mining is dangerous! Stop the snooping, CDO!
Okay, that was rough. She didn’t appreciate her information being spotlighted by the Cohort simply because her job involved data mining to make customer interaction more engaging and valuable. Yes, the process was controversial, but unlike the hacktivists, she never publicly shared or broadcast the details she gathered. She performed her job with pride using the highest standard of security.
Leaning forward, she tried to make sense of the implications. It boggled her mind. “Where does that link lead?”
He clicked it, revealing a rant on the dangers of data mining ending with an input box. “I’m hoping the FBI can tell us what this is. My primary concern is for your safety.”
Surely she would be safe if she stayed here until the FBI shut down that page and the links. “The breach and mitigating the effect on our employees should be our primary concern.”
“Your loyalty is refreshing,” Zane said with a half smile. “And valued. I want you to be the CDO here for years to come.”
That was the first comforting thing she’d heard. “I’m not trying to be difficult, but what exactly are you saying?”
“This reads like a personal threat against you. Your information isn’t in the auction—it’s already been broadcast. I fear the Cohort has targeted you for some specific action.”
Meaning what? She couldn’t wrap her head around his assessment. Groups like the Cohort didn’t go after people in person. They struck from the safe side of their probing computers, exposing and embarrassing their targets to promote the agenda du jour.
“I don’t know anything about Livia Colton,” she said, recalling the Cohort radio broadcast. Only what she’d read in the press or heard from her coworkers. “My only tie to the Colton family is my employment.” Unless the Cohort knew something she didn’t. She clasped her hands in her lap to keep from rubbing that tiny burn behind her sternum. Not again, not now. Calm, blissful years had flowed by without that annoying flicker of hope that she might eventually learn her father’s name. How frustrating it was to discover no amount of crushing disappointment would extinguish it permanently.
“Regardless, the Cohort changed tactics. By definition, your job fundamentally offends the Cohort. Until we sort it out, I feel it’s best if you take a leave of absence.”
Those last three words reverberated in her head. She wondered where she could go and how she might fill her time. Zane explained the cybersecurity team’s instructions for managing the identity breach issues. Password changes and notifications to her bank, credit cards, landlord and the IRS topped the list. Just when she wished she’d brought in a notepad, he slid a short stack of paperwork across the desk to her. “This is the packet going out to all employees by noon today.”
Fast work, she thought, flipping through the comprehensive guide. “With all due respect, I’d prefer to stay and help.”
Her coworkers were bound to be worried and the cybersecurity department would be flooded with calls and questions. Not to mention what they needed to do as a company to reassure customers that their data was safe. When she added up the tasks and the personnel, she knew they needed her here.
Zane leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead, debating something. “Handle the notifications,” he said, “then come back to the conference room.”
“Thank—”
He interrupted her gratitude. “I’ll let you stay on one condition. You’ll cooperate with the FBI’s assessment of your safety. Whatever they decide, no arguments.”
“Yes, sir.” She hurried out of the office before he changed his mind.
As she walked to her office at the other end of the hall, she flipped through the guide, squirming at the long list of things she would now need to keep in mind. At least she didn’t have a spouse or children to worry about. In her situation, not even extended family was a concern, since she’d been a ward of the state of Texas since her birth.
Marie’s lips twisted and her throat went dry as those old questions tried to rear up from her past. Wouldn’t it be ironic if the Cohort had discovered who her father was or even where her mother had gone after she’d abandoned her newborn with nothing more than a name?
Distracted, her head down as she passed the elevator, the doors parted, and she found herself tangled in the group entering the hallway.
She nearly bumped into the man in the lead and he steadied her with a light touch at her elbow. The dark suits and serious expressions identified them as FBI, even without the badges they wore in plain view.
“Excuse us,” the first man said, his touch sliding away.
“No, pardon me.” She offered a tight smile and stepped aside. In her heels, she wasn’t quite eye level with him, though he wasn’t the tallest of the group. With dark brown hair, straight eyebrows over deep-set brown eyes and a stern mouth framed by a trim beard, he radiated authority and he gave her a long study that put heat in her cheeks as he passed by.
What did he see? she wondered, striding away. Did he think he knew her? She couldn’t shake the strange sensation that he had come to some immediate conclusion about her with only a light touch and one long look.
* * *
Special Agent Emiliano Ortega recognized Marie Meyers as he steadied her when she brushed by them. Her picture and résumé were in the initial briefing documents he’d skimmed when his boss called him to Dallas early this morning.
The FBI had assembled the fast-response task force Emiliano served on to investigate cyberattacks all over the country. They could even reach destinations overseas at a moment’s notice to protect US interests. Reporting to Dallas meant a particularly short commute in this case, getting them on scene quickly and reducing the window of time in which the hacktivists could erase their tracks.
He hadn’t had much time to delve deep into the file but he knew the key points on the top executives at Colton, Incorporated. Thirty, never married, Miss Meyers had earned her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in computer science and minored in psychology. No debts beyond a minuscule credit-card balance.
Everything about her appearance, from her glossy dark brown hair curling softly around her shoulders to the pricey designer high heels, shouted that this woman valued order and discipline.
He glanced back down the hallway, but she was gone. Why wasn’t the CDO headed to the conference room? A cyberattack of this magnitude usually brought all hands on deck.
When his team reached the conference room with the obligatory massive table, monitors and floor-to-ceiling windows, the introductions were swift. Everyone seemed eager to hand over investigative control to the FBI. A typical reaction with attacks as aggressive as this one seemed to be.
He kept glancing to the door, waiting for Miss Meyers to join them as he and the team listened to the rapid-fire updates from the technicians and executives on hand.
The Cohort had claimed responsibility immediately: not the first time Emiliano and his team had encountered that strategy. Another stroke of luck, as the verification was swift and put them on the right track immediately.
As he and the team systematically peeled back the first layers
