by Jay Smith
When Diane opened the door, I had to smile. She didn't look like my old friend at all any more. She wore a tailored, expensive black suit with a white blouse, hair straightened into a pony-tail. She even wore heels – something that felt almost against her nature. She was still an imposing image especially in sun glasses, but professional. The suit flattered her and she appeared more muscular than I remembered. But I couldn't mistake that face.
"You little suck-up," she smiled. "Is that from Ashton's in Middletown?"
I held out her coffee. "It is. I remember you Facebooking about it when you go on overnight surveillance."
"Thank you, dearest. You look good, Winston. Lost the baby fat finally."
"Thanks. You still look amazing."
"Extreme Resistance Exercise and Core Training, which takes us both to the end of our tolerance for small talk. Shall we get to it?"
I collapsed on a leather couch. She sat on the matching recliner and we looked like a doctor and patient in a counseling session. I shared my story up to that point.
"I was getting gaslit the entire time, man. Fake cops, psy-ops shit. What did you find out on the outside?"
"I discovered I know nothing about gaming after 1998 and really don't like the people who game these days. Beyond that, this Alan Horus guy knows how to milk those little bastards for cash. There's like $3 billion tied up in that game."
"Billion."
"Yep. In subscriptions and in-world currency. There's an article in Forbes about the unusual tax rules in play. Since the realm only holds the money, it doesn't pay taxes but earns interest on it through the banks it uses. Nice work if you can get it."
"Wait, how are they measuring their personal wealth? Horus is a millionaire…"
"Billionaire," Diane corrected. "total assets.
"How?"
"They have offshore accounts. There are servers in the same country as the bank they use. Guess where the bank is?"
It wasn't difficult to figure. "Ebetha." It was a nation-state with some twisted banking laws "The laws in Ebetha make it the go-to place for online companies like Aeternus, preferable to the Cayman and Cook Islands – but just some kinds of online companies- online games with their own cryptocurrencies. The law says you can't even ask about an account without a High Judge's order. And there has to be a really good reason – the 'really good' part is subject to the Judge's mood and the accompanying bribe."
"With Aerernus' investment in the island…"
"Yeah. Aeternus Lawyers wrote the law and the sitting President signed it. Anyway, Plus, Aeternus has a lot of money in companies it doesn't outright own."
"Such as?"
"Aeternus Entertainment owns Art & Arms Digital Ltd. Art & Arms owns the Choax Engine which is the brain at the center of all these multiplayer environments. Most games have several contractor-provided applications to help run the game for security or to track in-game movements for the player to reference later on…Aeternus does that all through A&A. A&A only works with Aeternus. And Aeternus owns every line of code produced for the game. It’s all proprietary. Even the off-the-shelf stuff that a company could buy and plug into their games for a few dozen grand, they made their own version of it and bundled it into the system."
"What does that mean?"
"Okay, say you bought a new house. Which option would you prefer – spend a few hundred on a refrigerator for it or dump ten-thousand into developing and constructing one just for yourself? Duh, you'd buy one and hope the delivery guys deliver on time and don't fuck up the drywall putting it in. Not these guys. There's no profit stream to offset the R&D costs of that one system and they've got quite a few of these exclusive systems."
"I thought you didn't know anything about gaming."
"No, but I live in the 21st century and I have 90% of an MBA, so I understand how small money fucks big money to make a litter of new money. It makes zero sense that Aeternus would develop something like this and not open another revenue stream to at least recoup the costs. A&A could easily sell the tech in the market and turn A&A into a profit center, but it can't because of their exclusivity deal. A&A exists at a loss. The only reason it continues to exist is because Aeternus signs R&D deals with it on a quarterly basis that come with baskets of money."
"Why doesn't Aeternus just…"
"…gobble up the company and bring it all in-house? Taxes? Overhead? No idea. It's not unheard of, just not as cost-conscious as you might see other games like this. Video games are not perennial industries, so you'd think they'd want diversification to stabilize their revenue year to year, but -- Who knows how visionaries like Horus think." She put air quotes around the word ‘visionary’.
