Virtual Slavery

4

Brad

At a certain point capital achieves critical mass, after which, barring cataclysmic misjudgment or misfortune, it continues to grow. I can't precisely quantify that point, but unquestionably my capital has exceeded it ,and I now have only five employees.

Four work in the Century City offices. Each has an exalted title, which opens doors and looks good on resumes, and each is extremely well-compensated in an effort on my part to preclude the use of those resumes. Mary, my secretary, is Director of Management. John and Mark, my two analysts are respectively Presidents of the International and National Investments Divisions , and Charlie, my computer expert, is of course Chief Information Officer.

My fifth employee, Jefferson Jefferson, is the Executive Assistant to the Chairman. He lives in the six room guest house complete with its own swimming pool, just down the hill on the Palos Verdes property, discreetly out of sight or close to call, whichever is my preference, and is paid $1,000 per week to act as my general factotum, driver, body guard, procurer and accomplice. He also enjoys exceptional fringe benefits.

Jefferson is a retired porn star, whose working name was "Long Tom". Recent DNA analysis conclusively establishes that he is in fact one of the many black descendants of our third President, and he takes great pleasure in attending the annual family reunions at Monticello.

Prior to his film career, Jefferson was a pro football player until he blew out his left knee. He weighs only slightly less than I, but on him it is distributed somewhat differently. Being 6' 6" tall helps.

Only Charlie and Jefferson were involved in my plan for the newest partner of Broadthroup and Brown.

I asked Charlie to obtain all the information he could on the firm, specifically including an Email directory listing everyone from the partners to the newest hire, and full background on Lynn Plath, with particular reference to meetings away from Boston scheduled for the near future. I thought it better to confront her away from her own turf as it were. The background information wasn't really necessary, but I like to be thorough.

I ask for a lot of varied information. The request was not unusual, and wouldn't have been questioned anyway. That's the job.

A preliminary report appeared on my screen a few hours later.

I bought a new IBM Thinkpad--just in case she threw the thing out the window-and programmed the presentation myself.

The whole thing was a turn-on, and several of Los Angeles' most beautiful submissive whores presented their pimps with record profits during the two weeks before I flew to, of all places, Saint Louis, where Lynn Plath was to be honored as one of the top ten Mutual Fund Managers of the Year by the Atkinson Institute.

I was accompanied by my Executive Personal Assistant.

We checked into the Saint Louis Hilton and were unctuously shown to the top floor suite Mary had reserved for me. According to Charlie's information, Mrs. Plath was in Room 1415, two floors below.

I attended the award dinner that evening and enjoyed it very much, thank you. It was a formal affair and I wore a tuxedo. I sat near the head table with several other people I knew from Wharton. Mrs. Plath was quite stunning in a long burgundy dress. Obviously a favorite color. It matched the bedspread. She also wore her favorite necklace.

Her acceptance speech was brief and modestly witty. Within the context she couldn't have done better. As she spoke, I visualized in detail how she looked beneath that dress. I had, despite unusually intimate knowledge of her, not until then heard her voice.

As the speech continued my considerable stomach began to tense in anticipation and excitement. I was not, after all, entirely certain what the next hour would bring. Jefferson describes it as the feeling an athlete has just before a big game. My throat was dry, but I drank only tonic water. I wanted a perfectly clear head. I noted with approval that Mrs. Plath, as was natural, drank several celebratory glasses of wine.

Finally everyone in the world having been thanked for ensuring the various honorees various successes, the dinner ended. I glanced at my watch. It was just after eleven. Mrs. Plath extricated herself from well-wishers and made her way from the room. A messenger had been well-paid to be waiting at the door to her room.

I waited a few minutes before taking the elevator to my suite.

The telephone rang as I unlocked the door.