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…

watch on installments. Random cash withdrawals that suggested more stupidity than sophistication.

“He wasn’t trying to keep food on the table,” I said.

Rachel laughed once, bitterly. “No. He was trying to keep looking successful.”

That fit too neatly.

My whole life Derek had needed an audience. Better truck. Better watch. Better story. If reality couldn’t continue reading …