To the First Malden Bank:
The deadline of noon has come and gone. Obviously you ignored our warning. You had your chance, now you will get what you deserve.
Financial Patriots of America
“Holy shit,” Rob said. “What does they mean, we’ll get what we deserve?”
“It means another attack just happened,” Dees said.
Rob groaned.
“No. Same deal as before?”
Dees nodded. “I found a new scrambled file on the server. It’s bigger this time, big enough for thousands of accounts.”
“Oh man.”
Tim bit his lip to keep his satisfaction from showing. He mentally checked off another step in his plan as successfully completed.
“I’m not sure how many accounts are affected yet,” Dees said, “but Kelleher just called me and said the phone lines are already lighting up with angry customers. We may have to install sooner than we planned. How are you two coming with the code review?”
“Almost done,” Rob said.
Tim nodded. “Same with me,” he said.
“Then keep at it,” Dees said. “In a few minutes we’re getting everyone together for a status check. John wants to know what options he can offer Dysart.”
Dees strode away in the direction of Kelleher’s office.
“This bites,” Rob said. “We can forget about going home any time soon.”
Rob’s worry struck Tim as needless. Before long Rob would have all the idle time he could handle. Tim returned to his computer monitor, where he did his best to keep a satisfied grin off his face.
* * *
“There’s one,” Lesley said.
Shayna pulled the van into the open parking spot.
Lesley hopped out and waited while Shayna worked her magic in the back, selecting the equipment she needed. Shayna emerged after a few seconds and they hoofed it out of the parking garage.
“This feels weird,” Lesley said as they emerged onto the sidewalk. “It’s like I’m sneaking around to check out my uncle’s bank.”
“You’re just doing your job. And you tried calling him. It’s not your fault you couldn’t reach him.”
“I suppose, and it may turn out to be nothing.”
They rounded a corner onto Tremont Street and could see the entrance to the main branch of the First Malden Bank.
“I don’t see any other news crews,” Lesley said.
Shayna handed Lesley a microphone bearing a WNWB-TV logo.
“How do you want to handle this?” Shayna asked.
“Let’s stay outside for now, keep it low key, see what we can find out.”
“Lead on.”
Lesley walked over to a young man who had just emerged from the bank. He appeared to be in his twenties, with close-cropped hair and a small gold earring in his left ear.
“Excuse me. I’m Lesley McGrath with WNWB-TV News. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”
“Uh… I suppose.”
“We’d like to get it on camera if you don’t mind.”
He glanced at Shayna. “Sure.”
Lesley waited for Shayna to shoulder the camera. She positioned herself to one side so Shayna could focus on the young man’s face. At Shayna’s nod, she began.
“Hi. What’s your name?”
“Tom Hennebury.”
“We understand that some customers of the bank might be experiencing difficulties today. Do you know anything about this?”
“Yeah, it’s unbelievable. The bank lost my money.”
“How so?”
“I deposited a couple of thousand dollars this morning but when I came back after lunch for some extra cash it was all gone.”
“What do mean by ‘gone’?”
“Just what I said. Gone. The balance was back to what it was this morning before I put the money in. I’m going to college, see, and it was a check from my Dad. I have to live on it until Christmas. Without that money, I’m screwed.”
Lesley could see Shayna grin from behind the camera.
“So I got a statement out of the bank machine,” the man continued, “and it didn’t show anything for today.”
“Do you have any idea what might have caused this?” Lesley asked.
“I asked one of the tellers,” he said, “but I couldn’t get a straight answer. They put the money back in my account after I showed them my receipts, but what if I had thrown them away? There’s something screwy going on here and I’m not the only one who’s upset about it. You should have seen the guy ahead of me. He was really pissed—started yelling that he was going to take his business elsewhere.”
“Are you thinking of switching banks?”
“It’s possible. I’ll wait and see how things pan out.”
“Okay,” Lesley said. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Hennebury.”
After the man walked away, Lesley said, “Rob was hauled in last night to deal with an emergency. I wonder if this is related. Maybe their computers messed up or something.”
“You want to call him?”
“Good idea.”
Lesley pulled out her cell phone and dialed. After a few seconds she closed the phone.
“He’s not answering,” she said.
“Whatever’s going on,” Shayna said, “sounds like your Uncle Stan has major problems.”
“Only one way to find out,” Lesley said. She opened the phone and started dialing again.
* * *
Dysart’s temples throbbed as he glared at Kelleher, who stood in front of his desk like a schoolboy hauled into the principal’s office. Dysart tapped a pen on his desk in agitation.
“Your job,” he said, “is to provide solutions. All you’ve done for the past twenty-four hours is present me with problems.”
“The good news,” Kelleher said, “is that we’ve been doing extra backups today, so we should be able to repair most of the damage.”
“But not all.”
Kelleher sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk.
