“What’s the matter?” he called after her, halfway standing in his confusion, wondering if he should go after her. When she didn’t reply, he sat back down and said meekly, “I say something wrong?” He hadn’t expected any sort of negative reaction from his offer.
A few seconds passed. “No, you didn’t,” she finally called back, a little too casually, but he heard the chunking sounds of ice trays being emptied and realized she was fixing herself a drink. She returned a minute later, shaking a couple of half-filled tumblers of straight Southern Comfort, and handed one to him. It was already cold, and he took a sip as she sat back down.
“So, you were saying?” She sipped her drink, winced, then snuggled back in.
“Right...” He paused, giving himself time to organize his thoughts. “Well, the thing is, I’ve got this thing going on at work. Something you might want to get in on.”
“Oh?”
“Uh huh, and it’s right up your alley. Promotions-wise, I mean.” He wondered inwardly why this conversation was making him so nervous. Maybe it was her reaction before she got the drinks that threw him off?
She looked up, curious but uncommitted.
He pushed on, “It’s a sort of a, well, a promotional club, if you will. And it just might be possible to get you into it. If you want.”
“Is this something I’ve seen before? I’m all over the Sahara promotions, but they never really amount to anything.”
“This one’s different,” he said quickly. “Believe me, it’ll be worth doing for you. Except...”
She allowed the pause to become uncomfortable before bailing him out. “Except for what?”
“Well, it’s a cost thing. But I was thinking I could—”
“No. No way. I’ll pay for myself. You know me.”
“Yeah. But...”
“But nothing. I’ll pay it.”
“You can’t.”
That made her sit up straighter. She looked over at the computer, and he read her mind.
“You can’t do it online. It’s...kind of invitation only.”
“Oh,” she deflated, “why didn’t you tell me. I wouldn’t have qualified anyways then.”
“Well, no. That’s not necessarily true. I could—”
“You could set me up. I know. And you know I’m doing this on my own.”
“I know that. You’ve told me and I understand. But this is a special case, it’s not something you can just get into on your own.”
“Then I can’t do it.”
“Look, if it’s about the money, there may be other ways. I’ve been thinking about,” he stopped short, catching himself a bit too late. “I mean they’ve been telling us about a profit-sharing thing. Percentages instead of upfront cash, some other possibilities that may be coming up.”
“Well, when that happens, I’ll jump in.”
“Like I said, it’s not something you can do by yourself.”
“Then I won’t do it.”
“Look—”
“No Ted. Drop it. I do it on my own, or not at all. I’m not going to have my boyfriend give me a leg up, not after all I’ve been through.”
She pulled back from his arms, stiff and agitated. He knew better than to pursue it anymore. She was more the ‘And that’s final!’ type, even as short a relationship as they’d had taught him that much for sure.
~ 17 ~
Decisions
“So, gentlemen,”—the CEO pushed up on his armrests and rose to his feet, prompting the others to do likewise—“unless there’s anything else?”
Muffled paper shuffling and briefcase snaps filled the room with a clicky, crinkly din. The executives made their way to the door, only to meet a logjam in the form of a camera crew laden with equipment. It took several minutes for the two groups to worm their way past each other, and the crew was inside and pointing their lenses at the mahogany desk.
The interview was scheduled for twenty minutes, but the reporter was a pro and it was done in half the time. She peppered him with the usual setup crap before diving into the juicy part, and he was more than happy to feed her soundbites that he knew she could use.
“How were you able to come up with such an innovative pilot program?”
“What sort of reaction has the company been receiving from shareholders?”
“Who were the technicians behind the brilliant computer programming that could discover hidden talent in such a short time?”
He fielded the questions deftly. Dealing with the media was a strong suit, one of the reasons he’d risen to the top despite his deficiencies. Having the board eating out of his palm wasn’t something he elected to brag about, even though secretly it was his favorite question of the day. Screw em, he thought with an inward grin. Outwardly he played the patient and thoughtful executive, a role he’d been born and bred for, but the formative years of ass kissing and backstabbing had left him with a cynical core he could never seem to shed.
Interview over, he shook hands with the crew and pushed them toward the door, while pulling the cute reporter back into the room for a final few minutes. She smiled politely and took his advances in stride, even taking the business card he proffered. RHP, my little lady. RHP. His favorite motto. He often muttered the acronym whenever he felt like he was getting away with something. ‘Rank Has Privileges’ was something his father, leering and chuckling as he taught Hamm Jr. How to play ‘harass the receptionist’, had impressed upon him at an early age. Of course, in this day and age he could scarcely get away with such things, even as president, but he still fancied himself a scoundrel like his old man. As for the newswoman, he doubted she’d call for anything other than professional wants, but he felt suave and manly just the same, if only for the fact that she had had to accept the card with a smile. His sour expression of gross pleasure in reply surely did nothing to ingratiate himself to her, but he didn’t care. They were both playing each other for their own purposes, and in truth would sooner step over the others’ dying form than bother with a helpful round of CPR.
