Kaur: Never. He discussed nothing in his life before he came to WVU. Very much a tabula rasa.
Price: What Vikki said. We were all in Discrete Math together. Me, that wasn't my strongest point, but Vikki's a whiz at that shit, and we hung out, and Isaac was a lost puppy almost, and we dragged him in, and we all got along.
Me: How did Cashbyte start?
Price: Senior project. About the time the Bitcoin started, and everyone was losing their shit, going on and on about how it would change the world. We wouldn't need banks anymore, and it would democratize finance. Which is bullshit because money is money is motherfucking money, and you can't democratize that base of human need, I don't care what you call it. There's always gonna be someone who's got a lot, and there's gotta be a lot who have nothing.
Kaur: Cashbyte started out as somewhat my idea—
Price: If you say so, sure.
Kaur: What's that mean?
Price: It means, sure, if that's how you want to roll with this, go ahead.
Kaur: I don't understand what you're inferring, Patrick.
Price: I'm not inferring shit, Vik. I'm saying flat out Cashbyte wasn't your idea.
Kaur: Then whose was it? Are you going to say it was yours?
Price: Do you not remember us sitting around that night, talking, we got stoned, and I said, "Guys, we need to come up with our own Bitcoin"?
Kaur: That's as if a man who stared up at the sky and thought, "Someday, it would cool to go to the moon," he should get credit for NASA. I wrote the first code for Cashbyte.
Price: You overwrote the first code for Cashbyte, is what you mean to say.
Kaur: Fuck you, Patrick. I didn't see you adding anything of substance to the process—
Me: Ladies, chill the fuck out and figure out who's got the biggest computer dick later. I need you to focus important shit. Tell me about Cashbyte.
Kaur: Anyway, yes, we were like many people, trying to figure out how to capitalize on the desire for the next electronic currency. Are you familiar with how Bitcoin or Cashbyte works?
Me: In the vaguest way possible.
Price: Okay, this is the "big picture" way of looking at it. Bitcoin, Cashbyte, cryptocurrency as a whole, all operate differently from the way money's operated in the past. Cryptocurrency eliminates the need for banks. With almost any form of payment these days—outside of cash—there's a trail that goes back to banks. Bitcoin uses shared public ledgers called block chains, and that's how the transactions are recorded. Those public ledgers are on the computer systems of people who want to get involved in Bitcoin.
Me: Why would someone want to get involved? Just out of the goodness of their hearts?
Price: You ever known anyone to do anything out of the goodness of their hearts if they could get paid for it?
Kaur: The way Bitcoin works, and Cashbyte operates this same way, is the various computer systems process the transactions, their reward is they receive Cashbyte currency. Bitcoin releases new Bitcoins every 10 minutes, and it's distributed to the users based on the amount of work done by the systems through a process called "mining." Makes it sound like something's really happening, like you're an old-time prospector. Cashbyte releases every fifteen minutes.
Price: That was my idea.
Kaur: (eye roll)
Me: But there's no actual cash, coinage, anything like that, for any of these.
Kaur: There are physical representation of Bitcoin because people are old-fashioned, and we like something weighing down our pockets, but those tend to most be use for memorabilia's sake. In its purest form, digital currency should be nothing more than ones and zeroes.
Me: Then what's to keep someone from writing ones and zeroes and creating their own counterfeit currency?
Kaur: That is the beauty of the code, and the shared nature of cryptocurrency. Picture thousands of computers all operating the required software, and they must all share consensus on transactions. Any transaction that tries to break the rules and doesn't meet the needs for the entire system is rejected.
Price: And there's a finite amount of the currency, released over a finite period. When the endpoint for release comes, end of fucking story, there is no more. You can't print new, so it’s not affected by inflation in that way.
Me: Then what makes Cashbyte so special that people want involved?
