RETURN || SCOTT MCCALL [1]

>>SEVEN <<

CHAPTER SEVEN || UNSPOKEN

______                                              

"After entering the IP address, you will be connected through a Darknet portal to an untraceable bank. Once logged in, enter your account number to receive wire transfers.

The IP address will deactivate with each transfer.

You will be assigned a new IP address if you choose to continue down the list. Remember, visual confirmation is always required for payment."

Silence ensued then after, the three of us simply staring at the player and tape as if waiting for more instructions, or hints, or anything at all. When none were forthcoming, Stiles leaned forward, popping the tape out of the dusty player before glancing between Scott and I.

"So." the human began. "Either of you ever made a wire transfer?"

Scott shook his head solemnly replying, "Never had enough money."

Two sets of eyes fell on me.

I snorted. "My parents have a lot of money. I don't."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Says every rich kid ever."

I slapped his arm, a smile fighting for a place on my face. "Shut up. My point is, no, I haven't."

"So you didn't understand a word of that either?" Stiles assumes, to which Scott merely shakes his head.

"The only two things I got out of that were 'wire transfer' and 'visual confirmation.'" I respond despondently, reclining so my head fell on Scott's thigh, and feet on Stiles's lap. The human scowled with a pointed look at my feet which I waved in his face as he attempted to push them off.

"I don't understand any of this." Scott begins. "Why would someone use all this money just to kill us?"

Stiles and I immediately stop our antics and consider the alpha's question.

"You have a point- I mean, why go through all of the trouble, anyhow?" I ponder allowed, tilting my head in thought. "To first steal the money, then make a list, then set prices, Scott's being the highest so clearly it could be considered personal, and now wire transfers and portal banks? Seems like a lot of work."

Stiles frowns, troubled, before speaking softly. "Someone wants you guys dead. Badly."

His words hang there, haunting, until Scott begins piling the counted stacks of money back into the bag, eyebrows set in worry.

Stiles sits up immediately, knocking my feet to the ground. "Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?"

Scott stares incredulously at his friend, then at the clock, then back to his friend. "It's late. We've got the PSATs in the morning."