Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
She meets my eyes.
“Five years.”
Chapter Forty-Two
“Five years. That’s not possible,” I say. “Morgan died a year ago and your old man killed her. So, you’re wrong, or you’re lying.”
“Please sit,” Frankie pleads, with a hurt on her face that makes me pause to take a breath.
I shake my head. “Truth first. What the fuck is going on here?” She’s just told me that the man I want to take out my revenge on is fucking dead. There’s no way I could be calm. Not now.
Maybe, not fucking ever.
“Okay.” She sits back down on the chair, and her fingers move so fast over the keyboard they blur together. “I’ll start at the beginning, if that’s okay?” she asks without looking back at me.
It’s so unlike her to ask me before she does something. I’m not sure if I love it or hate it.
She sees me nod in the reflection of one of the screens. She inhales a shaky breath. "I never saw my father much,” she starts. “But you know that already.”
“Keep going,” I urge her on.
She’s pulling up security feed for Aestro, and I recognize it as a company that does high-end systems for…well, people like me.
“I spent my time in the house, and my father spent his down here. He ate down here. He had a cot down here that he slept on most nights. I always thought he was just a really hard worker. He told me he designed websites for the government.” She chuckles and looks up at the elaborate computer system. “I used to show my friends at school the White House website and brag that my father was the one who built it.” She glances at me. “The only meaningful time we ever spent together was when he was showing me how to use computers. I could type before I could write with a pencil. I could write in code better than I could write my ABC’s. Occasionally, he showed me a few tricks. I think he was showing off. It was the only thing he was ever really proud of. And it was all fucking bullshit.”
“Like what kind of tricks?” I ask.
“Like how to hack into the school mainframe and set off the fire sprinklers on prank day,” she says with a laugh. “Other tricks I picked up by watching him. I’d sneak down here and sit on the step that was covered the most by the shadows. He never heard me, but I watched him working. I can tell you I never saw a single picture of the White House on any of his screens.”
Frankie was downright graceful. She barely blinked as she moved from one screen to the next, and the fact that she could talk to me while doing it made me realize she was on an entirely different level of smart then the rest of the population.
“And then one day,” she continued. “I’d learned enough from watching him and doing my own research that I realized what he was really doing.”
“Hacking?”
“Not just hacking. Trafficking. People. Women,” she grates, the anger in her words floods into me, and I can feel my blood boiling for her, which makes sense, because she’s a part of me.
The sounds of the keyboard clicks grow louder as she pounds on them with a lot more pressure than needed.
Frankie shakes her head. “He was a facilitator, a closer. He was responsible for the deaths of thousands of women around the world. I was so disgusted when I first found out that I didn’t eat for weeks.”
Frankie’s fingers slow. “I was going to call the cops, but I wanted to confront him about it. So one day, I gathered all my courage and all my evidence against him. I stormed down here ready to be jury and judge only to find him slumped over his keyboard, dead.”
“How did he die?” I ask, curious as to all the details surrounding the death of the man I missed the opportunity to kill.
Frankie shook her head. “He was always really unhealthy. Never slept. Ate all the wrong things. Chain smoked sixteen hours a day. I think his heart just finally gave out.”
“And you didn’t call anyone?” I ask, wondering why a girl her age wouldn’t reach out and call for help.
“There was no one to call. I don’t have any other family, and I would’ve called the police or coroner or whoever, but then I wouldn’t have been able to stay here on my own and do all this.” She waved her hand at the monitors. Her eyes glassy. She sniffled. “So, I made a pulley with some chains, hung it from the ceiling, and shoved him in the freezer so that no one would know of his death, and I could live here and pretend to be him. Online anyway. That’s when I started my work.”