"What about partners?"
"You know it’s weird. There’s no Board, per se. No Directors even though that’s how the court relationship seems to work. They’re essentially contractors or business partners. Like Lady Bathorian. Horus is a partner, but Bathory, sorry Bathorian –don’t know how I confused such a clever and original name -- is the COO of the publishing company that puts out all Horus' books.
"What’s her real name?"
"Jane-fucking-Smith. Can you believe it? She’s a CPA from Connecticut and was the head of a Homeowners Association in Enfield until a few years ago. Ugh. It’s the perfect storm of full, stuck-up white conservative."
"Wow. A little judgmental, maybe?"
"I’ve seen her social media content, thanks to you. Oh! And she has a page of shitty custom jewelry on Etsy. She says it's hers, but I've seen that crap at conventions all over the country. It's Pakistani sweat shop junk. Man, Winston. If I ever get stuck at a dinner party with her, I’ll probably stab her in the eye with one of those little, plastic weenie swords."
"So much for asking you to the next Tournament Night."
"If that’s your quasi-autistic way to test the water about asking me out, please: just ask me out, Winston."
"I just thought dinner was a given after you mined all this information for me. Not a date, I mean, but…"
"You’re sweet to think I’d like to be paid in food. We’ll deal with that misconception later. Now. EverHorizons is owned by a Gina Holtz with some partners including Horus in an LLP and they run several server farms where they sell or lease virtual space in the game."
"I met her and her husband. Nice people."
"They buy rights to interact with the main game servers, charge customers to create their islands or homelands, and that way The Realm expands to support more players and merchants. According to the financial journals, The Holtzes own a ranch in Montana where they keep one of the server farms. Meanwhile EVRE, LLP which programs the security software for the realm is out near the Stropf River in about five miles north of the Holtzes.
A Dr. Chueng also runs a software firm out of Vegas housed at the Peppermint Casino. Last year it was worth $12 million. Last year it cleared $4 million in profit. It has 5 employees, four of whom are partners. You know what they call his out in Nevada?"
"What?"
"'Congresswoman. Here's something weird? Their head of legal just died a few weeks ago."
"Which 'their'?"
"All of them. Suicide. You remember the old public defender who married the hot meteorologist? Larry Kline?"
What are the odds?
"Legal is the only part of Aeternus that is strictly a collection of individual attorneys on retainer. According to what I could find, Kline was retained to help broker some real-world real estate deals in Harrisburg. Weird, because he’s not a real estate attorney. He’s a high-profile civil attorney. He didn’t farm out the work to underlings, either. He appeared before zoning committees and inspected sites, contracted carpenters and plumbers…"
"Parker said he and Kline were working on something to do with trafficking – human and drugs."
"Parker? Been-dead-and-buried-for-over-four-months Grant Parker?"
"The holographic avatar of Grant Parker imbued with most of his knowledge told me. Out in Vegas."
"Of course he did. How about we table the rest of this for the morning. You've got a good five hours before…"
Before she completed the sentence, I fell unconscious.
~
We arrived – now my ex-wife's house – early next morning. Clownshoe's truck took up the whole driveway in front of mine. I pulled up to the curb by the mailbox.
I led her up to the front door and tried my key. It didn't work. I should have known but it was a little embarrassing to have to knock. A moment later, Claire answered the door.
She was in work clothes and wore her sour look of being inconvenienced, which I understood. It was a weekday and she had to take off work. "Hello, Winston." She eyed Diane with suspicion. "Hello."
"Hello, Mrs. Casey."
"This," I interrupted, "is Diane."
Claire didn't recognize her. I thought at first it was the hair and the suit, but then I remembered that Diane moved away the year before I met Claire.
