Overmatched - Part 2
Trying to topple uber-rich assholes
Several good, even great authors here, have broached this topic. One of my favorites is the SaddleTramp. I encourage you to check out his work. Typically, the villains are attorneys or independently wealthy, perhaps a real estate mogul. What got the creative juices flowing for me was researching some of these Davos assholes for a new book of mine. I started to consider what an ordinary husband might be able to do when up against people with tens of billions of dollars, international corporations, and mercenaries on speed dial.
Relax; it's just a story, people.
Continuation from part one:
The three days after our return home were somber and unobtrusive. We were both lost in our shared nightmare. I could tell that Jack's warning to Katie weighed heavily on her mind. She wasn't a man, nor did she fully understand a man's pride and ego, which is to say my self-respect, but I could tell she wondered how I might fare under the pressure.
Three days later found me driving her to the airport. Jack had at least kept one small promise by not picking her up. Maybe, he was only playing it close to the vest in case I'd come up with something they hadn't considered, like when I hacked their system to get a job.
"I love you, Andy." This time it was solemn. "Please try to stay busy and put your worries out of your mind. Use your journal. I'll call you every chance I get, including New Year's Eve. I know we are finalizing the new combined executive committee with McMillin but that's all I know."
I told her I loved her, too. We cried a bit, forced a few smiles, and put on our brave faces. Then she was gone and I had absolutely no idea how I was going to cope.
Part 2:
During my drive home, I thought long and hard about how I would endure the misery. There are no words to describe how it feels to have the person you love with your entire being taken so callously from you, then knowing she'll be returned but forever changed.
Changed. Permanently. On our last night together in bed, I'd made her promise some things.
"Be honest with me, Katie," I said softly as her head lay on my chest. "If you... enjoy the... sex with him." Her eyes looked up into my eyes. "When you come home, I need your honesty, Katie."
"Of course," she said untangling herself from my arm and sitting up to face me. "But I can tell you now if you like." She paused, waiting for my response and I nodded for her to continue.
"I'm going to enjoy it," she said earnestly but also with empathy. "He'll know the difference if I try to fake it, I mean, but to enjoy it with him, I'll need to be thinking of you."
I guess my look softened because she went on. "I'll be thinking of you, my love, as if your life - and mine - depended on it."
I spent my first night alone doing exactly what I'd done that weekend when I first found out about our nightmare. I drank myself to sleep. I had no intention of sinking myself into a drunken depressed well of self-pity. I'd give myself the one night.
The following morning though, there was something different in me. Maybe it was a defense mechanism or some divine intervention, I don't know, but I got up, quickly showered as if it was a workday, and popped three Ibuprofen with breakfast.
As I sat there eating, I had several moments of clarity. The first was that as much as had been explained to me, I really knew nothing about what was happening. It finally dawned on me that I was being led by my emotions, something Powers and Biggs had planned and were counting on. Of course, I could simply believe my wife and those assholes but to what end? If they could punish me, even end me, then I had no reason whatsoever to believe them.
I'd need to do a deep dive, even at the risk of being caught. I had to learn everything I could about Worldview, Mort, and Powers. As much as I wanted to believe Katie, I'd need to prove that as well. Further, I would need to investigate McMillin. The merger could hold the key to all of it or it could at least provide me with some leverage.
I used the backdoor I'd created in the system, and then I created another backdoor breach, one that was easier to spot but not so easy to track. I'd use the third one to start siphoning money a little at a time. I set up an offshore account, nothing too fancy. It could easily be one of their own offshore accounts if it wasn't hidden beyond the finance dashboard. I found out that day they had hundreds of accounts.
Finally, I created redundancy in the original breach, pointing back towards my co-worker. I agonized over that for some time and took a long run before returning home and then typing the final set of codes. It went against everything in my morals to implicate and possibly cause harm to a guy I knew who hadn't done anything wrong except give me his tablet to fix. This was war, however, and all was fair, I decided.
The next day, feeling as if I was accomplishing things, I went to work on the money. After about two hours of digging, I hit paydirt.
