that she’d drifted from Peru to Brazil and then moved around a bit within that country. She was currently in Salvador and running seriously low on funds.
He experienced the usual wave of resentment and anger, wondered if he was a hundred types of a fool—after all, what had she ever done for him?—and then transferred a thousand untraceable dollars into her account. It was less than petty cash to him, and if he didn’t do it he’d lie awake at night, wondering what she’d have to do to dig herself out of that hole. She was, after all, his mother.
Rowan was in pretty much the same position, he thought, and he wondered how she’d come to the same point. He looked at his screen speculatively and thought that with a couple of clicks he could find out exactly what had happened to bring her home. He had everything he needed: her passport number, her bank details. He could, by inputting a line of code into that program, see her travel movements and everything she’d ever purchased with a credit or debit card.
It was that easy.
He’d done it before—not for five years at least, but once or twice a year before that, when her parents hadn’t heard from her for a while and her father had asked him to take a peek. He’d skim over the information, not particularly interested, and report back that she was in London or Perth and reassure them that she seemed to have enough money to cover her costs. There were big deposits and big withdrawals, but there was always a savings account with excess funds. He wondered why she hadn’t had one this time...
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