Until the Day I Die(96)

I stare at him. He has a slight southern accent. I feel like I’ve seen him before. But that’s nonsense. It has to be.

He tsks sympathetically and wipes the counter in even, circular strokes. “I always felt sorry for you shopping center guys from the good old eighties. Those fancy outlets fucked up your shit something fierce.”

“What do you want?” I say.

“Take it easy. I’m not going to alert the manager. Not until you make your decision.”

“What decision? Who are you?”

“We met once, briefly, but we can reminisce about that later. Right now we have business to attend to.”

I suck in air through my clenched teeth. “I’m listening.”

“You have two choices. Choice A: I call the manager of this place and ID you as Arch Gaines, fugitive from the law, wanted for embezzling, computer fraud, and conspiracy to commit murder. The FBI shows up, extradites you to the States, and I’m a hero. But, guess what? You’ll be pretty famous yourself, because you’ll confess to everything, grovel before your wife, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter, and beg their forgiveness.”

I feel lightheaded.

“Lucky you, you’ll get a shark of a lawyer—a friend of mine—to represent you, so you’ll do minimum time. Meanwhile, you’ll go on 20/20, Dateline. Give long, tearful interviews. Who knows, maybe even get a million-dollar book deal.”

“And you?”

“Everything on my end’s already set up. My guy’s the new whiz-kid developer at Jax, hired by Erin and Ben. Been there for a couple of months already. When you resurface and freak everybody out with your dramatic tale of woe, he’ll go to work cleaning out client accounts.”

I laugh. “Not to burst your bubble, but that’s been tried before.”

“I know, old man, I was there. But I’m not talking pennies this time. And not just Jax. We’ve got more people on the ground this time, at dozens of apps. And plenty of international backup to handle the backend.” He leans on the bar. “Do you hear what I’m saying, Arch? I’m talking a cross-platform, internet-wide, one-time deal here. Every account, every balance on every digital wallet app that exists. One clean sweep and then—poof—we all disappear.”

It takes me a minute to process. Then logic kicks in.

“So you’re telling me you write code?”

He smirks. “I write it, I hack it”—he holds up a sugar cube, then lets it plop into my whiskey—“and I get out before anyone knows what’s hit them.”

I lower my eyes to the little white cube and feel my gut twist. What exactly is this son of a bitch saying? Am I being offered an opportunity here—or being threatened with my life?

“Don’t worry, Archie, old guy, I know what I’m doing.” He rakes his hands through his black hair, squinting over my head like some kind of actor starring in his own western. “When I was in college I brought down a global cyber-hacking competition just for shits and giggles. Of course, I left that detail off my CV. To Erin and Perry and Ben, I was just another dumbass begging to grace the hallowed halls of Jax. Even though your boy, Perry, did figure it out, right there at the end.”

His lips twist into a cruel smile, but I turn away, refusing the bait. I really don’t want to talk about that whole awful subject, especially not with this ass-wipe. And we need to get back to the matter at hand.

“What’s my other choice?” I ask.

“Your other choice.” He looks thoughtful. “Well, let’s see. In Choice B, all the above happens, only you don’t get a cut of the deal.”

Not that I need any more money, but . . . I push the glass with the sugar cube toward him. “Just how do you plan to cut me in if I’m sitting in prison?”

He clears the glass. “Remember that great lawyer I’m getting you? He was her lawyer too, back when all the Jax stuff went down.”

Her.

I straighten at the word.

“The guy knows how to get a person out of town.”

My throat has gone dry. I’m not even thinking about the awful prospect of having some scumbag lawyer spirit me out of prison and then the country. I am thinking of one thing and one thing only.

Sabine.

And I don’t even care if this prick sees my desperation. My love-torn heart. My sickness.

“Have you talked to her?” I say.

“Of course I talk to her. She’s the boss, Arch. She’s always been the boss, you know that.”

I do. And I feel weak with joy at this turn of events. The blue loafers were a sign after all. My love is alive, and she has come back to me. I am in. I am all in, even if it means I have to go to prison for a while. Because it means I will see her beautiful face again.

“One more drink,” I say. “If you don’t mind, and then we’ll talk details.”

The guy refills my glass and extends a hand to me. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Gaines. My name, by the way, is Hank.”





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book sprang from a quirky seed of an idea—“Lord of the Flies, but with soccer moms!”—and while I’m still convinced that book would absolutely kill, I think we can all be grateful this one evolved past that point. Dreaming up Jax, Antonia’s twisted L’élus, and the smart, resourceful mother/daughter duo of Erin and Shorie was the most fun I’ve ever had with a book. And I have so many people to thank for contributing to that experience.