Snow

nto the computer, beginning a search for the

i-Fi for its VIP guests. As the heir to the Mcgee famil

tem directly was too risky. I

Mr. Mcgee wants to prepare a surprise for Miss Snow in the suite and needs to confirm the model num

default admin passwords and known firmware

me. "Are you... plann

an insurance policy. One that wi

Donald and Cindy were in the room. Then I remotely activated the smart speak

, with their faces and voices clearly identifiab

headphones. I recorded the most crucial five minutes without a fl

ved it to a nondescript USB drive, and slipp

age. One big enough, glamorous enough,

ediately. She grabbed her phone and star

urday. The Mcgee Family Foundation's annual charity gala, at

preading across my face. It couldn't be more perfect.I'm go

sked. "Donald certainly won't bring me,

journalist for the New York Chronicle. For an event like this, not

led with gratitude. "Brylee,

the dust, you can buy me champagne for

met her lighting guy, Mike Jo

arp, intelligent eyes that ling

lope across the table. It was thick

ction system at the gala tomorrow night," I

s eyes widening. Still, he hesitated. "Th

once and then erase all traces of itself. Besides," I added, my voice dropping slig

s a favor to me. You know Brylee

Alright. For Brylee.

umber," I told him. "The signa