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My brother actually laughed at dinner and said, ‘I sold that useless laptop of yours for five hundred bucks. Finally got rid of your junk.’ My cousins cheered him on. Then he added, almost proudly, ‘Already handed it off to the buyer.’ I got up, stepped outside, and called my supervisor. By the time I made the report, the FBI cyber team was already tracking the device…

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the guard scanned my credentials, looked at my face, then looked again in the way that told me whatever note had been attached to my file had become required reading.

“Conference room B-17,” he said. “They’re waiting.”

Of course they were.

Inside B-17 the air was dry, the coffee burnt, and the mood stripped to function. My supervisor, Lisa Thompson, sat continue reading …

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