After she cleared out, leaving behind the subtle scent of perfume, he was on the phone. “I don’t care how, just find them,” he barked. Well aware of how upsetting this was to his assistant, and how frequently it left her crying in the ladies room, he did it anyway. “And don’t you breathe a word. If I hear back from anyone about this, even a hint, it’ll be your ass. Got it? And for chrissakes hurry up!”
He hung up without waiting for a reply, though he detected a tiny quiver emit from the earpiece as he slammed it down. Looking around nervously, he made sure he was alone before pulling out his emergency bourbon with a sigh of relief. Eyes still darting about like a nervous child with a hand in the jar, he slammed one shot and then a second one. If he could find the ones who were behind this, and make sure they got onboard, maybe he could keep up this miracle act and finally get ahead for once. Maybe even make something of it that could bolster his status in the company, and with his peers on the outside as well. First things first—he needed to find out who was behind all this, and put the screws to them.
* * *
Judy reached for her cellphone and tapped out a note to herself, turning back to switch off the equipment and hit the lights. Just a few steps out of the office she was stopped short, a new hire tour was just rounding the corner. She had to fake a smile and act as though she belonged. The leader of the tour gave her a courtesy nod, then led her people past. Judy sucked in a breath—Fangue’s door was still ajar. Nothing I can do about it now. She ducked into the side corridor and waited for the group to pass.
“We’re not allowed in any of the inner offices,” the leader of the group called out, “but these computers and cameras are used for loss prevention...” Judy strained to hear what was going on, but all she could detect was the shuffling of a mass migration. They didn’t seem to be passing through quickly. Instead it sounded like the guide was explaining every detail of the control center.
“What’s over there? Oh, the office? Well,
we really shouldn’t. If you look quickly over into that room you can see that same glass window. Remember? The one we saw from down on the floor?” They’d discovered the opened door. If Hank comes back now... “Don’t go in, just have a quick look. Stay out here please.”
The sound of a different, muffled voice reached Judy’s ear, but she couldn’t make it out. Someone else from the tour, probably. The reply came across loud and clear, though; “I would imagine it’s so the security team can keep an eye on the goings-on,” the chipper guide explained. “Better safe than sorry, I always say! Anyone else?”
The orientation lingered in Control a while longer, the darkened atmosphere and intriguing banks of monitors apparently too compelling to leave behind. It seemed they'd left Hank’s office alone, a silver lining. But Judy still needed to get out there and close it off before anyone important noticed. She was just contemplating the wisdom of creating a distraction to get rid of them when they finally shuffled off. Peeking around the corner to watch the last of them go, she glided over to the door and pulled it shut. A sudden dizziness hit, she hadn’t taken a breath in nearly a minute. She exhaled and immediately gasped in more air, walking out of the department with an urgent stride.
* * *
Ted stared at his monitor. He slid the pointer over the list, back and forth, from eight up to one, then down again, to nine, and back up to one. He repeated this pattern, paralyzed by indecision. Where does she belong? Too close to the top was dangerous, he knew, but his gut was telling him to just put her in the winner’s circle already.
Commitment time. That was the real reason for hesitation, not the placement. Either give her a boost or respect her wishes, but if he was going to do it, he should do it right. He closed the pointer in on the number one spot once more, after a moment’s hesitation he clicked on it. The top seller dropped automatically, and all the rest cascaded down into their new spots behind Til Nune. Then, carefully entering her publisher code and single selection breadcrumb, he put her on top, then did the same for her album selection breadcrumb. It was done, she was the number one musical vartist on Sahara.
It wouldn’t appear suddenly, not to outsiders anyway. The algorithms were designed too perfectly for that, and Phil had gone to great lengths making sure there would never be any signs of manipulation. She would drift to the top naturally, no red flags, and the phantom sales figures would support her rise in case anyone on the inside cared to look into it. To any prying eyes, she would soon be the legitimate top seller, and her bank account would reflect that fact as well. Nothing short of a full blown audit would reveal anything untoward, and even that would require computer expertise on a level most oversight agencies didn’t possess.
Staring at his girlfriend’s name featured so prominently, he felt rather proud of himself. It would take a strong effort not to tell her what he’d done. Once she got used to it, when success was more familiar, maybe then he could show his hand. But if she found out too soon it would be a disaster. He felt a chill go up his spine, a physical reminder that he was risking a lot on something so capricious.
He busied himself with cleanup tasks, not really wanting to leave his great achievement behind just yet. He could only stare at it so long. Once Til came around, or anyone else for that matter, he’d have to hide his handiwork. When she discovered it for herself, on her own page of the website that she tracked religiously, then he’d hear plenty about it. He was looking forward to that, too. But this right in front of him, this was his signature, this raw code that he could manipulate like some digital god. The power was intoxicating.
~ 18 ~
Reactions
“You’ve got to be crazy! You’re going to throw it all away...over a girl?”
“Throw what away?” Ted shot back, trying to turn the tables. “What are we throwing away, Phil? What’s so damned important? This fraud?”
“Our work, Ted,” he replied, sounding exasperated, “we’re throwing away our work. You think she’s worth—”
“Hell yeah, she’s worth it! She’s worth everything to me. So whatever it takes to make her happy, she’s worth it.
