Fatal Decision

by John Greenwood

  Chapter 8

  After I left work, I immediately called Jim and Brian, my two network guys. They agreed to meet me at a nearby Starbucks. I'm sitting at a table waiting for them drinking a hot cup of black coffee when my phone begins to vibrate. I look down and see it's a text message from a private number. I quickly scroll through the words and read that I will be contacted later about my final job. I wonder what that means. I start to read it again when I look up hearing my name. Jim and Brian enter. They both give me a hug, and I update them on what's going on and thank them for the website. I watch them stand in line and order their drinks. I go to read the text again, but it is already been erased.

  "Thanks for coming guys." They both sit down across from me. I can tell they are a little uncomfortable being here.

  "Any time Sheldon." Jim says. He takes a small sip through the opening in his cup.

  "So tell me about the website. Who designed it?"

  Brian nods his head. "I did the initial design and Jim put up all the content. We both are kind of updating it whenever we can. We’ve already had over two thousand hits. I really hope it helps. Did you read any of the comments on the bottom?"

  I shake my head. "No, I never got that far. I can’t wait to take a look at them."

  "There's some really nice stuff in there. A lot of people really care Sheldon." Brian takes another drink.

  I try and smile. I take out my iPhone and pull up the website. I wait until the page fully loads and click on the photos section. I click on the thumbnail of Tommy wearing his baseball hat, and instead of the cartoon I get a white page that has the words, “Do as I say” in bold dark letters. I turn the phone around so both of them can see. Confused looks wash over their faces like a technical specialist gets when they see something that shouldn’t be happening on a computer.

  "How did you get to that?" Jim takes the iPhone in his hand.

  "I just clicked on the one of Tommy in the baseball hat." I watch him tap the screen a few times until he turns the phone towards me and I can see the same screen as before, but this time it is full of question marks.

  "What the heck is going on?" Brian grabs the phone and refreshes the screen. He turns the phone so we can all see and we watch the picture of Tommy load up correctly.

  "How can that happen?" I ask. I'm staring at Tommy's face under the cap. I smile seeing his lopsided grin and hair poking down on his forehead.

  "This is a secure website. Only Jim and I have access to this."

  Brian pulls the phone closer to his face and looks down for a second.

  "What is it?"

  "The question marks…they were on one of the servers back at work when we were dealing with the virus. I just assumed it was part of it, so I didn’t make a big deal about it, but now this." I suddenly feel the coffee seeping its way back up my throat. I try my best to hold it down. "How can that be? This website is on a totally independent hosting company. I think it’s in California. What's going on here?" I want to tell them everything because they could probably help me get to the bottom of this, but I don’t say anything. I just sit there and try to slow my head down enough so it doesn't spin off my neck. "I'm going to go and get to the bottom of this. If the same person who put the virus on our server is hacking our website, we’ve got a major problem." I watch them both get up and throw their coffee cups in the trash and head out the door. I sit there staring at Tommy's image on my phone. I'm not sure what to do any more. Everything is getting so strange. I need to find out who this guy really is. I almost jump when I feel my phone begin to vibrate. I look at the number and am surprised to see it's our home phone.

  "Hello." I hear Michelle's voice. She sounds anxious.

  "Sheldon, where are you?"

  "I'm near work."

  "Work? What are you doing at work?"

  "It's usually where I do my best thinking."

  "Are you coming up with anything?" She is speaking louder now. It's like she wants to tell me something.

  "No, nothing new. What's going on back there?"

  "The detectives just left to head to Commonwealth Bank. They've got a lead on the deposit they were talking about." I quickly stand up. "They asked me to have you meet them there if you could."

  "At the bank?" I ask. I'm trying my hardest to hide my trembling voice.

  "Yes. Can you go?" I look around the Starbucks. I feel like every set of eyes are on me now. '"It's the big one on 236…Sheldon…Sheldon. Are you there?"

  "…Yes, I'm here. Okay."

  "Are you okay?"

  I nod. "I'm fine."

  "You don't sound good."

  I take a deep breath. "I think I'm just tired."

  "I would go, but they said they wanted you there." I try and take another deep breath.

  "I'm heading over there now. I love you."

  "I love you too Sheldon. Please call me if you find anything out."

  "I will." I quickly end the call and go into the men's room. I throw cold water onto my face. I have no idea what I'm going to say when they ask me about the money. Twenty minutes later, I'm pulling into the bank parking lot. I can see the unmarked detective cruiser parked in the closest space near the door, next to the handicapped spaces. It feels weird coming back here. This was my first interaction with Tommy's captor. I park the Tahoe in a spot furthest away to prolong my entry into the bank. I still don’t have any idea what I'm going to say. I feel like coming clean but I can't risk it. I slowly pull the door open and enter the lobby. I spot Stanton and Adams seated in front of a dark mahogany desk to my right. It looks like a manager or a customer service person on the other side. They quickly spot me and wave me over. I walk towards them and stand beside the desk feeling their eyes burning into me.

