Corporate Headquarters
At midnight the only sound in the building was a distant vacuum cleaner. Sara knew there was only one janitor still on site and the constant whine of his equipment assured her he was nowhere near the office where she sat. Nonetheless, she unrolled a small rectangle of tight mesh and hung it over the monitor in front of her before reaching out and grabbing the mouse with her gloved hand. The light from the screen still seemed shockingly bright in the darkness, but Sara knew it actually wouldn't be visible from more than about three feet away.
"This terminal is in use and has been locked. Only bgibson or an administrator may unlock it." Or me, thought Sara, typing in Barry's ridiculously simple password. The blue screen disappeared and Barry's desktop photo appeared. Grand Bahama. Figures. Sara plugged in a flashdrive, then quickly worked her way down through the file structure on the hard drive until she reached the file that represented the week in question in Outlook. She dragged an identically named file from her drive on top of the file on Barry's machine. Why, yes, I would like to replace all, Sara thought, clicking OK.
When the copying was done, she pocketed her flash drive, closed all the folders she had opened on Barry's desktop, and put the screen back to sleep. It was not an elegant scam, and it wouldn't hold up to professional scrutiny, but it ought to get the job done in this case. Once the emails from Barry's mistress -- the one Sara had just created for him -- were "accidentally" discovered by the right person, the whole house of cards would start to fall down around his ears...
Ears. Ears. Something's different, Sara thought. I don't hear...
"... a vacuum cleaner?" Barry said.
"This terminal is in use and has been locked. Only bgibson or an administrator may unlock it." Or me, thought Sara, typing in Barry's ridiculously simple password. The blue screen disappeared and Barry's desktop photo appeared. Grand Bahama. Figures. Sara plugged in a flashdrive, then quickly worked her way down through the file structure on the hard drive until she reached the file that represented the week in question in Outlook. She dragged an identically named file from her drive on top of the file on Barry's machine. Why, yes, I would like to replace all, Sara thought, clicking OK.
When the copying was done, she pocketed her flash drive, closed all the folders she had opened on Barry's desktop, and put the screen back to sleep. It was not an elegant scam, and it wouldn't hold up to professional scrutiny, but it ought to get the job done in this case. Once the emails from Barry's mistress -- the one Sara had just created for him -- were "accidentally" discovered by the right person, the whole house of cards would start to fall down around his ears...
Ears. Ears. Something's different, Sara thought. I don't hear...
"... a vacuum cleaner?" Barry said.