"Sorry," I added. "Diane Walton. She's an investigator I asked to come with me."
"You're investigating me now?" Claire had been looking for a reason to play the victim. "What for? You already know about Randy and…"
"Not you," I replied. "Could we discuss this inside, please? Our neighbors are already staring."
"Mrs. Casey," Diane interrupted this time. "I am working for your, um, working for Mr. Casey on a matter unrelated to your divorce."
"Oh. I thought you might be his attorney. Where is your lawyer, by the way?"
I shrugged. "Not here. And we're still out on the stoop, Claire. Can we..?"
Claire ushered us inside like it was my first time in the house. In some ways, it was, at least that version of it. Claire had already started to repaint and remodel. The sitting room was empty except for plastic sheeting and a ladder. Fresh paint stink lingered in the main hallway from the fresh coat up the stairwell. She tore up the tile in the hallway leading to the kitchen. Sample tiles lay stacked by the archway into the dining room.
"Doing some renovations, Mrs. Casey?" Diane asked as she removed her sunglasses.
"Out with the old," I said without thinking.
"I'm just updating it to improve the resale value on the house. Randy can get me a good deal on updated plumbing fixtures and we'll install them next week. He's upstairs fixing up the third bedroom into an office."
"It was already an office," I said.
"No, I mean a real office with built in bookshelves and wiring, lighting..."
"Ah," I conceded.
"Bought at one-thirty, I think we can sell it for two-fifty in this market."
I wanted to ask if that was her idea or if daddy wanted to see a return on his investment. I let it go.
Claire continued, "We're watching a lot of DIY shows together and I think I'm getting the hang of home improvements."
I said nothing. I could have just asked Claire to meet us in front of the garage and not take a tour of the new Winston-free zone. I think walking through gave Claire a much-needed sense of expressing how she is moving on. By the time we reached the inside door to the garage and I could see the empty spot where my old overstuffed chair had been, she was more at ease with me.
"I also have the papers if you're ready to sign them." Claire mentioned our divorce papers like they were our joint tax forms. "But I imagine you'll want your lawyer to go through it all."
"I'll look at them before I go."
Claire continued, "All your things are in storage except for the crate you're so secretive about. I didn't tell anyone about it. Not even the two people who came by yesterday asking about it. I thought the one was your lawyer, too."
"Who stopped by?"
"The one man gave me his card. O'Reilly? And an Asian woman I thought was a fashion model at first, but then I thought she might be your lawyer because she was a royal bitch."
"Dennis Reilly? Did the woman leave a name? Huan?"
"I don't remember. I told her to get the hell off my porch because she was so rude. They left in a shiny, black Cadillac. They parked across the driveway. Can you believe it?"
"What did they want, Claire?"
"The man wanted to know if I'd received anything from Parker or if you sent me anything from Vegas. I told him I didn't even know you were still there. The woman was also looking for a man – John Paul something – but she just annoyed me."
I opened the door to the garage. It smelled like a motor oil spill in a Chinese restaurant.
"Mrs. Casey, did they happen to say if they were staying in the area? How to reach them if you thought of anything?"
"Not that I remember. One strange thing, though the car had a clergy license plate."
This took Diane's attention "License plate? Pennsylvania?"
"No, one of those plastic plate holders. It was red with CLERGY in white."
While Diane and Claire talked, I turned on the lights and walked into the garage through a layer of stink and mess that I could never get away with. Black splotches in the concrete and brown smears on the shelves and walls contrasted with white cartons of Chinese food scattered around the garage and empty bottles of cheap beer. The bike was little more than a frame and random parts on the floor. I spotted the wheels leaning against the wall behind a rack full of dirty rags.
The shelf where I'd kept my camping equipment now held an old stereo and two car speakers. It was on with the volume down, tuned to the local country hits station. This might as well have been one of a dozen cookie-cutter houses on the block because it didn't look like home anymore.
