The Gold Club: A White Collar Crime Thriller

by David Haskell

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry,”—she scrunched up her shoulders into a cute head-tilt—“he’s all bark and no bite. Really.”

  “Bette, send in the next!” The bellicose voice cracked sharp and tinny through the speakerphone. The poor girl jumped half out of her chair, coming down hard so it gave her a half-spin before settling. Ted fought back the urge to laugh. The look of fear on her face was payment enough for any earlier annoyance, giving him a momentary feeling of amusement. But he sobered immediately, realizing he had the same good reason to be fearful as she did.

  The woman smoothed her long skirt and tried to compose herself, not quite managing the task. She had to clear her throat twice before she could say, “He’s ready for you now.”

  Ted nodded and stood up, the smile wiped off his face now as he squared himself against the imposing inner door. Am I supposed to knock?

  A muffled yell came from behind the door. “Ward! Get the hell in here!” This solved his knocking dilemma, but hardly made for eager compliance. He shuffled forward like a condemned prisoner, then shocked himself on the handle. Thwapping his hand to shake off the pain, he pulled down on the handle with the other hand and entered the office.

  Dennis Hamm didn’t look up from whatever important business he was scowling at, and gave no indication he even realized Ted had entered. Ted waited, but that grew uncomfortable. He tried approaching the boss, eliciting a bull-snort from behind the desk so unfriendly he immediately retreated back to the doorway. Now thoroughly discombobulated, he cleared his throat. That, finally, caused the boss to look up.

  “Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the guest chair. Ted obeyed, sitting down quickly and feeling like an errant schoolboy.

  The boss ignored him for a couple more minutes, ramping up the tension even further before he finally said, “I don’t suppose you know why you’re in here?”

  Ted knew full well, but didn’t dare voice it. He settled for an unconvincing, “Not really,” which came out more of a squeak than a statement. He stared down at the floor, noticing that he’d developed a bad case of tunnel-vision. This brought on a disconcerting flashback; one time he’d found himself staring down the barrel of a gun during an altercation with a crazy neighbor. This felt just like that. A disturbing yet familiar sense of doom and panic, coupled with an impending, constricting blindness that felt like the approach of death. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the floor, even though he knew it was making him look guilty as hell.

  Finally the boss broke the tension himself. “Jesus, Ward, what are you so damned nervous about?”

  Ted smiled weakly, forcing his chin to rise but saying nothing.

  “The reason I brought you in here,” continued the CEO, “ was to ask you a few questions...”

  Ah, Christ...here it comes!

  “It’s to do with hacking and petty crime—in this very company, can you believe it?—scams being run against our own customers, using our own infrastructure.”

  Ted glanced over at the door, debating the merits of making a run for it. Given how deep in the bowels of the warehouse they were, though, he’d hardly have a fighting chance once the guards were alerted. Then again, maybe Hamm would just let him go. Fat chance.

  “So, Ted”—the familial use of his first name took Ted by surprise, making him look directly at his fat boss for the first time. Is that a smile on his face?—“I’m taking this opportunity to have a conversation with my loyalest employees—”

  The words jumbled up into a roar, Ted’s aching mind went into overdrive trying to process what he was hearing. Loyalest? He wasn’t a suspect? What the hell was all this about, then? Just listen, dammit. But the endorphins of relief were crowding out his ability to focus. He was able to keep it together just long enough to realize the meeting was over, and that he should stand up.

  “—and you’ll let me know if you hear anything, won’t you?”

  Ted managed a nod as he reached out to shake hands.

  Hamm grasped hands with his subordinate and pulled Ted in uncomfortably close, dropping his voice down to a conspiratorial whisper. “I expect we’ll also want to be keeping an eye on our filing system, you and me both. Can’t be too careful, this rogue element just waiting for the chance to fuck us. You see anything suspicious you let me know straight away. Understand?”

