Chapter 2 - The Screaming Call from Dubai
“Kesha! What did you do? What did you do to our accounts?!” Monique’s voice was pitched so high it was almost unrecognizable over the crackling satellite connection. In the background, I could hear the faint, frantic sound of luxury hotel alarms or security chimes echoing in a high-end Dubai suite.
I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the screen in utter confusion. “Monique? You stole my life savings and you’re screaming at me? How did you even find the nerve to call me—?”
“Shut up! Just shut up and listen!” Monique sobbed, her composure entirely shattered. “Chad’s cards are blocked! My digital wallet is frozen! Even the emergency crypto wallet we set up with the transfer is locked behind some kind of military-grade encryption loop! Every time we try to move a single dollar, a red screen pops up with a countdown timer, and now the local authorities are at the hotel desk asking questions about flagged transnational wire transfers!”
I sat frozen on the couch, the memory of Maya’s calm voice—“I’ll handle it”—flashing through my mind like a lightning bolt. Could my nine-year-old daughter possibly have done this? No, that was insane. Monique was just panicking because international banks naturally flag massive, unverified lump-sum transfers from personal accounts.
“I didn't do anything, Monique,” I said, letting a cold, unfamiliar satisfaction creep into my voice. “You stole one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Karma is just remarkably fast in the United Arab Emirates.”
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“You’re lying! You hired someone! You hired a hacker!” Monique shrieked before the line abruptly went dead with a sharp click.
I slowly lowered the phone. My heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, not out of fear anymore, but out of a wild, surreal disbelief. I walked down the narrow hallway of our apartment and stopped outside Maya’s bedroom door. The room was dark, save for the blue, ambient glow reflecting off her glasses. She sat cross-legged on her bed, her small fingers flying across her tablet keyboard, lines of hexadecimal code scrolling rapidly across a split-screen monitor. She didn't look up when I pushed the door open, but a tiny, knowing smile played at the corner of her lips.