  "Thanks for coming down so quickly Mr. Smith." Stanton says. "Why don't you have a seat." The bank employee quickly steps from behind the desk and drags another upholstered chair next to the two the detectives are seated in. "This is James Stolz; he is the assistant branch manager here. I shake the hand of a man in his mid to late fifties. He has gray hair and some extra pounds around his waist; somewhat disguised by a loose fitting suit, but he has bright-blue piercing eyes that instantly raise my discomfort level. I take a seat and feel my body slouching underneath me.

  "So let's get right to it." Stanton looks directly at me. "We're you here two days ago?" I slowly nod my head. Even though I knew this was coming, it feels as though I’m being dragged over broken glass. "Is that you?" I watch as the manager turns the monitor towards me. I can see myself entering the bank. It cuts to me standing front of the teller. I look around at the teller line behind me and don’t see the same girl here. She's hopefully out for the day, but I'm guessing she's probably already down at the station giving a statement. The footage is a little fuzzy, but you can definitely see me handing something to the teller.

  "That's me." I respond in a voice just above a whisper.

  "I think you have some explaining to do here." Both Stanton and Adams give me a hard look. I'm not sure what to do, so I just keep looking at the footage of me standing there. Suddenly, I see something strange. I lean closer. I feel my heart begin to flutter in my chest. I can’t believe it. I'm staring at the screen when Stanton hands me a piece of paper. It's the paper that reports a deposit over ten thousand dollars that I signed. I'm going to have to say something here.

  "Does that look familiar?" I look at the paper and my eyes lock on the signature. I don’t believe it, it's not my signature. It's not even close.

  I shake my head no. "That's not mine."

  "What do you mean? That's your signature." I shake my head no.

  "It's not." I'm staring at the paper in disbelief. I can't believe what is happening here. I watch as the manager turns the screen back around. A minute later, he points at it and both detectives shake their heads.

  "What is going on here?" Stanton stands up. "We have you at the bank, a deposit of a million and a half dollars of cash going into your account and leaving two minutes
later to a bank in Brazil around the same time you were here." He looks around the bank. "And a very reliable teller who hasn’t shown up for work for a second day in a row, and you making a withdrawal for fifty dollars. The video footage shows you handing her a slip of paper and obviously no cash. Jim just showed us your signature card and it's clearly not your signature." He looks at me then the manager. "And yet we have documentation that a million and a half dollars in cash was deposited here into your account." He throws up his arms. He looks back at me. "So you just withdrew money right?" I nod. "Then someone is setting you up."

  The manager looks at me. "How much do you have in your account?"

  "I don't know probably around ten thousand with both checking and saving." I watch him click on the keyboard.

  "Your balance is just under eleven thousand."

  "That sounds about right."

  Adams slowly stands up as well. "Are you sure you don’t know Douglas Sorenson?"

  "I have never heard of him until you guys told me his name yesterday or was it, the other day." I realize I don’t even know what day it is anymore.

  "None of this makes sense. Let's go find Ms. Jensen." Stanton looks at a small piece of paper in his hand. "This is her current address right?" The manager nods. "She will definitely remember who brought in that amount of cash. That can’t happen too often does it?"

  The manager looks back at the screen. "Not every day, but we do get high amounts of cash with some of the businesses nearby." Stanton shakes his head like he's amazed by the amount of money. "Let's go." He looks at the manager and then me. "Thank you guys for your help. Sorry to bring you down here Mr. Smith. We'll get to the bottom of this. We'll stop by your house after we check out the teller's address." I nod my head and look back at the teller line and walk out.

  By the time I start my engine, my phone starts vibrating. I look down and see it's the private number.

  "Hello."

  "Hello Sheldon. I hope you enjoyed your little encounter with the detectives and the manager in the bank. I sure enjoyed watching their expressions as well as yours of course."

  "Who are you? Where is Tommy?" I scream into the phone.

  "Remember your manners Sheldon."

  "Screw manners. I want Tommy back now. I'm sick of your twisted little games. I've done everything you've asked now tell me where he is."

  "I promise I will give back what is yours. Like I told you, I just have one more little job for you. Did you enjoy my video editing? How about the signature trick? I had fun with that one?"

  "If I end up in jail then what?"

  "Don't you worry about that Sheldon, haven't I shown you by now that I can control everything."

  "They're going to talk to the teller now. She'll remember me, and then what? Can you control her mind too? Please give me back my son." I squeeze the phone even tighter; I want to throw it out the window.

  "I've got her under control too. Remember don't worry."

  "I am worried about Tommy. Tell me where he is." I hear a long sigh on the other end of the phone.

  "I told you just one more little job and what's yours is yours again."

  "Who is Douglas Sorenson and what does he have to do with all this?" I turn the volume up on the phone.

  "You are about to find out very soon. Stand by for my next call." I hear the call end.

  "Wait…wait. Please…please." I start pounding on the seat and feel the tears pouring down my face. I suddenly look up hearing someone knocking on the window. It's the assistant manager. I roll down the window.

  "Are you okay Mr. Smith?"

  "I'm fine. I'm just sick and tired of this."

  "I know I've been following everything on the news. Take care and good luck. Let me know if there's anything we can do." I turn the ignition and drive away and grab my phone when I hear it begin to vibrate again. It's an email marked "urgent".