  Ted nodded again, leaning in closer, the fog of the CEO’s breath beginning to impact his vision.

  “Good! With everyone keeping their ear to the ground, we’ll weed out this unsavory element.”

  “Yes, sir,” he stammered.

  “Not to worry, son,” Hamm replied, raising his voice up to normal again. Ted wondered if the entire speech was just for the benefit of ears behind the walls somewhere, or perhaps just the nosy secretary in the next room. “We’ve got this rogue element cornered, and right where we want them. All that’s left is to identify the kingpins, and we’ll strike ‘em out and and bowl ‘em over.”

  He chuckled at his own analogy, as Ted’s head filled with questions he should ask. Or should have asked. He’d wasted his time being a nervous wreck, blowing any chance to gather vital information from the one man who could provide it. Kick yourself later, jackass, just get out of here for now.

  “—and time for us to get back to business. Right?”

  The boss delivered his usual ‘friendly’ punch in the arm, forcing Ted to wince involuntarily. He shrank back, but forced out a chuckle. Hamm accepted it, smiling broadly as he guided Ted out the door.

  * * *

  Retreating to the relative safety of his office, Ted thought through what he’d just heard, trying to piece together where the boss was coming from. He was especially concerned with that part at the end about identifying the kingpins. Unless Hamm was trying to root out the leaders through congeniality over interrogation. Didn’t seem like it though, the guy was clueless about how the club operated, even if he did have an eye on the bigger picture. Anyway, if Ted was remotely suspect he’d never have made it out of the office.

  He’d have to alert Phil and Marge, the three of them needed to come up with new strategies to protect their lines of communication. In the meantime, as long as Hamm considered Ted a confidant, the club was probably safe and could remain operational. But the clock was ticking faster now.

  ~ 21 ~

  Perspectives

  The cold air knifed across Ted’s exposed skin, causing a shiver that provoked a quick retreat. He huddled under the blanket a minute longer, but the alarm was insistent, a nasty screeching tone that forced him to reach out again into the cold to slap it off. Halfway up at this point, he threw off the covers and rolled out of bed with an inward groan. His feet hit the icy floor with a shock that prompted him to hop from one foot to the other. He knew he looked stupid, but didn’t care. He bounced his way into the bathroom, hoping the tile floor might be more tolerable, but it wasn’t.

  Forcing himself through the morning routine, he thought about what it was all for. The mantra of late—Keep Expanding—had become laughable. They were already sitting on a mountain of cash. And the pressure to get a handle on their expanded business was bad enough anyway, with demands for membership coming in faster than they could process them.

  Enough! He had plenty of money in the slushfund, might as well use some of it for once. Time to get away. Finding Til’s number under recent calls, he got her on the line and announced that they were going on vacation.

  “On vacation?”—she yawned, smacking her lips groggily—“Are you serious?”

  “I’m as serious as a heart attack.”

  “Awesome.” The flat reply was less than enthusiastic, and her follow-up question was more confusion than curiosity. “Where?”

  He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Thinking fast, he came up with, “Your choice, Til. Anywhere you want to go.”

  “Sweet. You are serious, though? We’re really going somewhere?”

  “Of course, hon. So...where to?”

  * * *

  Phil put up a fig
ht, insisting that Ted couldn’t be spared. He begged his friend to consider a long weekend instead, someplace nearby where he could be easily reached. But Ted was adamant about going someplace warm, remote, and impossible to reach by conventional means. Phil wasn’t worried about the daily stuff, but he wasn’t good at dealing with changing circumstances, and relied on his partner to handle it. Without a backup, he was afraid some client or worker might rope him into a conversation. This was, for Phil, a nightmare scenario.

  After a protest that bordered on a tantrum, Phil gave in, but only after Ted promised to bring his cellphone and check his messages once a day.

  “You’ll be fine, everything has been smooth for weeks now,” Ted reassured his partner.

  “That’s just it, though. Maybe it’s the calm before the storm,” Phil countered.

