Three months into freelancing, surviving on day-old museum croissants, she found HorlogeGenève. Their website was a showcase of vintage Rolexes, each listing a lie—"Certified Authentic" meant nothing when bots bought them in bulk. CEO Colette Moreau's Zoom background was a wall of luxury watches, her platinum chronograph catching the Geneva sun.
"You have no clients, Mademoiselle Voss. Why should I take a risk?"
Mara tilted the camera to her "office"—a folding table wedged between her futon and a stack of Dad's old work shirts. "Synergy Consultants will send you a 200-page report and a $50k invoice. I'll build a system that spots bots by the way they type 'Swiss Made'—no human hits 's' and 'w' in 0.1 seconds flat. And if I fail, I'll clean your Geneva office in person."
She forced a grin, but inside, her stomach churned with doubt. Please let this work, she prayed silently, her thumb rubbing the edge of Dad's timecard—her lucky charm, her last hope.
Mara camped in a 24-hour laundromat, Excel dozing on a damp towel embroidered with Dad's name—Frank Voss, Local 345 Dockworkers. For 18 days, she coded with one hand, feeding Excel tuna with the other, her laptop fan screaming like a dying bird. Istanbul transactions revealed the pattern: perfect grammar, no backspaces, "Swiss Made" typed in exactly 1.2 seconds. The prototype flagged a 3:07 a.m. Patek Philippe purchase, the keystrokes as mechanical as Dad's timecard punches.
HorlogeGenève's fraud rate plummeted to 1.2%, but Colette's call at 2 a.m. was all business: "Your code reads like my ex-husband's poetry—chaotic, but effective. Clean it up before my CFO has a heart attack."