“No,” he said. “The most recent backup copy was made at noon, so we’re still missing about two hours worth of transactions.”
“Dammit,” Dysart said. He slammed the pen down on the desk in disgust. “So much for all your fancy disaster recovery plans.”
“We pretty much have recovered. We still think AMS is causing the problem, but the new executable is good to go. Installing it should prevent any more problems.”
“Then do it. Right away.”
“And once that’s done,” Kelleher said, “business goes on as normal. The vast majority of accounts will be perfectly up-to-date. The only problem will be for the accounts that had transactions between noon and two o’clock today.”
“Which is still a huge number of customers,” Dysart said.
“True, but even they can perform transactions right away. AMS will give them an incorrect balance at first, and then we can adjust the accounts manually as those customers come in to complain. Before long we’ll have most of the affected accounts fixed as well.”
The intercom buzzed. Dysart ignored it.
“You might think you’re making progress,” Dysart said, “but all the stuff you’ve talked about does nothing to solve our real problem, which is customer perception. Either we’ve fixed all the problems—and I mean absolutely all—or we haven’t.”
Kelleher sighed. “You know the answer to that one.”
“Then it doesn’t matter if we can conduct business as usual. We’re still the bank that lost our customers’ money.”
“The only way we’re going to recover all the data is to get the keyword. That means finding whoever’s behind the attack.”
The intercom buzzed again, longer this time.
Dysart jabbed the button. “What?”
“Phone call on line one, Mr. Dysart.”
“Not now Mary.”
“I think you need to take this one, sir.”
Mary had been with him for nine years an
d he trusted her judgment as much as anyone at the bank. “Fine, I’ll take it,” he said into the intercom.
Dysart looked back at Kelleher. “You still think we need the police, is that it?”
“Yes, I do.”
Dysart shook his head. “Our customers have to see this as a technical problem, nothing more. They’ll panic if they hear their accounts were sabotaged and the police have been called in.”
He picked up the phone and pressed the flashing button. “Stan Dysart speaking.”
“Hi, Uncle Stan.”
Dysart’s brow furrowed at the sound of Lesley’s voice. Why would Mary put through a personal call now, of all times?
“This isn’t a good time,” he said. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“I know,” Lesley said. “That’s why I’m calling.”
CHAPTER SIX
LESLEY SAT IN one of the leather chairs in her uncle’s office while Shayna waited outside. Dysart stood looking out a nearby window, his hands clasped behind his back. His jaw was set when he turned to face her.
“How is it,” he said, “that you came to be interviewing people outside my bank?”
“I received a tip,” Lesley said.
“You what?”
“A text message, said I should find out why your customers were angry. And they are, believe me.”
Dysart started pacing in agitation. He couldn’t believe it. Who was aware of the bank’s problems and also knew Lesley? The answer was all too obvious. And after Dysart had explained how imperative it was to keep this quiet. He felt like picking up his swivel chair and heaving it through the plate glass window behind his desk.
“Was it Rob?” he asked.
An irritated look flashed across Lesley’s face. “No,” she said, “I could have told if it was Rob’s phone. This number was blocked. I don’t know who it was.”
Dysart snorted and shook his head in disgust.
“Does it really matter how I found out?” Lesley said. “The more important issue is what we’re going to do now.”
“We aren’t going to do anything.” Dysart stopped pacing and turned to face her. “I have to get back to work, and you’re going to forget about this. Pretend you never got the tip.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can. If you start broadcasting stories about problems at First Malden, we could have a run on the bank within hours.”
“It’s not going to take a broadcast to do that. The entire city will know about this before the day is out no matter what I do. Hell, the entire country for that matter.”
“That may be,” Dysart said, “but I don’t need you hastening the process.”
“Whether you like it or not, a bank that loses people’s money is big news.”
“Is that what this is for you? A chance to impress your boss?”
“Of course not.”
“Dammit Lesley, we’re family,” Dysart shouted. “After all I’ve done for you and Rob, I thought you’d look out for me better than this.”
Lesley rose abruptly from her chair, turned her back on Dysart, walked a couple of short steps away and stood with arms crossed trying to control her anger. Her face was flushed when she turned back.
“You should know me better than that,” she said. “You and Aunt Sheila are very important to me and—”
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
“If you’d let me finish,” Lesley said with a glare, which Dysart returned.
“You should think seriously,” she continued, “about how you want news of this to hit the streets.”
“I already have. As late and as little as possible. Preferably not at all.”
Lesley threw up her hands. “You don’t get it, do you? People are going to know you’re having problems.”
“No,” Dysart said, his voice becoming even louder, “you’re the one who doesn’t get it. You have no idea how much money is at stake here. If our customers hear the wrong message, it could mean the end of the bank.”
“Which is precisely why you need my help,” she said, matching his volume. “Some reporter is sure to break this story soon. Do you think anyone else will be as sympathetic to the bank as I am?”