  Ted chuckled, sympathetic in that he wasn’t much of a people person himself. Compared to Phil though, he did okay. Really okay. Oprah Winfrey with a dash of Casanova okay.

  “Okay, well you’re forcing me to take my phone, so if something happens, just message me.”

  “You swear you’ll check?”

  “Yes, Phil.”

  “And if we arrange a time to talk, you’ll pick up?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry.”

  Phil was running out of demands. Ted grabbed hold of the chance to end the conversation, “So that’s all set, then. I’ll be back on Monday. And we’ll—”

  “You’re staying in the same time-zone, at least?” Phil said, searching for some excuse to veto the plan.

  “Yes, Phil. Same time zone. Got my phone. I’ll check my messages. Anything else?”

  Phil gave a sigh, signaling defeat.

  “Good,” Ted said, “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry so much.”

  Phil sighed again, and offered a half-hearted wave. Good enough.

  * * *

  The decision to investigate the vartists belonged to Dennis Hamm, ostensibly, though as usual it was Fangue who put the idea in his head. Hamm agreed to provide more men and materials, along with a discretionary budget for incidentals. In exchange, he elicited a promise from Fangue that if he didn’t find anything useful this time, he would step down. As far as the boss was concerned, it was a win-win.

  Fangue was confident that he could drum up something of value, and even if he didn’t there was always a mountain of evidence in his possession he could trot out. He liked to keep all that close to the vest, but if his job was on the line he had no compunction about using it. So it wasn’t really a bargain at all, but he knew the CEO liked to think that way. Simple man, simple pleasures.

  Before he could get on with the project, Fangue had to arrange for some men he could trust. Men from outside the company, so there would be no conflict. Sahara insiders were serviceable for internal matters, but when it came to real surveillance and quasi-espionage like this, they were entirely out of their depth. Plus they answered to others. The entire purpose of the funding request was for this reason, though of course Hamm was clueless. Fangue wanted control over two separate groups, carefully compartmentalized, in order to cover all his bases.

  * * *

  They met up with time to spare—Ted sporting a wide smile that immediately relaxed his girlfriend—and they checked in arm-in-arm, then hurried to the executive lounge to enjoy the amenities. Neither of them had flown first class before. Ted was somewhat accustomed to business-level hospitality, but for Til it was pure luxury. Flea-bag motels, stand-by lines, and slugging it out with the masses for a crumb and a corner, that was the story of her life. This sudden immersion into decadence left her lightheaded with the excitement of it all as they took in the royal treatment, settled in to the spacious lounge, and finally hit the bar for top-shelf indulgence.

  She ordered an Irish coffee, taking the time of day into consideration and feeling depleted of caffeine along with liquor. He followed suit, selecting a socially acceptable bloody mary. They toasted their good fortune and proceeded to climb half in-the-bag well before the boarding announcement.

  Onboard the mid-sized jet, they indulged in more drinks, accompanied by a so–so lunch, but by that point they were too inebriated to judge. The first class cabin was relatively small and unimpressive, but they hardly noticed that, either. Too drunk and merry to care, they were enjoying the hell out of their first long trip together. After a couple more hours and a bumpy landing, they were in a taxi and on their way to the hotel suite under a canopy of partly-cloudy, tropical skies. That was when the realization of what he’d forgotten hit Ted like a brick. He sat bolt upright, as if there was anything he could do about it from a thousand miles away. He tried to relax, snuggling up to Til and looking out at the palm trees. But the vacation buzz was gone, replaced by a panicky feeling, and he knew he would have to deal with it the minute he got back.

  * * *

  He had been in a rush to pack, that’s what the problem was. So distracted with his sudden revelation that he’d sent Til off to the airport early, just for a few moments alone. He still had to get everything organized, but was haunted by the calculations he’d made the night before. Hurriedly stuffing clothes into bags, he was about to leave the apartment when a sudden compulsion forced him to take one more look. The numbers were written out in longhand, a mark of justifiable paranoia—anyone could get their hands on a hard disc and potentially expose the scheme. Reading his calculations once more from top to bottom, Ted saw that same, inescapable conclusion.

