CIAN
The technical department hummed around me. Banks of monitors cast blue light across the faces of three technicians hunched over their keyboards. The main screen on the wall showed lines of code scrolling past. Too fast for me to understand. But these people knew what they were doing. They had better know what they were doing.
I stood behind them. My arms crossed over my chest. Watching. Waiting.
The phones were spread across the table in front of them. Ten devices in plastic evidence bags. Each one labeled with a name. Each one a potential key to finding who tried to kill my mother.
"Starting the deep dive now, Alpha," the lead technician said. A man named Roth with thick glasses that kept sliding down his nose. He pushed them up with one finger. Then his hands flew across the keyboard.
"Pull everything," I said. "Messages. Call logs. Deleted files. App usage. Banking information. All of it."