Dysart just looked at her.
“I can’t be misleading or anything,” she said, “but I can let you tell your side of the story and avoid the sensationalism, which is exactly what any other reporter would play up for all it’s worth.”
“I know, but—”
“In fact,” Lesley said, “I think you should treat this as an opportunity instead of a problem. A chance to reassure your customers.”
Dysart sighed. She had a point. Soon the faces of First Malden customers were likely to start showing up on local shows and in the papers. Even the national news services might pick up the story. And human nature being what it was, the fear of the unknown was almost always worse than knowing the truth. Or in this case, the version of the truth he was willing to tell.
“What do you suggest?” he said.
Lesley’s breathing started to slow down as she looked at him for a few seconds. Finally she said, “The obvious thing would be to do an interview, have you tell the camera what’s happening.”
Dysart considered this. His mental balance sheet tipped quickly in the direction of action over inaction. The spin messages were already forming in his mind.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it. There’s a corporate logo on the wall outside my office that’ll make a good background for an interview.”
“You won’t be sorry,” Lesley said. “I promise.”
They emerged from his office to find Shayna telling a story that Mary seemed to find enormously funny. Shayna stopped when she caught sight of them.
“Mary, I’ll be just outside for a few minutes if anyone’s looking for me,” Dysart said as he swept by her desk.
Once in the hallway it was only a matter of seconds for Lesley to position Dysart and herself, and for Shayna to adjust her equipment for the lower indoor light levels. With a brief nod from Shayna, Lesley began.
“I’m here in the corporate offices of the First Malden Bank with bank President and CEO, Stan Dysart. Mister Dysart, a number of your customers have expressed concern over apparent irregularities in their bank records. Can you explain what is happening?”
Dysart exuded the quiet confidence of someone in complete control of all around him.
“The First Malden Bank prides itself in providing one of the most comprehensive suites of online banking services available. Unfortunately, a computer system component malfunctioned for a short time this afternoon, which caused improper adjustments to be performed on a number of accounts. Our staff are working on the problems as we speak and are taking the time to make sure each account is restored with total accuracy. We understand the dismay some of our customers experienced this afternoon and apologize for any inconvenience caused by the situation. I would also like to personally reassure everyone we are making every possible effort to complete the corrections as quickly as possible. In the meantime, anyone who has questions can call or drop by any of our branches.”
“How long will it be before all accounts are restored?” Lesley asked.
“I can’t give you a definite timeframe, but we certainly hope to complete the minor adjustments that remain very soon.”
“Is there any danger that customers will lose money as a result of these difficulties?”
Dysart registered an appropriate look of surprise. “Goodness no, of course not. Like I said, everything will be back to normal soon.”
“Okay, thanks,” Lesley said, and then nodded to Shayna, who lowered the camera.
Dysart felt like he had just stuck his finger in a dike—one that was sure to collapse if the truth ever became public.
* * *
Rob could barely see into Paul Dees’ office through the small crowd gathered around the doorway. Dees and Anthony Finnamore sat in front of Dees’ computer terminal entering
the instructions to replace the AMS executable. Several AMS team members watched anxiously, including John Kelleher just inside the office doorway.
“Rob, I need to talk to you.”
Rob turned to find a furious-looking Stan Dysart behind him. Dysart led the way to Kelleher’s nearby office and closed the door after Rob followed him inside.
Dysart immediately planted himself inches from Rob’s face.
“Did I, or did I not explain to you,” the older man said, his eyes narrowed, “how important it was not to tell anyone about our problems?”
Rob’s exhausted brain reeled in search of a reason for this unexpected barrage.
“Well … of course,” he managed to stammer.
“Then explain to me how Lesley shows up here today asking questions.”
Rob blinked.
“I didn’t know she was here,” he said.
“Of all the reporters in this city,” Dysart said, “not one of them knows anything about what’s going on here … except your girlfriend.”
Rob’s mind leapt to the correction—fiancée, not girlfriend—but now was not the time.
“Tell me how that could be,” Dysart said. He thrust out his chin and waited for Rob to reply.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I can’t believe you! What did you expect her to do, keep it to herself? She’s a reporter for Christ’s sake. Of all the people to talk to when what we need is time to fix it before our customers panic. Whose side are you on anyway?”
“Like I said, I didn’t tell her.”
“Someone texted her with a tip,” Dysart said.
“It wasn’t me.”
“Who else would have contacted her but you?”
“How would I know? Everyone I work with knows her.”
Dysart shook his head in disgust. “I thought you had management potential, but obviously you don’t think the interests of the bank are important enough to protect.”
“But—”
“I suppose you told her about the merger, too.”
Rob hoped his hesitation wasn’t noticeable.
“No, of course not.”
He made a mental note to remind Lesley how important it was to keep that little secret.
Unauthorized Access Page 5
