I checked the dates and times. They all coincided with times when I’d left my phone out of reach: in the shower, in meetings, asleep. Then I remembered something insignificant, something that at another time I would have dismissed as innocent: my mother had asked me several times for the password “to see pictures of the boy.”
I took an old phone out of the drawer, where some emails were still syncing. There were the confirmation codes for the transfers, deleted from my current phone but saved in the cloud. There was no doubt anymore: someone had used my phone to steal money from me.
