Kiera Snow POV:
I typed the call information and hotel name into the computer, beginning a search for the Peninsula Hotel's public network information.
I found that the hotel offered a dedicated high-speed Wi-Fi for its VIP guests. As the heir to the Mcgee family, Donald's reservation would definitely be on that list.
Attacking the hotel's core system directly was too risky. I pivoted to social engineering.
Posing as "Mr. Mcgee's personal assistant," I called the hotel concierge. My excuse was flawless. "Mr. Mcgee wants to prepare a surprise for Miss Snow in the suite and needs to confirm the model numbers of the room's smart devices." I easily obtained the models for the smart speaker and smart TV.
After hanging up, I immediately found the default admin passwords and known firmware vulnerabilities for those devices online.
Brylee gasped behind me. "Are you... planning a live broadcast?"
I winked at her. "No. I just need an insurance policy. One that will ensure they can never recover."
That evening, using the hotel's public Wi-Fi as a springboard, I waited until Donald and Cindy were in the room. Then I remotely activated the smart speaker's recording function and gained temporary access to the smart TV's camera.
I didn't need a full video. Just a few key clips, with their faces and voices clearly identifiable, would be enough to serve as irrefutable proof.
Their filthy dialogue and sickening sounds of intimacy filled my headphones. I recorded the most crucial five minutes without a flicker of emotion, then silently erased all traces of my intrusion.
I encrypted the video and audio evidence, saved it to a nondescript USB drive, and slipped it into my handbag. The weapon was ready.
I looked at Brylee. "Now, we need a stage. One big enough, glamorous enough, for everyone to see their ugly faces."
Brylee's eyes lit up. She understood immediately. She grabbed her phone and started scrolling through her work calendar.
"Got it!" she exclaimed, turning the screen to me. "Next Saturday. The Mcgee Family Foundation's annual charity gala, at the Plaza Hotel. Every socialite in New York will be there."
I looked at the press release on the screen, a slow smile spreading across my face. It couldn't be more perfect.I'm going to play the video of them having sex at the charity gala.
"The problem is, how do we get in?" I asked. "Donald certainly won't bring me, and the Mcgees see me as nothing now."
Brylee puffed out her chest proudly. "Don't forget who I am. Sports journalist for the New York Chronicle. For an event like this, not only do I have a media pass, but I can also bring an 'assistant.'"
I looked at her, my heart filled with gratitude. "Brylee, I don't know how to thank you."
"When we've ground those scumbags into the dust, you can buy me champagne for a month," she said with a playful wink.
That afternoon, Brylee and I met her lighting guy, Mike Jones, at a discreet coffee shop.
He was a wiry young man with sharp, intelligent eyes that lingered on Brylee a little too long.
I didn't waste time. I slid an envelope across the table. It was thick with cash. Beside it, a USB drive.
"I need you to plug this into the main projection system at the gala tomorrow night," I said, my voice even. "At a specific moment."
Mike weighed the envelope in his hand, his eyes widening. Still, he hesitated. "This... I could lose my job if I get caught."
I met his gaze directly. "You won't get caught. The program is designed to trigger once and then erase all traces of itself. Besides," I added, my voice dropping slightly, "this is about a girl who's being screwed over by a powerful, asshole athlete."
Brylee chimed in. "Mike, do it as a favor to me. You know Brylee Serrano always pays her debts."
He finally nodded. "Alright. For Brylee. When's the trigger?"
"I'll text you from a burner number," I told him. "The signal will be one word: Showtime."