Price: Secrecy, brother. See, everyone likes to talk about Bitcoin like you can do whatever with it, that it's all anonymous, but that's bullshit. There're bits of information attached to every Bitcoin. Maybe not bank information or Social Security numbers, but there's always something, because this is the twenty-first century, and nothing's private anymore. The Feds can subpoena records and, if they want to work hard enough, they can trace back Bitcoin to users.
Kaur: People were using Bitcoin for things like buying drugs or weapons online, through what they call "dark webs." People counted on Bitcoin being anonymous, and they found it wasn't when the police showed up at their door.
Price: What we wanted was to make a cryptocurrency that was truly anonymous. That you could spend with total impunity and never let it trace back to you.
Me: Which makes it sound like you're fine with your financial Frankenstein being used in illegal activity.
Price: Liberty is neither easy nor cheap, man. Cash spends whether you're dropping it down a G-string on Saturday night or in the collection plate on Sunday morning.
Kaur: Our idea was never to spur the currency's use in criminal activity; when we began, it was an interesting project. As I said, I wrote the initial code for Cashbyte—
Price: After I came up with the idea.
Kaur: (sighs) And then Isaac, he came along and ... I can't even tell you what he did to it, because he took that groundwork and made the whole project into something beautiful.
Price: Isaac rewrote Cashbyte to be 100 percent anonymous. He created code so transactions were encrypted and then mixed into other users' payments, so it is impossible to follow who made what payment. The system acknowledges payment was made. No electronic trail left behind. End of fucking story. It's better than cash, man. It was code that would almost bring tears to your eyes, it was that hot. Any hotter, I'd have fucked it and given it my real number to call me the next day.
Kaur: Jesus, Pat.
Price: Just saying.
"Aside from its fuckibility, what made this code so special?" I said.
"That was it," Price said. He was on his third cup of coffee, sitting on the edge of his chair, eyes big and his body alive with caffeine, nervous energy, and other things I didn't want to think about. "This is totally anonymous spending, plus it's more stable than Bitcoin."
"Bitcoin value fluctuates wildly," Kaur said. "Cashbyte mirrors sensible economic patterns and to not rise and fall with the tides."
"Is that why investors want in on it?" I said.
"Yes. Cryptocurrency mining requires a lot of computer processing power, but Cashbyte less so, which means if you get a greater return on investment setting up more powerful servers. This is why Japanese investors want to set up the first round of processors, to be on the Cashbyte ground floor."
"But they won't do it without all three of us, and Isaac, well, fuck, he's the brains here," Patrick said.
Kaur cast a sideways glance at him. Patrick was too jacked up to notice.
"What's happening with the Japanese investors?" I said.
Kaur said, "They are getting antsy. We've been getting phone calls."
"Anything suspicious?"
Price and Kaur traded off looks that screamed "Suspicious? What do you mean by 'suspicious'?"
"I guess they have been getting anxious," Price said.
"They tried to kill Pat," Kaur said.
Price smacked Kaur upside the head. Kaur drew back a fist like he would take a swing.
"The fuck, dude," Kaur said.
Price snarled and started out of his chair. "We agreed to shut up about that."
I snapped my fingers. T
hey froze and looked at me.
"You girls can battle it out later," I said. "Tell me what happened."
Kaur dropped the fist and said, "It was when Isaac didn't show up for the meeting, and we were freaking the fuck out, I won't lie, because these guys --"
"The Japanese," I said.
"Yeah. We'd talked the day before, and he knew we were scheduled to meet with Wakahisa."
"Bailing out on a commitment, Isaac wouldn't just do," Price said. "He's hardcore about meeting deadlines, meeting commitments. Plus, he’s got that vibe with the Japanese way more than Vikki or I got. Things got to be a particular way with them. Everything's about respect with them."
"When did the Japanese investors show up bearing cash?" I said.
"February," Price said. "We were looking for venture capital to get the whole thing going, and Cashbyte was getting attention, but no one was willing yet to throw us a few million dollars to get started."
Kaur said, "We were still coding out of my apartment when there's a knock on my door, and standing there is this Japanese guy, and he's got bodyguards, and he says he's looking for the people who make Cashbyte. He's dressed to the nines, and he carries himself like he's someone with power. He said his name was Wakahisa, and he fronted for a business interest that wanted to pump money into Cashbyte."
