Grace Rogers stubbed her cigarette in the sink, and ran water over the crushed Newport before grinding the butt in the garbage disposal. She shined a Maglite into the disposal to make sure the damn thing was gone, then lit a fresh Newport and retreated to her computer. Obsessive—sure. Compulsive—you bet.
A few mouse clicks later, and Grace was studying website source codes for the eateries near her office. Three Rivers Deli was the closest—but their corned beef was lousy, and the company used excellent encryption on their host server. Gyro Circus seemed an easy target; however, few people from her office ate there. The plan required a large audience.
Grace took a long drag of the Newport, and scanned the coding for the Daniel Island Café. “Gotcha,” she said. “You guys should put as much time into your firewalls as you do your crepe-of-the-day.”