"Then how did this get . . . ?” She just sat staring. "I didn't open this file. Does this thing have a mind of its own?"
About eight years ago, Kate Gillis at Manhattan Properties—with whom Ally had an occasional after‑work drink— told her she'd scanned all her vital personal documents into her computer at home. She'd said it was an easy way to make a safety backup.
Seemed like a good idea, so Ally had stored a copy of her birth certificate, her driver's license, all her credit cards, her passport, a set of medical records, even the mortgage on her apartment. She'd even scanned in an ID photo, just for the heck of it. She also suggested to Grant that he do the same.
Brilliant right? Well, maybe not.
The reason was, she'd routinely made an updated copy on a ZIP disk and then copied it onto this computer here in the office. Like a second backup.
"I had everything ready for you for your meeting with Bartlett, so nobody here has touched your computer this morning." Jennifer furrowed her brow. "Could somebody have picked the locks and come in last night and done this, like a prank or something?"
"Come on. That's totally far‑fetched." She was trying to imagine how somebody could have gotten in and out and left no trace. Impossible. "This must just be something stupid I did when I came down yesterday after seeing Mom. I don't remember it, but I guess I was pretty tired."
"I've never seen you that tired."
Jen's right, she thought. I was on the city's Web site checking the Department of Buildings' Housing Code, but I certainly didn't pull up my personal data. Computers do strange things, but to open a data file for no reason? That would require a higher intelligence.
Right?