On the Record- the Complete Collection

by Lee Winter

  “You’re kidding.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you…”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Lauren said. “I know.”

  “Obviously spending exactly $100,000 was what the embezzler intended; why else would he ask the coach company to increase its quote?”

  “So much for this whole thing being just a joke,” Lauren mused. “So Bourke’s either delusional or lying if he thinks this whole thing is just for kicks.”

  “Our friendly neighborhood puffer fish is in politics, so it could be either,” Ayers mused. “Still, the good money’s always on lying.”

  “But what’s it all for? To freak out the political minders to the point they have goons going all over town threatening people and covering this up? Well mission accomplished, if that’s the aim.”

  “That wasn’t the aim,” Ayers said dismissively. “Because if this was all purely about politics, then the prostitutes and alcohol would have been sent to a political launch, not a business one.” She looked up sharply. “Come to think of it, why was this even done at a business launch? Given how meticulously planned everything else has been, the choice of event can’t possibly be a coincidence.”

  She glanced at Lauren, a gleam in her eye. “You know, I’m thinking it’s time we got the full SmartPay tour. Seeing we’re here in its home state, after all. Be a shame not to learn all about the payroll tech supposedly revolutionizing our nation.”

  SmartPay USA. In the gleaming flesh. Lauren looked up and up at the enormous blue and gold sign that dwarfed all else. They were out in the middle of nowhere, past an industrial estate that included a belching chemical plant and an adjacent pollution-detection equipment manufacturer that bore the sign Your Gas Sampled.

  SmartPay USA’s headquarters were two years old, modern, and all glass and steel. A manicured lawn that would challenge the world’s best putting greens flanked a polished path up to a glass double door.

  “Pretty flashy for a start-up,” Lauren murmured as she stepped onto the shiny path. “Why do I suddenly feel like Dorothy though?”

  “Well, let’s go meet the Wizard,” Ayers said; her gaze fell to small solar-powered lights that lined the pathway.

  “Why’s this place so big?” Lauren asked as she glanced around. “What do they even make here?”

  “Good question. And I think your answer is heading our way. Just follow the shiny suit and hair gel.”

  A young man in an expensive blue suit with slicked back hair and a boyish face scampered over to them.

  “Ah the reporters,” he announced. “Our CEO, David Teo, said you’d called his office and were coming by. He’s so pleased California’s media is showing such an interest in our cutting-edge technology. Welcome! I’m Reese Mathieson, SmartPay USA’s national marketing manager.”

  “Afternoon.” Ayers nodded curtly. “Catherine Ayers, the Daily Sentinel.”

  Lauren introduced herself and followed Reese into the foyer, taking in the cavernous layout.

  “It’s a solar-powered, eco-friendly, five-star, green-rated building,” Reese said. He pointed up. “We harness all that boundless Nevada sunshine, and there are solar panels all over the roof.

  “Now then, I’ll be able to show you around and answer any questions about our groundbreaking company.”

  “Why’s it so groundbreaking?” Lauren asked. “Payroll is payroll, right?”

  Reese shot her a look. “On the contrary. Ms. King, we believe we have a unique product that has worldwide appeal. Businesses everywhere will save themselves a great deal of time and money with our product.”

  “So that’s what you make here? Computer disks for payroll departments?”

  “Actually we mainly make dongles,” Reese said enthusiastically.

  “What on earth is a dongle?” Lauren asked.

  Reese practically vibrated with enthusiasm. “Come this way, and I’ll show you. It’s very exciting.”

  The factory floor had hundreds of workers bent over a production line, snapping things into place on what looked to be a tiny, flat USB thumb drive with a slot on the end. Reese clearly had a funny idea about what “exciting” meant.

  “Software disk production is through those doors; employee card creation is the next wing, but right here…” The marketing manager leaned over and plucked a device off the production line. “Dongles,” he said proudly, holding it up. “This is patented technology and represents millions of dollars of research time and development.”

  Lauren and Ayers stared at it.

  “Okay, so this particular dongle is an authentication device we call a SmartKey.”

  He dropped it back on the production line and led them into an office with a computer, a stack of papers, and motivational posters lining the walls about inspiration and perspiration.

  Reese sat down, opened a locked drawer, and pulled out another dongle. “This is my own SmartKey dongle. So what does it do, you ask? Let’s say you’ve just been paid your wages into your SmartPay account, and you want to use our optional extra services to pay your bills securely. This little guy means you can do that and cannot be hacked. Impossible.”

  He held up the dongle to the light.

  “This end plugs into any home computer or mobile device—you just use the correct attachment.” He plugged it into his laptop. “And the slot at the other end reads the chip in the corner of your SmartPay employee card.”

  Lauren said, “Let me guess, is it called SmartCard?”

  He flashed her a delighted smile. “Well now, have you been reading our informational material? As it so happens, it is.”

  He opened his wallet and pulled out a plastic card with his SmartPay ID on it. In one corner was a hologram with the company logo.

  He slid his employee card into the dongle’s slot. A tiny green light came on.

  “Now my payroll card and the dongle have just given each other a little electronic handshake, so all I have to do is log into SmartPay’s banking site using my unique password.”