"Which you accepted without question."
"Fucking A, we accepted it," Price said. "Dude wrote us a check that day. Got us this office space and the Keurig and everything."
"Money well spent, clearly. This 'business interest,' did you ask about it?"
"Their fucking check cleared; that answered any questions we had," Price said. "Things have been going well since, while we've been working all the bugs out of Cashbyte, but then they pushed for a go date. We told them there were delays."
"Caused by?"
"Glitches we've been trying to solve," Kaur said. "Like with the wallet."
"I thought it was all electronic," I said. "What do you need a wallet for?"
Price said, "A wallet for cryptocurrency stores the information needed for transactions with that currency. It can be software on your computer, an app on your smartphone, or even a key fob. We were having issues with security standards, and Isaac, his head wasn't in the game, you could tell. Wakahisa demanded a meeting, and Isaac was a no-show."
"How'd they respond when Isaac wasn't there?"
"Poorly," Kaur said.
"How poorly?"
"They tried to kill Patrick."
Price hit Kaur again on the head. Kaur punched Price in the arm. It was like a mosquito body-slamming an elephant.
Price tried to smile away some embarrassment. "We had a misunderstanding, nothing more—"
"They tried to push him out a window," Kaur said.
"Goddammit, Vikki—"
"Wakahisa always has these big guys with him. They look like thugs, and we thought it was because he's rich, they're bodyguards. But when Isaac didn't show, Wakahisa's men got very upset. Wakahisa said Isaac was vital to the project, demanded we tell them where Isaac was."
"I tried stalling them, putting everything off," Price said, "but it was too late in the day, and cancelling, they would see as a show of disrespect. We told them Cashbyte was far enough, we could focus on things without Isaac. They didn't agree."
Kaur said, "Out of nowhere, one of the goons grabs Patrick by the neck and pushes him out the window."
"It's a cultural difference, that's all," Price said. "Business rolls different in different places."
Kaur stared at Price. "Dude, do you see the color of my skin? Do you think I'm unaware of 'cultural differences'? My whole life is 'cultural differences,' and there's no culture where you try to shove someone through a window because you don't like how a business deal is going."
"Did you go to the police?" I said.
"And tell them what?" Price said. "That we're getting threatened by shifty Japanese businessmen over digital currency? You think the rednecks around here give two fucks about that shit, or even understand what we're talking about?"
"When did you talk to Wakahisa last?"
"Two days ago," Kaur said. "He told us we had three days to find Isaac or he'd take Cashbyte from us."
"It's not his to take," I said. "How can he do that?"
"His tone was that we didn't have a choice," Kaur said.
28
The FBI's CJIS center in Clarksburg sits on about 1,000 acres of land the government bought in the 1990s after Robert C. Byrd, West Virginia's favorite political son and the then-chair of the Senate Appropriations Committee, negotiated a multi-million dollar federal facility hundreds of miles away from Washington. It was a sly move on the old goat's part, and the joke for years was he settled for this when he couldn't get a submarine base.
You pass Clarksburg on the interstate coming down from Morgantown. There was a 7 p.m. AA meeting at an Episcopal church there in town. I'd hit it a few times in the past when I'd been in the area. I took the exit and decided on a whim to go. Sometimes hearing the woes of a different group of drunks is a good thing.
The group met in the church library, a nice change-up from basements and Sunday school rooms. It was an oak-paneled room, the lighting a little softer, the shelves lined with books that asked why God let bad things happen, about how awesome He was, and the need for a kingdom in the Middle East.
Folks were friendly, and a few people remembered me, or they were at least nice enough to fake it and ask me how I was doing. They saw the bruises and the bandages and asked me if I was okay. I lied and told them I was doing aces and poured myself a cup of coffee.
