For the next few days, Kofi's father was a man possessed. He would spend hours locked in the guest room, the quiet, rapid-fire clicking of his keyboard the only sign of the complex, invisible war he was waging. He was no longer just a visiting parent; he was a silent, digital ghost, moving through the hidden, electronic corridors of Silas's carefully constructed criminal enterprise.
Kofi would bring him coffee, and he would see the screen of his father's laptop, a chaotic, incomprehensible cascade of code, of financial statements, of encrypted data streams.
"What are you… doing?" Kofi asked one evening, mesmerized by the sheer, overwhelming amount of information on the screen.
