The Gold Club: A White Collar Crime Thriller

by David Haskell

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much, they’ll be so pleased.”

  Too Much.

  “Now Marge,” he said, a hint of a warning tone in his delivery, “we’re not to discuss details with anyone outside our little circle, remember? That includes the girls, you know.”

  She blushed. “Yes, of course. Sorry. It’s just, well...”

  “I understand,” He tried some dismissive body language, arms crossed and eyes averted. “Just be careful, okay?”

  “Okay Ted.” She backed away, finally starting to get the hint. “I will.”

  He watched her go with a feeling of relief, but along with that a nagging curiosity. She was just so...different. But maybe that was exactly what they needed. Someone congenial and unabrasive, not so bogged down with the technical like he and Phil were. The more he thought about it, the more logical it seemed to bring her in, despite his personal reservations about her over-the-top personality.

  * * *

  The letter was a boilerplate bitch-fest, nothing a thousand vartists hadn’t dashed off before. The problem was she had lots of contacts within the company, and she copied all of them—aside from several accounts linking back to the club, she also had access to customer and client relations, not to mention several executives including Hamm himself. Fortunately for Ted and Phil, she avoided any direct implication of the club or its creators, but at the same time they had no business being copied in on any of it. It didn’t take long for people to notice.

  The replies that filtered back down were rife with comments like: What remedies are we looking at here?; Can we get feedback from the people who’ve dealt with this already?; and even worse, Who’s Ted?

  “What do we do about this?” Ted demanded, holding a copy of one of the memos out for his partner to see.

  Phil, unconcerned with the paperwork, pushed Ted’s hand away. He’d already seen it anyway. As usual when it came to electronic information, he was ahead of the curve. “What’d you have in mind, Ted?”

  Ted thought about it. He’d hoped that Phil might come up with some easy answer. They both knew what a solution would require, though, and the only real question was whether they had the guts to go there.

  Phil read Ted’s expression, and realized they were both thinking the same thing. “You really want me to start intercepting messages meant for other people?”

  “Yes, dammit!”—Ted thumped on the desk—“That’s exactly what we need to do.”

  “Okay, then I’ll—”

  “Wait! I don’t know...should we?”

  There was silence for a minute. Both of them churned the implications over in their heads. If they started messing around with company mail, they’d be elevating their already risky endeavor to a whole new level.

  * * *

  In the end, one of their clients got Phil on the line, which opened the floodgates and forced them to make major changes. The client must have asked for Gold Club tech support or something like that, and it must have gone through one of their compatriots somewhere down the line, who must have sent it over to Phil by mistake. They tried later to get to the bottom of it, but couldn’t establish a chain of custody for the phone call. It didn’t matter anyway, since the damage was done.

  The guy was ranting, raving, and incapable of listening to reason. Then Phil, in rare form, got pissed off about the whole situation and started to tell the guy off. This was why Ted always handled the calls. Phil didn’t place calls, he didn’t take calls, and he was not supposed to be interacting with the clients at all as per their unwritten agreement. Ted, shocked, shook his head violently and grabbed for the cellphone.

  “Phil!” he hissed, “He’s a goddamned client. You can’t do that!”

  But the damage was done. Following Phil’s outburst, calls and messages started coming in with alarming regularity. Their people in the call center were swamped, trying to intercept each one and keep Phil out of it. All the callers had Phil’s name and number—the one Phil tangled with must have posted it on the internet. The fact that they were being hounded by the very people they’d given a leg-up to was unnerving, but there was something even more worrisome. On their way to the bottom of the pyramid, these people had actually figured out what was happening to them. They knew something fishy was going on. Either they figured out they’d been had on their own, or else the original faultfinder had figured it all out and posted about it online, which seemed more likely. They even tried to find his comments themselves, try and take them down if they could, but he was one step ahead of them. He must have used a private forum to spread the word, or some other method that was difficult to root out for the uninitiated.

  Phil attempted to get on top of that, implementing an elaborate scheme to intercept all incoming communications. Everything they couldn’t handle directly would be routed away from their department and, more importantly, away from Phil. In far flung locations, information desks began receiving handfuls of new complaints which simply filtered into the noise they already handled. With no way of identifying the program at issue, nor the employees in charge of it, they were fed a boilerplate line of corporatespeak which translated to ‘sorry for the trouble, now go away’. It was perfect.

  Having taken care of the current spate of complainers, it was Marge who proposed a more permanent solution, one that would allow their enterprise to survive and expand. “Why don’t we just make more lists?” she suggested. It was such an offhand remark, she hardly expected it to catch on. She was really just thinking out loud.

  But Ted repeated it, focusing on the plural term lists. Phil looked up and said the same thing, repeating it several times, and with a smile Marge started repeating it as well. As it sank in, the audaciously perfect idea began taking on a life of its own. They would simply expand the program itself, opening up enough space to contain all previous members and any number of future clients as well. Phil practically skipped over to the mail terminal to see about the coding issues, while Ted started a new flowchart on his sketchpad, then another, followed by a third before he was satisfied with his work. He shredded the first two and held out the third, grinning from ear to ear.

