The rhythmic, persistent ping of her phone was what finally dragged Betty from the heavy fog of sleep. She reached out blindly, her hand brushing against the cold nightstand until her fingers closed around the device. The screen’s artificial glare seared her eyes, forcing her to squint as she swiped notification after notification.
Her heart didn't just race, it plummeted.
Transaction Successful. Transaction Successful. Transaction Successful.
The amounts were staggered, some small, some brazenly large, bleeding her primary account dry in real time. She didn't need to check the merchant names to know who was behind it. There was only one person with that level of audacity and the lingering access to her financial life.
"Francis," she whispered, the name tasting like copper in her mouth
