Reputation(6)
It feels like I’ve dodged a bullet. Then it hits me—if my gynecologist and a journalism professor are in this database, too, did their computers also go down? Did they also receive the link to all those folders on the cloud?
I think about our donors finding out. I think of the money we could lose if any secrets come out—because, c’mon, there are going to be secrets. I hit my phone icon and move to call my boss. We need to do damage control. IT security will shut down this database before it can become too widespread—but still. We should have an action plan in place until that happens.
But wait.
I stare at the Planett page again. If I thought Facebook was a good place to troll for random gossip, then this database, with its millions of electronic messages never meant to be seen by the public, is a gold mine. IT security is probably working to shut it down this very moment. I only have a few minutes to look through it.
My finger hovers over the scroll bar. Is there someone I want to find out more about? The mother of the most popular girl in my daughter’s class, who works in administration? There’s something about her that screams swinger, and maybe I could somehow use that to my advantage to get my daughter invited to a few key sleepovers. Or what about the Aldrich hospital-affiliated marriage counselor my husband and I went to twice before I deemed her a biased crackpot? I can see if she kept notes on us. I can see what she really thinks about our marriage.
Then I get a brainstorm. Of course. Trolling for random gossip is one thing, but finding something that could finally give me leverage in this job—well, that’s useful.
I’m going to look up Kit.
3
RAINA
TUESDAY, APRIL 25, 2017
I’m in line at the Aldrich University Bursar’s Office when my school is hacked. It’s like a beautiful piece of choreography seeing the computers flashing in unison and then that spooky picture of the eyeless man popping up where everyone’s Facebook feeds and food blogs used to be. All the machines go dead at once. The woman behind the payments desk frowns, swears under her breath, and then stands to address the students standing in line.
“System’s down, people. Unless you got cash, you gotta come back and pay your bill another day.”
Groans. Mutters. I raise my hand. “Um, I’ve got cash.”
Everyone in line turns to look at me. I hold my head high, trying to project an air of mystique. Maybe I’m so wealthy, it’s nothing for me to carry around fourteen grand in my pocket, I think haughtily. You people don’t know.
I glide toward the bursar’s window. The lady, who’s heavyset and has sumptuous lips and thick brown hair piled on her head, still has her fingers curled over the keyboard as though her computer’s about to spring back to life. I hand her the thick envelope of bills. “Raina Hammond,” I say in a perky voice. “This is a payment for the summer and fall sessions. Do you need my ID number?”
She does, so I rattle it off. She makes a note of it on my account and stuffs the cash in an envelope, old-school style. As we’re finishing up, the man at the next window lets out a sharp gasp. “Lorraine! Our e-mails are on some kind of server!”
The person helping me swivels her chair. “Whose e-mails?”
“Mine! Yours! All of ours!” The guy taps at his phone, his eyes the size of golf balls. “Bethany just texted me! Everyone’s business is up on some public website for everyone to see! And she said that she and a few other people got this creepy text beforehand that said, Get ready. Nothing else!”
“Get ready?” Lorraine murmurs. “Get ready for what?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” The man shakes his head. “This is like what happened with that cheating site—what was it? Ashley something? All those married men were exposed?”
“Ashley Madison,” I say dully.
“Bingo.” He points at me. “That’s the one. Or remember what happened with Sony, Lorraine? All those e-mails on that public site? Remember that executive’s Amazon receipts for that dye for her pubes?”
The guys in the room titter at the word pubes—most of the girls look uncomfortable. I’m still dwelling on the phrase sensitive information. Data breach. A chill goes through me. And what does she mean, everyone’s e-mails?
I can’t get out of there fast enough, but on the sidewalks is the same kind of chatter I’d heard inside: Hack. Public Google site. E-mails! The panic is fizzy around me: Is there any way to delete this website? people cry. My mom cannot read my e-mails, dude. And just: Oh shit, oh shit, I could get expelled! A local news van has pulled up to the corner—wow, they caught on to the hack fast—and a cameraman points his lens at a petite, freckled girl in a cropped denim jacket. I recognize her—she and I spoke at a party at her sorority house about me rushing next fall. She is also talking about the hack. Jeez, it only happened five minutes ago, tops. Is this what it was like to watch the plague wreak havoc through London? I hear one of the reporters say the names Harvard and Princeton. I always appreciate when Aldrich is compared to those schools, but the mention of them at this moment jars me a little. I move closer to eavesdrop.
“Raina!”
I whirl around. Sienna Manning is jogging toward me, and a smile freezes on my face. I pray she hasn’t seen that I’ve just come from the bursar’s. I realize how paranoid this is—she’d have no reason to question me even if she had seen me go in there—but still. Too close for comfort.