  He tapped some keys, hit enter, and added cheerfully, “There. We’re now all set to pay our bills.” He smiled proudly. “Cannot be hacked,” he repeated, tapping the SmartKey gadget.

  “So far we have 35,000 SmartPay USA users on our system, and not one has ever been hacked or had their identities fraudulently used.” He looked at them expectantly. “Did you want to write that down? 35,000.” He waited.

  Lauren twitched her pen listlessly over her notepad which seemed to satisfy him.

  “Any questions?” he asked hopefully.

  “Aren’t you just a bank in disguise?” Lauren suggested.

  “Oh no, not at all,” Reese said as he logged off and locked away his dongle. “We primarily do payroll systems with a few optional financial perks for members. Think of us as payroll friends with benefits.” He looked at them expectantly. “Now—would you like our media pack? What am I thinking? Of course you would!”

  “Sure,” Ayers said, the sarcasm lost on him. She dutifully accepted the hefty folder, stamped with SmartPay USA: Paying The Future Today.

  Lauren peered over Ayers’s shoulder. “Some light reading for tonight,” she said.

  Reese nodded. “Oh indeed.”

  “By the way, what if SmartPay users want some cash?” Lauren asked.

  “Oh that’s easy. At every site using SmartPay, we install an ATM and service it. It’s part of the contract. And we install at least one in any city or town center that is located near a SmartPay affiliated business.”

  “You don’t share ATMs with other banking institutions?” Lauren said.

  “Absolutely not. It’s part of our security promise to customers. We’re not like the rest—our ATMs are unique. Want to see?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer but led them outside to a vast manicured grassy square and pointed to a cash machine on the far side.<
br />
  “An added security feature is that only the person whose photo is on their SmartCard can withdraw money,” Reese said. “There is a small camera on each ATM that will scan the user and compare it to its database of employee photos. It’s ingenious. It can ‘see’ through sunglasses, bandages, and different hair styles and hats. Oh and the best part—who needs a PIN to remember? Not us! Just slot your card in and say cheese!

  “We’ve had enquiries from security companies all over the world to purchase the standalone recognition technology, and LAX is particularly interested because it sees through disguises and could help them spot the bad guys. It’s quite a coup.”

  As they got closer, Lauren could see the small eye of a camera at nose level jutting out from the machine. She leaned in to look at it and heard a mechanical whir as it focused on her features. She scowled at it. A red cross appeared on screen with the words User Not Recognized. Try Again.

  A wailing siren sounded behind her which made Lauren leap back in fright. Her heart rate rocketed to dizzying speeds, and she swallowed a curse. Reese gave her a curious look.

  “Whoa! Steady on there, Ms. King. It’s just the lunch horn. But I’d step back if I were you. Today’s payday.”

  The trio stood aside and watched as workers from all parts of the building swarmed on their location like yellow and blue ants. Men and women in overalls with plastic protective boot coverings spilled out from the factory floor, and many headed for the machine.

  Lauren watched the line of employees shuffling forward; each waited for facial recognition, inserted a card, then withdrew cash.

  “Creatures of habit,” Reese sighed, watching the line inch forward. “Our online payment and e-services are so much more convenient and efficient, but people are people. There’s always a stubborn group unwilling to embrace all the benefits of the future.”

  He suddenly grinned. “But, hey, that reminds me—let me show you the staff cafeteria. That’s cutting edge, too. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised with what they’ve done with the state of the art condiment dispensers. We’ve had queries about these from every major fast-food chain in the nation.”

  “Thank god that’s over,” Lauren sighed an hour later as she gratefully sank into her car seat. “That man’s excitement over condiments and dongles was insane.”

  “Oh I don’t know—automated sauce dispensers could be the future, King,” Ayers said and suppressed a yawn. “I swear, though, used car lots have more soul than that place. And that dumbed-down PowerPoint presentation with the singing cartoon employees sucked a year out of my life.”

  “Yeah,” Lauren agreed and started the engine. “I’ve got that damned jingle stuck in my brain.”

  As they hit the outskirts of town, she nudged Ayers who seemed barely awake.

  “Hey. It’s almost four. Where to now?”

  Ayers sat up straighter.

  “We may as well head back to the hotel. I have to update Neil on how we’re doing. You should probably check in with Frank, too, just to keep you on his good side. And let’s split the SmartPay material in half and read up on all the fine print.”

  Lauren nodded. “Good idea. Why don’t we find somewhere halfway decent for dinner tonight and compare notes.”

  “All right,” Ayers said. “I’ll leave the restaurant choice up to you.” She closed her eyes again.

  Lauren nodded. “Right. Can do.”

  Dinner was at Mamma’s, a cosy Italian place opposite a small casino. But Lauren didn’t hold that against it. All two online reviewers had given it four stars, and she was sold on the fact there were no plastic tablecloths. All class.

  Small red jars with candles inside and the delicious smell of garlic greeted them as they entered and headed for a booth.

  “Not bad, King,” Ayers said as they settled in. Her lips twitched. “I must admit, I half expected you to choose somewhere with all three courses served on the same tray.”