  ~ 12 ~

  Initiations

  It was Phil, despite his distain for interpersonal activities, who wanted to bring in new people to help run the operation. Ted rejected the notion outright at first, considering it too risky. But Phil persisted, outlining the pros and cons carefully and crafting a damned fine argument. Ted had to admit it made sense, once he was able to cast off his initial apprehension.

  “What responsibilities do we need covered?” Phil asked. “That may be a good place to start thinking numbers.”

  “Good point,” Ted said, “and we can cross-check that with the database of job descriptions, figure out which jobs cover the skills we’ll need.”

  Phil nodded enthusiastically. They were working well together, particularly when it came to brainstorming. They were beginning to enjoy an easy camaraderie, too, as if they’d really begun a start-up of their own. That happened to be an old dream of Ted’s, though he’d never really discussed it with anyone. This was as close as he’d ever gotten to such an achievement, and even on false terms it felt pretty good.

  “After we find the people who could potentially do the work, we need a way to narrow it down,” Ted said, thinking aloud.

  Phil pursed his lips, then snapped his fingers together. “Attitude!”

  “What, you mean like positive energy or something?”

  “No, the opposite. What we need are people who’re disgruntled and competent at the same time.”

  Ted almost burst out laughing, such absurd criteria at least sounded like a joke after all, but it actually made a lot of sense. Their staffers had to be cynical enough to to work against the interests of their employer, but not so lackadaisical that they’d fail the club.

  Hamm’s database included comprehensive employee evaluations. The combination they sought was so prevalent, more than either of them had expected, that
they would have to find another way of narrowing it down.

  Sahara was one of the most popular employers in the nation, famous for its laid back attitude and “employees first” motto. This false propaganda allowed for a competent workforce to be installed in the first place, but didn’t stop most of them from hating the fact that they’d been duped. There turned out to be no shortage of people willing to work against the best interests of their employer, just the sort of malcontents Ted and Phil were looking for.

  “What do we do about structuring the thing?” Phil wanted to know. He was looking increasingly puzzled as subjects outside his realm of expertise came up.

  “Set it up as a dummy department, I guess,” Ted said, unsure even of how such a thing might be accomplished.

  “You mean like a proprietary division or something?”

  Now it was Ted’s turn to be confused. He must have looked just so, because Phil continued explaining. “In some of the start-ups, they set up divisions that are sort of secretive. Mostly R&D stuff, you know. Angles they don’t want their competitors to know about?”

  “So you’re thinking we actually create a division like that, and attribute it to Hamm?”

  Phil nodded. “Something like that. You think it’ll work?”

  “Might...”

  In fact, Ted had no idea if it would work. But they were sailing in uncharted waters here. A little improvisation might be exactly what they needed.

  “Okay,” Ted said, “so once we do that, we still need to figure out the minimum number we need to bring in.” He was back on the topic of staffing, still a sore spot they hated having to deal with. “At the same time we have to keep the number of people in-the-know as low as possible. A need-to-know system, so everybody has what they need, without any one person knowing too much.”

  Again Phil looked confused, but he nodded along and didn’t ask too many difficult questions. They were able to map out the structure of their dummy department, which was more like a company at this stage, and they set it up into several mini-divisions.

  Elements of the Club

  Normal Divisions

  1) Vartist Correspondence (Ted)

  2) Infotech Support (Phil)

  3) Finance

  4) Human Resources

  5) Algorithm Design

  6) Dispute Resolution

  7) Legal Services

  8) Marketing

  9) Operations

  10) Expansion

  11) Development

  12) Editorial

  Shadow Services

  (to be handled only by T or P)

  13) Running Interference

  14) False Identities

  ‘Shadow Services’ was the biggest point of contention. Ted insisted they were necessary, but Phil wanted nothing to do with subterfuge.

  “How do we run interference, anyway?”

  “You know,” Ted said, “intercept incoming messages, make sure stuff addressed to the club doesn’t get into the wrong hands.”

  “That sounds illegal,” Phil said plainly.

  “It’s not,” Ted lied, “so don’t worry about it. Let me worry.”

  “If you say so.” Phil didn’t sound convinced at all. “And you’ll worry about the false identities, too?”

  Ted understood the concerns. But he also knew they needed to consider how to set things up in case anyone came sniffing around, and that meant executives had to be named in the paperwork. But it had to be done exceedingly carefully so that none of the bigwigs they named ever heard about the club. That’s where the idea came from to make up some fictional executives, rather than selecting from the pool of real ones.

  “I’ll worry about that, too,” Ted said, “you just focus on the technology. I’ll handle the rest.” That turned out to be the biggest lie of all, though Ted didn’t know it when he said it. He honestly believed most of what he was telling his friend.