The library door opened as the meeting started. Agent Davies, dressed in blue jeans and a V-neck T-shirt, headed straight to the coffee, made herself a cup, and sat down. She sipped her coffee and saw me sitting across from her. I threw a nod in her direction. She turned and talked to the woman sitting next to her.
A guy in a gray suit and an expensive haircut led the meeting. His name was Alan, and he had six years of sobriety, and it looked to agree with him.
We went around the circle and talked. I passed on my turn. When it came around to Davies, she rested her forearms on the table and said, "Hi, my name's Taylor, and I'm an alcoholic. I'm glad to be here, because who knows where I'd be if I wasn't here. Steve Martin's got the line in a movie where he says, 'I'd rather be here with you than with the best people on Earth.'" The joke drew laughter from the group. Her face softened as she told it, and she passed on to the next drunk.
They sent the basket around and we all threw in our dollars and rose and joined hands to say the Lord's Prayer. The meeting broke up and everyone headed outside to pollute their lungs. I bummed a cigarette and was taking in the chemicals as Davies came outside. She talked to another woman and walked by me without a second glance. She took long, intent strides toward a Toyota Camry. I pulled a last drag off my cigarette and smashed it underneath my foot and followed her.
"Taylor!" I said. "Taylor!" She didn't slow down, and she didn't turn back. She brought out car keys from her jeans pockets and hit the button on the fob to unlock the doors.
"Agent Davies!"
She froze and turned and faced me with fierce, narrow eyes.
"Mr. Malone," she said.
"It wasn't Steve Martin," I said.
"Excuse me?"
"The joke you told in your share, it wasn't Steve Martin who said it. It was Fred Willard, in the movie."
A faint smile crept out from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes widened. They were hazel-colored, softer than expected. She didn't wear much makeup. She couldn't have been more than 30, tops.
"Yes, it is," she said. "Tell me this is an incredible coincidence, Mr. Malone."
"A hell of a one."
"You look horrible."
"Thanks. Literally everyone I've talked to for days has been kind enough to tell me I could frighten small children. I'm glad you're as charming in your off-hours as you are on the clock. How long you have in
the program?"
"Thirteen months. I'd had three years before, but shit happens, you know."
"I know all about the happening of shit. So, Agent Davies—"
"It's Taylor. I don't bring up work at meetings. A history of drinking problem clashes with government security clearance."
"I imagine it might."
"I hope you won the fight."
I smiled, and the effort hurt. "You should see the other guy."
"Does he look worse than you?"
"No, actually. In fact, he and his friends got clean away, but they almost managed to kill me and my friend."
A flash of something passed over Davies' face, betraying a feeling she had stepped into something.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I should go—"
"Before you leave, Taylor, is there any chance of you telling me what the hell is going on with Tennis McCoy."
The moment of regret vanished, and she snapped back into business mode. "This is an ongoing investigation, Mr. Malone. I can't discuss it."
"I can appreciate that, except I have one friend who was murdered, another who's in the hospital, I'm walking around like the Elephant Man, and there're questions I can't help but feel you might have answers for. Also, if it's all the same to you, everyone calls me Henry."
She shook her head. "I appreciate your circumstances, Henry, but there's nothing I can tell you."
I leaned in toward her. She pivoted her body away from me.
"Then tell me why you had Isaac McCoy in a motel room in Parker County," I said, "and you and Burwell drove Tennis McCoy around like Miss Daisy headed to the store."
She pulled away so fast, you would have thought I'd tried to lick her ear. Her expression bunched everything together until you couldn't quite make her features out, but it didn't mask that she was pissed.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Malone," she said.
I put on my sweetest smile. "It's Henry, remember. We're friends now."
"I've got to go, Henry."
"I'm sure you do." I watched as she got into the car. The engine came to life and the motor on the power windows whined as the driver's side glass slid down. She had her sunglasses back on, even though most of the sun was already behind the mountains. This was the Agent Davies I had met at my trailer: aloof, unreadable, unknowable. She looked in my direction for a moment, then pulled out of the parking lot and drove away.
Complicated Shadows Page 12