📸 Photo

EXPOSURE

Orange County, her mind more often projecting into Ukraine and Russia, befriending organized cybercrime chieftains in her role as Iceman's emissary from the carding world of the West.

Iceman, she'd decided, was pretty cool. He was always respectful and friendly. When Chris and his partner got into one of their fights, each man would whine and gossip about the other to Tea over ICQ, like children. At one point, Iceman sent her a bunch of dumps and suggested she go into business for herself, a move that sent Chris into a petulant rage.

As Chris and Tea chatted over Indian food, a tall man with a ponytail walked in from the street and headed for the cash register in back, his eyes flickering over them, just for a moment, before he picked up a bag of takeout and left.

Chris smiled. "That was Sam."

Back in Orange County, Chris's counterfeiting operation was earning enough for him to send his kids to private schools, cover Tea's apartment, and, in July, start searching for a bigger and better home for himself and his family. He went house-hunting with Giannone and found a spacious rental—a two-story house in the coastal town of Capistrano Beach at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac on a bluff rising above the sandy beach. It was a family-friendly neighborhood, basketball hoops hanging above garages and a boat parked in a neighbor's driveway. His move-in date was July 15.

Giannone flew back out for the July 4 weekend—Chris's last holiday at his old condo—but wound up back at the Tea House while Chris spent time with his family. It happened all the time; Giannone would fly into John Wayne Airport, expecting a weekend of clubbing with Chris, and instead would end up holed up with one of the crew or be tasked with babysitting Chris's boys at his house. Tea was tolerable, different from the cheap party girls cashing out Chris's cards, but time at the Dana Point apartment dragged.