  They examined the human resources lists with a fine-toothed comb, cross-checking against performance review records and assorted infractions. Trustworthiness was important, but had to be weighed against the willingness to bend the rules when it suited them, or more importantly when it was required by the parameters of the task.

  They compiled all the candidates that fit, divided the list in two, then each of them ticked off pros and cons. Then they switched places, double checking for good candidates who might have been missed. In the end, they sorted them back together and produced a shortlist.

  ~ 13 ~

  Interviews

  Under the guise of informational ‘seminars’, Ted and Phil met with large groups of support staffers. Using these to identify potential candidates, Ted would then arrange for a closer inspection, inviting them to cross-train in his department or something plausible like that. He would weed out the ones who were overly allegiant or incompetent, or both, and the remaining disillusioned, underachieving gems could be brought into the fold.

  Phil had no choice but to host the mock-meetings, given that they were ostensibly offered through his department. He concealed his true agenda by enlisting Infotech patsies to do most of the work, explaining these non-existent programs to prospective staffers. Phil would stand in the back, examining the prospects; he took note of which ones looked bored, asked questions, wrote things down, and so on. He did have to speak up at some point, if only to justify his presence, so he handled the wrap-up question sessions. This was one of those days where nobody had anything intelligent to ask, forcing Phil to answer idiotic queries instead. He was so put-off by having to dumb himself down that he was about to dismiss the group early when one of the potentials he’d been looking for, Judy—somethingorother, walked in with a business-sexy strut that turned his head. He tore his eyes from her figure and looked back at his notes, but had already lost his place.

  Smith? Judy Smith? He strained to remember if anyone had actually told him, and if so which voice it was that had spoken her name so he could try and recall it, but gave up as whateverhernamewas took a seat in the back and busied herself with a text. Moving on, he tried to recall the dumb question he’d been answering, but was suddenly drawing a blank on that, too. He debated the merits of starting the Q&A over, given the fact that this Judy person had missed everything, When she gave a little head-tilt in his direction and smiled, he decided to catch her up afterwards instead. With nothing else in mind to fill in the gap, he thanked them for coming and sat down. Too late, he remembered to ask Judy to stay behind, but she was already halfway out the door. His shoulders slumped. Thinking quickly, he tapped out an email, ordering several of today’s candidates to see Ted for further evaluation, Judy included. He was so distracted he couldn’t have explained his choices if anyone had asked, but he didn’t really care as long as that smiling woman was on the list.

  * * *

  “So, you’ve been in ops for just over five years?” Ted quizzed one of his candidates, entirely unbeknownst to her.

  “Unfortunately,” the woman replied. She had a dry dusty drawl. “It’s closer to five-and-a-half, now.”

  “Oh, is that so?” he replied. “Any thoughts on where you might be in the next five?”

  She scoffed, then laughed. “Can’t really say, except I’m sure I’ll still be stuck in this shithole doing it.”

  Ted laughed back. Glancing down at his pad, he made a notation of the fact that she might be a little too unenthusiastic. He was about to check her name off the list completely when she added, “I’ve got some side projects going on they could really use, if a one of them shits in management would ever give me the courtesy of a look at them.”

  A go-getter on management’s ignore list. Maybe this really was promising. He looked back up from his notepad and tossed the pen away, paying her more attention in doing so, “Please go on...”

  * * *

  The next one was attractive, leggy, and hiding her age with makeup. He wondered if they’d missed the boat on the loyalty issue here. She didn’t seem all that disgruntled, and it was difficult t
o picture her as anything but a model employee. Once she got into the interview, though, her angle became obvious.

  “Tell me more about what goes on in business development. I’ve always wondered how you guys get on down there.”

  She smiled, catching his eye, checking to see that he was fully focused on her. “Oh, we get along fine,” she purred, batting her slightly-too-long eyelashes at him. “Just fine.” She gave a sly wink, working the eye contact and watching for him to return the favor. He indulged her, somewhat involuntarily, enjoying the sex-driven tension.

  Slut material. He knew it when he saw it, though she wasn’t at all trying to hide it.

  May be workable, depending on how little they think of her. He made a mental note to check back with her immediate peers and supervisor, make sure she wasn’t taken seriously by any of them. She would be fiercely loyal to anybody who did, assuming nobody in her department had taken advantage of it. That could work in their favor when they reeled her in.

  * * *

  Lucinda was unhappy again. Overburdened, and underappreciated. Working too hard. Forced to make too many public appearances. The real problem was she’d grown accustomed to being fawned over everywhere she went, and the club was no longer paying her enough attention. She expected them to jump when she called, and she certainly didn’t expect to be blown off by the likes of Ted Ward. As far as she was concerned, he owed her big. So when she finally got him on the line, after several missed connections, she was ready to give him an earful.