There was an account that at first glance appeared to be used for compound interest and dividends. Money was being deposited and withdrawn. The withdrawals appeared to be for odds and ends, like travel expenses. There were lodging and meal withdrawals, probably for suppliers or top-tier customers. Maybe it was more significant, though, because all executives had their own 'above board' expense accounts. Also, some withdrawals went to other unmarked accounts. The account had just over $350,000 in it. I checked the account several times that day and was pleased to see that the amounts changed every few hours in a range from six dollars to one hundred and ninety-three dollars. That meant the account wasn't even real money, just an algorithm intended to calculate daily interest and dividends based on the stock market.
After watching the activity most of the day, I set up an automatic withdrawal every three days, randomized to take between eleven hundred and twenty-nine hundred. I based those numbers on the average of the withdrawals to keep suspicions down.
It would take more work - painstaking work - to snoop around for personal emails or anything nefarious, even with the rotating IP address.
Unlike the first time, I was more upbeat when Katie returned. We'd made a pact not to force sex between us until I felt comfortable or vice versa. We had a nonsexual New Year albeit rewarding under the circumstances. The following day threw me for a loop.
When Katie arrived home, she wanted to be held. She didn't say it but I could see it in her eyes, plain as day. I held her tightly on our sofa and she cried for half an hour. Another part of the pact was not to push. Of course, we'd both need to occasionally pry but respectfully. The rest of the day went better than I expected but the next day, Katie seemed to turn cold, indifferent, even. Maybe it was her guilt. I made sure she knew that I was there for her so she could unburden herself but it still took about fifteen days for her to return to any semblance of normalcy.
Once over her funk, I reminded her about our many agreements, including being open and honest with one another. She thanked me but then she reminded me that I was supposed to be using the journal as a release mechanism.
When I asked her if she wanted to tell me about the intimacy or any part of the trip, she paled and said she was too embarrassed to discuss it. If this was how things would be each time, I doubted very much that our marriage or relationship would survive a year, let alone two.
We got back to some amount of normalcy during the last half of the month and even restarted our love-making. I'd also made some headway with my investigation of Worldview but as far as the individuals, not so much. I decided to take a break and come up with something special for Katie and me on Valentine's Day. That idea blew up on February 3 when Katie came home from work solemnly.
After we finished our dinner, Katie looked at me across the table with a look of dread. She was having trouble saying the words or making any sound at all.
"He's made travel plans for Valentine's, hasn't he?" I asked bitterly. She could only nod.
"Sonofabitch!" I yelled, flinging the chair backward as I abruptly stood. I tried to get myself under control and did. I wasn't doing either of us any good in that state of mind.
"I'm going out," I glared as I said it. "It's not you. I need to process this so I don't lose it. It's not your fault, Katie. It's just so hard to take."
My wife half-smiled, I guess that despite everything, I was considering her feelings, too. She nodded again in understanding and I left. Under the weight of my predicament, I thought seriously about just running that night. I was in such turmoil that I didn't even want to drink. After driving for quite some time, I went home and found Katie in bed, looking haggard. I climbed into what had always been our respite and held her tightly until we fell asleep.
The next morning, Katie seemed eager to talk.
"I need to... unburden," she said quietly, a bit distantly. I told her to go ahead.
"I feel like this isn't going as we planned," she began. "I know... or I knew it might not go the way we laid it out. Now I'm starting to realize how difficult it truly is for both of us. I thought I... could deal with things... compartmentalize."
"What does that mean, Katie?" I asked, not understanding.
"I thought it would be a lot simpler," she tried to explain. "I could stay detached... I don't know, like out of body or something. I could pretend I was with you. I could visualize it was us and I could then block him out. That works during... sex. It doesn't work when he's talking about sex, before or after. Sometimes he'll even start talking about it during lunch or our evening meal."
"Like what for example?" I asked when she paused.
"He promised," she said catching a sob in her throat. "He'd told us that he wasn't going to interfere with us, belittle you, and he hasn't, but he's snooping. He asks about the intimate parts of our relationship."
