CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
like magic, only bad
Sure enough, the files that were on the Clarke Innovations server ninety minutes ago are now gone. Len is on the phone with his cybersecurity officer, his voice bouncing off the conference room’s high, exposed log ceilings.
“Good acoustics in here,” I say.
“As if yelling at the IT guy is going to make these files magically reappear.” Amalie continues to click in and out of the empty folders. “Len Emmerich scares me a little,” she admits.
I smile. “He’s harmless.”
“Very much doubt that,” she says. We look up at him at the same time a vein bulges from his reddened, sweat-shined forehead during a particularly aggressive growl.
“OK, he’s a little harmful.” I nudge her gently.
The food Catrina bought has filled the space with aromas my rumbling