  “I don’t like to be a cliché all the time,” Lauren said. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

  After they’d ordered, Lauren and Ayers compared notes.

  “I’ve been studying all the numbers on that Booze, Booze, Booze purchase order,” Lauren said. She tapped the page. “I think this line is the government account that the payment was made from. What else could it be?”

  “I agree.”

  “And there’s a code there, too. RF814. No clue what that means. I’d love to find out.”

  “I’m fairly certain that’s exactly what the thugs are trying to prevent. Why else go after the paper trail?” Ayers asked. “I don’t suppose your Nevada government friend Jonathan Sands could explain that code number for us?”

  “He’d probably mock the question as sensationalist journalism or something, and remind me again of our incompetence. But I guess I could ask.”

  She shuffled through more of her notes.

  “Okay, I also read SmartPay’s fineprint,” Lauren said. “That’s an hour off my life I’ll never get back. And it was all pretty straightforward, but the stuff about their bank was confusing.”

  “How so?”

  “The interest rates are good on the saving account. There are no fees at all that I could find. They offer mortgages and personal loans at a rate so competitive I kept looking for the asterisk. I never found it. So…uh…why?”

  “Well, well,” Ayers said. “How shrewd.”

  “What?”

  “Only SmartPay businesses and employees can use that bank and access all those bonuses; is that correct?”

  “Yeah. It’s a perk of being with them.”

  “So it’s a double-pronged assault—it means they’ll crush any competitors in the payroll market who only offer payroll services. Who’ll want only payroll services when they can get dirt-cheap banking thrown in? And it also seems likes an attempted takeover of the financial sector by stealth.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well, everyone gets paid. So if SmartPay’s bank retains even half of all wages in its accounts because people either can’t be bothered to transfer their wages into other banks or they like the deals on offer, then they will be the country’s top financial titan in short order. This start-up has the potential to transform the entire banking landscape.”

  “So it’s going to be huge in no time?” Lauren bit into some garlic bread and chewed, thinking. “Should we be afraid?”

  “So much power in one corporation? And it’s growing so rapidly? When has that ever been a good idea?”

  “Hell,” Lauren said quietly. “I think we’ve just met a corporate T-Rex, disguised as a friendly nanny goat.”

  Ayers smirked. “You and your goats.”

  Lauren glared, but without any real menace. Which only made Ayers laugh that low husky laugh that did weird things to Lauren’s stomach. She quickly changed the subject.

  They spent the next half hour going back and forth on the ramifications of SmartPay’s business methods. Was it a story?

  Lauren suggested that an employer forcing all of its staff to have an account with SmartPay’s bank just to receive their wages sounded illegal even if they could transfer all their pay out to their preferred bank or just take it out in cash. What if they didn’t want to do that?

  “Tell that to Walmart,” Ayers said. “It was in the news recently—they now automatically sign up any staff member who has no bank account to the financial institution of Walmart’s choosing, and they issue them a debit card with their wages on it. There is a precedent.”

  “So this isn’t a story then,” Lauren said. “Besides, SmartPay cornering the banking sector is not nearly as exciting as its weird launch involving a room full of prostitutes and some missing booze.”

  “Sad but true. By the way, Neil loves that we’ve got Dan willing to talk about a busload of working girls dressed up to party,” Ayers said of
their editor. “That impressed him more than getting the invoice.”

  “Great,” Lauren said. “Meanwhile, Frank wanted to know, and I quote, ‘What the hell are you two doing at the Grand Millennium?’ He may have said some other things—I was holding the phone away from my ear at the time.”

  “Well, tell him to talk to me after our exclusive appears,” Ayers said, unperturbed.

  They moved onto the main course. Lauren worked her way through her spaghetti marinara, using the opportunity to study Ayers.

  She was classy, it was true. Dignified. Refined. A blue blood, exactly as Athena had noted. She really couldn’t hide that. Lauren’s mind shifted back to the night of the SmartPay launch. She had been breathtaking in that emerald dress, with diamonds dripping from her ears. But then there was her celebrity accessory for the evening. On her arm was a no-name actor, all jaw and beach tan, who liked to pick up random men for a quickie.

  Lauren would expect Ayers to be dating someone in the same league as her at least. What had those two even found to talk about?

  “How long were you dating Tad?” she blurted.

  Ayers’s eyes became hooded. “Why do you ask?”

  Lauren shrugged. “We’re just talking.”

  “Then no comment.”

  Lauren sighed. “You’re really lousy at friendly conversation, you know that, right?”

  “Who says we’re friends?” Ayers replied.

  “Geez. Ouch.”

  Lauren grimly planted her fork in her spaghetti and began to twirl. There was a heavy silence.

  “I didn’t mean it quite that way,” Ayers said uneasily after a moment.

  “There’s a nice way to tell someone they’re not friend material?”

  “It’s not that. I just think what’s the point?” Ayers said, studying her salad intently. She glanced at Lauren. “I’ll be free of my contract soon. Why bother making friends here when I’ll be gone soon enough?”

  “How very practical of you,” Lauren countered, “forcing yourself not to get friendly with anyone in LA for the eighteen months you had left on your contract. Come on, that’s just ridiculous. Who does that?”