“But that right there, making her happy. Is that honestly what you’re trying to do? She doesn’t even want you to do this, right?”
Ted said nothing.
“So even though she doesn’t want you to,” Phil continued, pressing his advantage, “you’re going to do it anyway. How happy would she be if she knew the truth, Ted?”
Ted stayed silent rather than offer something disingenuous in reply. It was true, Til had never asked for special favors. Her self-confident, borderline naiveté was part of her charm, despite all the crap she’d been through that might have caused a lesser soul to turn hesitant. Not that she ever shared all that much, but the scars were there, hidden deep in her psyche. Daddy issues, at the very least. Maybe worse. Still, her optimism was contagious. She really believed she could do anything if she just tried hard enough. Ironically, that’s also what drove him to want to help her. That, and the love goggles.
But it didn’t matter what Phil thought, he was going to help her. He had the capacity to do so, she needed the leg-up, and he considered her worth the risk. Except that he wasn’t the only one at risk, and Phil was a target just as much as he was. His friend had stuck by while they plunged deeper into this business, without protest, and he deserved protection. Even as his gut told him to think less about his friends, and more about his girlfriend, he knew he had to protect them all.
“Look Phil,” Ted began anew, trying to sound reasonable, “I’m not asking you to approve, or even help. I’m going to do this by myself.”
Phil paused for a second, then came up with another thought, “How exactly were you planning to pay her?”
“I hadn’t really thought of that,” he lied, knowing full well he’d thought it through and through, on all angles. “She’ll start generating income soon anyway.”
“Not soon enough,” Phil said, pointing out an issue Ted hadn’t thoroughly considered. “You think she’ll just see a sudden rise in stats and won’t jump right over to her publisher’s account? And you don’t think she’ll wonder what’s what?”
“Well...” There was no way around it, he’d have to reveal everything. “Thing is, I figured I could, temporarily I mean, we could skim a little off the other pipelines...”—Phil raised an eyebrow—“Only until the real money starts coming in, I mean—”
“That’s your plan?” His voice was raised now, starting to crack from the strain. “Skim it off our legitimate clients?”
“Come on, Phil. You know as well as I they have no clue whether their cut is eighty-eight percent, ninety-one percent, or twenty-damned percent for all they know.”
“We know. This is stealing, plain and simple. It’s not what I signed on for, and it’s too big a risk.”
Ted raised a calming hand. This line of thinking could only hurt his case. “I have no intention of risking the club.”
“You don’t know that,” Phil answered, “you have no idea what the risks are. How obvious skimming the money might be to someone on the outside, someone keeping careful track of things. Plus, we’ve never enhanced the stats of an unknown before. You’re the one who came up with that rule, remember? Make sure they’re already on the rise so they won’t stick out. Remember?”
“I do,” Ted said, “I know. It could blow up in my face, but I have to try. I’ll find a way to do it without risking your neck, or the girls.” Phil rolled his eyes, and even Ted thought his own promise sounded empty. “I will, Phil. I really mean it.”
Phil said nothing more, huffing and seething as he sat their with his arms crossed. Though it wasn’t pleasant to see his friend so angry, Ted knew he’d get over it. He would realize that this was the right thing. Phil was nothing if not loyal, Ted felt certain of that much.
* * *
“I have to go early today,” Marge announced. “One of my kids is sick, and the other one is on the verge.”
Phi
l looked up from his work, sniffed and rolled his eyes, then looked back down again.
“Sure, if you have to,” Ted said, “need us to handle anything?”
Marge started gathering up her things, moving faster . “A million things, actually, but I’ve no time to go over it all.”
“Maybe your husband should take care of them,” Phil muttered.
This prompted Marge to spin round in mid-gather, opening her mouth to reply. Ted saw this all in the space of three seconds and jumped into action. “Actually, Marge,” Ted said loudly, stepping between the two, “I was planning to stay late myself. So why don’t you just leave all that to me and take care of your kids.”
Phil was oblivious to the exchange. Marge had stopped dead, listening to Ted and considering her next move. He could tell the gears were turning. Should she stay and argue? Get out while the invitation lasted?
She finally followed Ted’s prompt, leaving quickly with a goodbye tossed back into the room on her way out.
“Phil, for fuck’s sake man,” Ted said, slumping into his chair with a sigh.
“What?”
“What’d you mean, what? You realize you just offended her?”
“I did not!”
* * *
Marge was gone the rest of the day and part of the next. She showed up to work her regular job after that, but avoided Ted, the club, and especially Phil for the rest of the week. When Ted finally cornered her, trying to apologize for their tackless associate, she acted like nothing had happened.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so preoccupied, Ted. Both of them are sick now. It’s a real nightmare getting in to see the pediatrician, too. Always something, right?”—she gave a weak laugh—“I’ll make up for it next week, I promise.”
Ted allowed for the avoidance, not insisting on anything more, but he felt as though there was much more going on underneath. He re-worked the weekly schedule so that she wouldn’t have to contend with Phil too much. No sense adding one more stress onto her back if he could help it.
The Gold Club: A White Collar Crime Thriller Page 11