Page 34 of Game Master
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Roseline stared at the computer screens in front of her. It was well past midnight, but sleep could wait. Not when they had a solid lead on the elusive Game Master’s digital footprint. She clicked through spreadsheets and transaction records recovered from Garofalo’s USB drive, scribbling notes and cross-referencing details.
Callan stood beside her, immersed in studying the data displayed before them. While the technical specifics often went over his head, he knew enough to recognize patterns and oddities that seemed potentially significant. They had been tag-teaming the analysis for hours now, ever since leaving the lavish comfort of Gina Garofalo’s Garden District manor with the precious USB in hand.
Roseline’s fingers danced across the keyboard, inputting commands to filter and parse the overwhelming glut of financial transactions. She felt they were tantalizingly close to unraveling a financial thread that could lead them straight to the Game Master. But the volumes of transfers and shell companies obscured any clear trail. Their target knew how to bury his tracks in a dizzying maze of digital smoke and mirrors.
Frustration welled up inside her. They were running out of time; she could feel it. The previous live-streamed grisly murder occurred just a few days ago, so the Game Master must be about to continue his deadly games. Violent murders didn’t de-escalate. But who would be next?
Focus, she told herself, taking a deep breath. Getting emotional would not help the situation. She had to remain analytical, see the patterns that lurked beneath the chaos of numbers. Glancing over at Callan, she took comfort in his stoic presence. At least she was no longer alone in this fight.
Callan frowned as he studied a ledger page detailing massive outgoing payments from one of Garofalo’s holding companies. Something about the transactions seemed irregular, based on what he knew about money laundering operations. He pointed to the screen.
“These wire transfers here, where it looks like funds moved from Garofalo to an offshore account registered to Endymion LLC. Half a million dollars, all within a few weeks last spring. Does that fit the usual pattern for his finances?”
Roseline scrolled back through previous bank records, conducting a quick comparative analysis. Shaking her head, she said, “No, that account doesn’t show up anywhere else for him prior. And moving that much that fast is odd. Good catch.” She smiled at Callan briefly before resuming the clicking between screens, homing in on this new lead.
With her guidance, Callan managed to track the Endymion LLC account payments back to a series of encrypted transactions on the dark web gambling site the Game Master ran. His theory appeared correct—their adversary had orchestrated the massive cash drain before abducting Garofalo for his gruesome public execution. It was a level of premeditation and manipulation they had not previously considered. Roseline shuddered, imagining Garofalo’s growing desperation as his financial house of cards collapsed all around him, the unseen forces maneuvering him like a pawn toward his brutal end.
Callan noticed her minute reaction. Gently, he reached to squeeze her shoulder. “We’re making progress here. We’re getting closer.” His steady tone and reassuring grip helped settle Roseline’s frustration. She took a calming breath and nodded back at him.
“You’re right. We just have to keep following this money trail. He’s bound to have screwed up somewhere, so we can unravel this whole thing.”
Callan agreed. “These types always get cocky and make mistakes. We only need to locate that loose thread and pull. Something in all this data will lead us right to him.”
Bolstered by his confidence, Roseline resumed parsing the mountain of Garofalo’s financial transactions, searching for anything that seemed connected to the dark web’s elusive underworld. After another half hour of fruitless clicking, her exhausted eyes began to strain. How much longer could they keep this up tonight?
As if reading her mind, Callan said, “Why don’t we pick this up again in the morning? You need rest.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “You won’t be any use burned out. Just a few hours of sleep will help us tackle this fresh.”
Roseline hesitated, then conceded he had a point. She had been running on adrenaline and caffeine for too long now. The complex spreadsheets were blurring together, her analytical skills dulled by fatigue. With a reluctant sigh, she started the decryption and disconnection protocols on her computer array so no one could access the data remotely. The encryption would take approximately twelve minutes to fully secure the system.
Standing, Roseline stretched her arms overhead, joints cracking after being hunched over the computer for more hours than she could count these past few days. She noticed Callan’s eyes drift appreciatively over her body in a way that reminded her of their passionate encounter the night before.
Memories of his hands caressing her bare skin sent a flush of arousal through Roseline. After months of suppressed attraction, their inhibitions had shattered, giving way to a night of intense connection that exceeded all her fantasies.
Now, a palpable energy hummed between them, their dynamic irrevocably changed. Roseline knew they should refocus on the case, but her body craved more of what Callan had awakened in her. The way his heated gaze devoured her made it clear he desired a repeat performance.
Clearing his throat, Callan shuffled paperwork in a transparent attempt to distract himself. “You are trying to distract me, Miss Fontenot.”
Roseline arched an eyebrow. “And if I am, Mr. Hemlock? You’re not even succumbing to my charms. Some gentleman you are.”
Callan chuckled. The sound came from somewhere deep inside him. “Don’t tempt me. I’m trying to behave myself here.”
She knew they had promised to keep everything professional, and she had to focus on the data, not daydream about his muscular arms wrapped around her. But it was only light teasing, wasn’t it? They could keep the spark from turning into a wildfire, couldn’t they?
Clearing his throat, Callan turned back to straightening the piles of financial paperwork strewn across her desk into neat stacks. When he reached for a nearby legal pad, though, a notification suddenly flashed across Roseline’s screens. Their heads snapped toward the monitors in unison.
“No, no, no, not now,” Roseline hissed through gritted teeth. She frantically input commands to halt the encryption sequence so she could access the system.
Callan’s eyes narrowed at the emergency alert blaring. “Is that what I think it is?”
Her fingers raced across the keyboards. “Yes. The site’s servers just lit up with announcements about another stream. Right now.”
Dread congealed in her gut like spoiled milk. Mentally, she urged the decryption to hurry. Precious seconds ticked by as she watched the progress bar inch along. Unable to wait any longer, she bypassed the security protocols once it reached 92 percent encrypted. They needed access, no time to waste on precautions.
With trepidation, Roseline opened the dark web forum where the Game Master orchestrated his depraved theater. The screen filled with lurid advertisements for the stream about to start, alongside chatter from the rabid spectators awaiting their latest fix of violence. By the number of comments from individual users, the audience was growing.
Roseline’s lip curled in disgust. How could so many be so enthralled watching the torture and murder of another human being?