Chapter 28 Hacked!
Author's POV:
Emily Morgan paced outside Max's bedroom, checking her watch again. Her timing needed to be perfect. Through the kitchen window, she'd watched Frank leave for his shift at the factory. Linda had announced she was heading to the supermarket for groceries, though Emily knew she'd spend at least an hour gossiping with the cashiers. And Jade had left twenty minutes ago for her morning run.
Only Max remained, but he was occupied in the backyard with his latest science experiment—something involving soil samples and a makeshift solar panel. Emily had watched him hobble outside with his equipment, which meant she had at least thirty minutes.
She took a deep breath and slipped into his room, closing the door silently behind her.
Max's bedroom was meticulously organized despite being filled with scientific equipment. His desk supported a sophisticated laptop—the expensive one Jade had bought him. Emily rolled her eyes at the thought. She slid into his chair and pressed the power button.
The login screen appeared. Emily tried "physics123" first, then "quantum," then finally "JadeMorgan"—and the screen unlocked.
"Seriously? Your password is your sister's name?" Emily muttered, shaking her head. "Pathetic."
She quickly navigated to the browser history and found the Princeton Physics Forum. Max was already logged in. Emily scrolled through his messages, her eyes widening at the sheer volume—there were thousands of unread notifications and private messages.
"Holy shit," she whispered, scanning the messages. Many contained phrases like "mathematical genius" and "physics prodigy." One username appeared repeatedly: Edward Sheldon, with his latest message practically begging for five minutes of video conversation.
Another message caught her eye—from Philip Thornton, Princeton's president, offering immediate admission with a full scholarship.
Emily's heart pounded as she dug deeper. Why would Princeton's president be messaging her flunky brother? It made no sense.
She minimized the browser and began searching through Max's files. Nothing unusual appeared until she noticed a folder labeled simply "J."
Before she could open it, movement from the corner of her eye drew her attention to Max's bed. Underneath a stack of math worksheets was the corner of a notebook.
Emily grabbed it and flipped it open. Her breath caught. Six pages of dense, complex formulas and equations filled the paper, written in handwriting she didn't recognize—definitely not Max's messy scrawl.
She compared the equations to screenshots saved on Max's computer. They matched perfectly with the solutions posted on the Princeton forum—the ones that had apparently stunned the academic world.
"No fucking way," Emily whispered, her fingers trembling slightly. "This is way beyond high school level. There's no way Jade wrote this."
Suddenly, a warning box flashed on the laptop screen: "WARNING: DEVICE UNDER ATTACK FROM UNKNOWN SOURCE."
The screen turned blood red, and a black skull icon appeared in the center. The laptop froze completely, unresponsive to Emily's frantic clicking.
"Shit, shit, shit!" She slammed the notebook closed and tried to arrange them exactly as she'd found them.
The sound of the back door opening sent a jolt of panic through her. Either Max or Jade had returned. Emily quickly darted toward the door, slipping out into the hallway just as footsteps approached from the kitchen.
---
Ethan Haxton rubbed his eyes as he entered his Manhattan penthouse shortly after 10 PM. He'd been working since 5 AM, closing a major acquisition for Haxton Holdings. All he wanted was a shower and sleep.
"Mr. Haxton, I apologize for the intrusion."
Ethan froze, then relaxed when he recognized Philip sitting in his living room. The Princeton University president looked exhausted, his usually immaculate appearance disheveled.
"Philip," Ethan nodded. "How long have you been waiting?"
"Since last evening," Morrison admitted, looking embarrassed. "Your assistant said you'd be home eventually."
Ethan hung his coat and poured two glasses of scotch. "Must be important if you're camping in my apartment."
"I need your help finding someone," Morrison said, accepting the drink gratefully. "Someone extraordinary."
"I'm not a detective, Philip."
"This person solved the quantum alignment paradox," Morrison continued, ignoring Ethan's comment. "The one Edward and our physics department have been working on for months."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"And they won't respond to any of our messages," Morrison said, frustration evident in his voice. "We've offered admission, scholarships, research positions—nothing. They just post the solution and disappear."
"Maybe they don't want to be found," Ethan suggested, sipping his scotch.
Morrison reached for his tablet. "Look at this yourself."
Ethan took the device, examining the forum post displayed on the screen. Six images showed elegant mathematical proofs, accompanied by minimal text.
"This is pretty good," Ethan admitted.
"It's beyond good," Morrison insisted. "It's revolutionary."
Ethan studied the equations more carefully. Born in Moscow, Russia, educated in Russia and America, Ethan had maintained his family's business interests even while studying at Princeton. His relationship with Philip had evolved from student-teacher to one of mutual respect.
"Your forum requires real identities for Princeton members, right?" Ethan asked.
"Yes, for faculty and students. Guest users don't need verification," Morrison explained. "We've messaged this user repeatedly. Edward Sheldon is particularly eager to connect."
"And you want me to—what? Track them down?"
"If you could spare one of your tech people," Morrison said hesitantly. "I would have followed up immediately, but I had a terrible migraine that day. By the time I saw the post, they'd already gone silent. I fear they took my delayed response as lack of interest."
Ethan considered for a moment, then picked up his phone. "Connor? I need you in my apartment. Now."
Ten minutes later, Connor Haxton entered the penthouse. Ethan's private assistant and technical advisor was also known in certain circles as "Q"—ranked tenth among darknet hackers.
"Sir?" Connor asked, glancing curiously at Morrison.
"I need you to trace an IP address," Ethan explained, handing him the tablet. "Find out who posted this."
Connor examined the screen and nodded confidently. "Five minutes, tops."