Claire caught my attention as she and Diane walked into the garage. "You didn't come here to snoop through Randy's things, Winston. Your crate is over here."
I turned around. Diane was already at the long box opposite me. Claire collected the empty food boxes and gingerly removed a dirty shirt off to Randy's patio chair.
"Bigger in person," I said. "That's a crypt."
Diane looked through a collection of papers attached to the crate. I made out the words "Customs" and "Approved Expedited" and "PERSONAL EFFECTS" upside down on the page Diane had flipped over.
Diane looked at me. "It's from the Ebetha Resort. No name. Mrs. Casey, does Randy have a crowbar?"
"I should have one around somewhere." I felt slighted that Diane assumed I didn't have any tools. Before I could even figure out where I would have stored them, Claire handed Diane a small iron bar from Randy's workbench.
"Winston," Diane called, gesturing me over and putting the wedge into a gap between the lid and the sides.
I came around the crate, brushing past Claire in all the clutter. Diane had already started working the lid up. Quarter-inch thick nails squealed as they pulled away from the wood. It took working the bar up and down the sides until there was an inch gap in one. "Watch your fingers, Winston and help me crack this open."
I helped Diane pull open the lid. Wood splintered and cracked on the far side of the crate as the nails bent and wood pinched together. The inside reeked like a farm. At first I thought it had to be a body. My heart jumped into my neck and cut off my air. Huan or Horus murdered Jean-Paul and FedExed him to my house. It made no more sense than dropping a dozen people out of a plane and that actually happened.
"Oh, god," Claire moaned. "Manure. You had a crate of manure sent here?"
Little, yellow sticks of straw fell out of the crate onto the concrete. Diane kept pulling the lid higher until the creaking stopped. The lid was open to a 30-degree angle. The crate was full of hay. We began digging into it.
Photos. Glassware. Plates. Framed art. Music CDs and movie DVDs. Certificates and patches from Parker's military life. Diane took a photo of each item with her phone. Nadeim or Jean-Paul, maybe both of them, managed to get his things out. The question I had was if they got out everything I needed.
"Is there a steel briefcase in there?"
"Not on my side," she replied as she photographed a set of hard cover Realm Aeternus books.
"Oh!" Diane stopped sifting thro
ugh the straw and stared down into the crate for a moment.
"What?"
She pointed down into the crate. I looked. Tiny portraits of Benjamin Franklin peered at me through the straw.
Diane suggested, "I think it's important to get it all out of here as soon as we can. Did you find it?"
I shrugged. No bulletproof case. "This looks like the kitchen and living room and part of his wardrobe. I wonder if this is all they could manage before Huan got there or if there's a second crate."
"If so, it isn't here. The manifest doesn't say it's one of two. It's a single shipment."
Under the lid, a slip of paper caught my attention. I pulled a slip of paper off a piece of tape. A handwritten note on Ebetha Resort stationery read –
Dear Mr. Casey,
I hope this note finds you and that you are well. We have shipped you all we can from Lt. Parker's personal possessions. Ni Huan is on the island and intends to verify that we've disposed of everything in their cabanas. It was Lt. Parker's wish that you receive these items upon his demise and I am fulfilling my commitment with this action. I have taken bricks worth $20,000 from the lieutenant's cash account to cover emergency expenses for Nadeim and myself. We will both be leaving Ebetha immediately. I'm sure you understand.
As we were unable to secure timely arrival of electronic devices through this shipper, we have arranged other methods to deliver them to you the cost of these services has been deducted from the lieutenant's cash accounts per his instructions.
I doubt we shall meet again, but warmest regards and Godspeed on your quest, sir.
J-P Gautreaux.
"FUCK!"
Claire poked her head out the garage door and I quick pretended that I'd hurt my hand. She gave me the usual rolled eyes and withdrew.
"I think I can officially stop working for you pro bono," Diane said settling in behind the wheel of her SUV. That is a fucking brick doghouse of cash."