on the thumb drive and she double clicked.
A list of case files. Or rather the face sheets, which included names and a few lines stating what was in the original report, which was not attached. She read the first one, an anonymous report that the lobbyists at Wingman and Wingman were paying off lawmakers to curry favor for certain bills.
Nothing new there. Wasn’t every lobbyist and lawmaker guilty of that? In fact most of the older reports were of a similar type, she found, after quickly scanning several.
Her stomach knotted as she read the next report’s synopsis. Even though Scotty had warned her, she hadn’t expected that seeing her father’s name as a suspect on an actual case file would still hurt.
He and Robert Orozco were accused of breaking into a travel agency in Washington, D.C., that was suspected of being a front company for Wingman and Wingman’s lobbyists. Apparently the FBI had been investigating the company,
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