  It wasn’t fair. They were just on the cusp of building the business up to a point where members would be willing to shell out real money. Now was the time for the creators to reap some real benefits, only to have the numbers line up against them like a cosmic conspiracy.

  Going any further risked putting earlier club members in jeopardy—they would fall off the charts too soon, without enough of a benefit to justify the cost. The conditions for advancement had eroded, it was no longer feasible to take on any more applicants. And those who were already in the system would have to be re-shuffled and bumped, at the expense of non-members. And non-members could be dangerous, with the ability to make waves if they sensed something was amiss. All this added up to one undeniable fact—the time to close up shop was approaching fast.

  Jumping up from the table, he had grabbed his phone and fired off a text message to Phil, demanding in his most insistent tone that they set their egos aside and meet for a drink at that place near the airport. If Phil would play ball, they could work out the logistics and get the ball rolling before Ted even got back. Timing was crucial, but it was nothing he needed to do by himself. Phil was more than capable of scaling the operation the way Ted envisioned—he just needed a few minutes to explain it all. Hoping for the best, he had grabbed his coat and shot out without waiting for a reply, leaving the paper to flutter off the table and onto the floor.

  * * *

  The hidden man stayed put, not reaching for the forgotten document until the dwelling fell completely silent. Once he had determined the boyfriend was good and gone, he wormed his way out and scooped it up. He saw Til Nune written in several spots, along with several other Sahara clients they were getting ready to investigate. Trying to make out the rest of the chicken-scratch, mostly numbers, he called for his team on the wireless, snapped images of both sides, then placed it back where it belonged. It was probably nothing, a homemade enemies list or something stupid like that, but he wasn’t prone to leaving any clues unexamined. He would look this over with the rest of the haul when he had time to process it properly.

  Fangue’s team had been handling other vartists differently, more emphasis on stealth, and with tighter time constraints. But Til Nune was a prime target, and the advantage was there for the taking, Fangue had determined the chance to do a full sweep was too good to pass up. Knowing his mark was in a rush, and heading out of the country no less, gave him wide latitude for a thorough examination.

  First they wired the place, making sure not to leave any traces behind, then they s
plit up. Each of the team members responsible for one room, it made for a five-plus-one operation. Uncomfortably large, perhaps, but Hank trusted their judgement and ability to follow orders, as far as he trusted any of his associates anyway. Even so, he had worked in some precautions against any slip-ups, which he began putting into place as soon as the job was underway.

  Sending a message to Hamm, he advised the CEO that the operation was a success. Then he ordered his men to get out quick, claiming that a neighbor was due back on the floor at any minute. The real reason was to make sure none of them had time to pocket any hard evidence, or even figure out whose apartment they were bugging. This invasion of privacy of an up-and-coming star was reason enough to raise questions, and Hank had no intention of allowing them the chance. He’d been careful to select the boyfriend’s place instead of her own for that very reason.

  * * *

  Ted felt the sun begin to scorch his pasty pale skin, but he didn’t care. He was relaxing, and that was the main thing, with a pretty girl by his side and all the time in the world. And no stress. The true freedom of vacation, it turned out, was the lack of any cellphone reception. This perk was one the resort actively advertised, and Ted realized over the course of several days how much of a benefit it really was. At first he had a hard time, but he grew accustomed to it quick enough and, aside from a once-daily trip to the internet cafe to check the messages, he found he could get along just fine.

  Things weren’t nearly as relaxed back in the hotel room on what turned out to be the last day of their stay. They’d returned for a change of clothes to find the place ransacked, their cash and valuables gone, and most of their less pricy belongings either ripped up or smashed, seemingly out of plain spite.