  Chapter 9

  I'm still in the bank parking lot watching a twenty-second video of Tommy I just received. I instantly saved it to my videos folder on my iPhone, so I can keep it and it looks like it actually worked. Of course, the original email was deleted right after I viewed it. Tommy is still in that same bedroom. I'm really starting to dislike seeing that room, I’m not sure why, but there is something eerily familiar about it. Tommy is sitting on the edge of the bed looking directly into the camera. I can’t tell if he knows someone is filming him or he just happens to be looking in that particular direction. I feel like calling out to him, but I know he can’t hear me. Something about him doesn’t look right. I can’t tell if it's his eyes or just his expression, but something is wrong. I think it's his eyes; they are glassed over and his body isn't responding the way it should. At first, I figured it's the quality of the camera but after watching it several times I think it's him. I suddenly feel very weird; there’s sweat tingling all over my body as the anxiety runs its course. I hope he's okay. I really do. I can’t let anything happen to him. He's my life. I remember the day Michelle and I found out we were having him. It wasn't like we weren't trying or anything, but it was still so unexpected. It was like a miracle. I even set up a calendar in our kitchen and scratched off every day for almost eight months until the due date, and then he came five days late. I think they we're the longest five days of our lives. Michelle was withering in pain from all the discomforts of pregnancy, and I was wound so tightly with stress I felt like I was about to burst, but finally the day came and her water broke. We rushed to the hospital, and eight hours later we were holding Tommy in our arms and as most of the people who know us say we haven't put him down since. God I miss him. How could I let this happen? I watch the video over and over again. I wish I could somehow reach through the screen and pull him out of there. Finally, it hits me. The room in the video is set up exactly like Tommy's room in our house, minus all the electronic gadgets. We keep the computer and video games in our main family room, not just to protect him, but also so we can all play together. We usually do everything as a family and always have up until this week. I throw the phone back down on the seat. I can’t watch it anymore. I try and think like a detective and see if there is anything useful from the video, but all I can see in my mind is a room set up exactly like Tommy's that could be located in any house in the country. I don’t see any way to track him down. Maybe Jim and Brian will come up with something from the website, but I doubt it. This guy is too good and too prepared. He has planned every move. I try and imagine what the next job will be. I'm sure it will be some kind of crime, but so far he has managed to outsmart the police on every aspect, and at this point I really don’t care anyway. I've been working in technology for years and I have no idea how he is accessing the secure things he is accessing. At work, we even had a security consultant come in and test our system. He recommended making some changes, and afterwards we determined it was about as safe as we could make it. Yet he somehow still penetrated our firewalls and accessed the servers. From what I have read, banks are almost as secure as the Federal Government and he's accessing them like they are open to the public. I still can’t figure out what Tommy, Michelle or I could possibly have to offer. I scroll through the video one last time and feel a tear drop roll down my face as Tommy's glassy eyes look into the camera. There's got to be a way to get to him. I need to come up with a plan. I try and think about a common thread. As I pull the Tahoe out onto the busy Lee Highway and come to a stop at a red light, I keep coming back to Douglas Sorenson; for some reason he seems to be the key behind the whole thing. Maybe I should start with him, especially after the guy on the phone said I would learn a lot more about him soon. I decide to head over to his law office. I quickly make a right hand turn. I'm not really sure why I'm heading over there, but it just feels like the right thing to do. I get an odd feeling when I pull into the parking lot. It looks so different during the day. The surrounding buildings are actually much closer than I thought. I park on the other side of the building, far away from where I parked the other night, just in case. I ins
tinctively reach out and open the door and find myself standing in the same lobby as before. The only difference is the lights are on and there are people milling about, most of them in suits and ties. None of them even give me a second look. I push the up button on the elevator and when the bell rings for my floor; my feet feel as though they are glued to the floor. I can’t move. A minute later I'm standing in front of a very young and very blond receptionist. I ask to see Mr. Sorenson. I'm still not sure why I'm doing this. I have no idea what I’m going to say. She points at the lobby. I take a seat in one of the chairs. It's very similar to the one I threw through the window. I pretend to read a magazine while my eyes wander around the waiting area. It is elegantly furnished and appears like a law firm should look like, leather couches, dark mahogany furniture and scenic pictures on the wall. It looks much more stylish than it did last time I was here. I feel so odd sitting in the place I burglarized the night before. I was glad the receptionist didn’t ask why I wanted to see him. I have no idea what I would have said. I wonder if they get a lot of walk-in clients, but it seems odd for such an upscale place. I read the name of the firm on the wall above her. It's one of those typical law firm names with tons of last names in it. I almost catch my breath when I see Sorenson's name as the third one. I wonder how I missed that before. I'm still not sure what I am going to say. About ten minutes later, a very tall and slender man with thinning brown hair walks out. He must be at least 6'4" and no more than two hundred pounds. He's dressed in an elegant dark gray suit and walks out of the back and stops at the receptionist desk. He appears to be probably mid-forties, but looks as though he could suit up and be part of a professional basketball team. I watch as the receptionist points at me and he walks over. His face shows no expression.