CHAPTER EIGHTTEEN
Chelsea, Manhattan
DERRICK LANDRY was a meticulous man and felt well within his comfort zone while sipping on his customary Earl Grey tea. It was a Friday evening tradition of sorts for the PurIntel executive to spend a few quiet hours living up to his single, refined gentleman status. The Whiskey Cupboard, located on West 19th Street, had been his favourite haunt for as long as Simon knew his Director of Operations, and it was no secret that he began every weekend at the trendy, over-priced coffee house. The irony that The Whiskey Cupboard served no alcoholic beverages was rarely lost on its regular patrons, but anything stronger than coffee or tea had been out of the question for Derrick for some time. The bridge to all things intoxicating had been severed nearly a decade ago. It went through the usual slow and agonizing process of being wired for charges; its self-detonation only accomplished after crossing the threshold of all things dehumanizing.
Derrick was fully aware, of course, that his boss was still immersed in a tragedy beyond compare, but there was little he could do from New York. Sophia was essentially on-site with Simon. Her remote deployment capabilities had been transferred to the same visual system that he used during his demonstration at UC, Berkeley. Simon rarely travelled without the briefcase-size device. It was much easier, for example, to visualize how a micro array matched up with and adhered to a gene when its sequence was magnified and slowly rotating right in front of him. Phosphorescent additives enabled micro arrays to display how active a gene is by glowing. It was obvious, even to Simon, that Sophia’s holographic capabilities were subject only to the limitations of one’s imagination.
As per Simon’s orders, Derrick had suspended all but a few of Sophia’s obligations in order to redirect her remaining resources to the task of finding Jennifer. The Halo’s retail component remained active, but everything else was rendered off-line. It was a long weekend, after all, and Derrick knew few institution level clients would be requiring her services. This would also allow for a full interface with whatever state of the art gear arrived from Gen Tech. He did, however, utilize the infrequent opportunity to perform some background programming tasks on the otherwise distracted Sophia.
In a corner booth, Derrick stirred a fresh cup of tea, as he scrolled through an automotive after-market website. A new set of composite rims would go nicely on the R8, he thought. After putting his spoon down on its saucer, he raised his cup to his lips. He paused, however, after seeing someone standing in front of his booth.
“Ms. Gill,” he said, straightening his back. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“May I join you?” she asked.
“Of course.”
As his unexpected guest became the model of repose, sliding herself into a comfortable seated position, Derrick didn’t bother running the gamut of possibilities. Although Rose was the type of woman that could make some men uncomfortable, Derrick was intimately familiar with company so compelling. He had made the decision not to marry long ago. And since single life suited his work-centric lifestyle, relationships with the opposite sex fell into categories defined by narrow, seldom-bargained parameters. Women meant one thing to Derrick, and he was used to them deferring to his terms.
“So should I presume I am the beneficiary of some happen-stance meeting, or would you suggest I abandon the laws of coincidence and allow my ego free reign?”
“Neither, Mr. Landry,” Rose stated. She loathed the idea of being compelled to fulfill her brother’s demands. In order for Gen Tech’s full potential to be deployed on Jennifer’s behalf, a measure of quid pro quo was required to seal the ‘arrangement.’
“Oh,” Derrick said, slowly nodding his head. “Then you have my curiosity peaked. May I call you, Rose? If you don’t mind, I’d certainly prefer you to call me Derrick.”
Rose’s demeanour fit well with the type of correspondence with which Derrick was all too familiar ˗ confident in her ability to leverage every resource available. Nonetheless, she remained focused on the reason for their meeting. “There’s a small matter of some software I’d like you to look at.”
Rose handed over a crystal-like memory device. “Would you mind looking at two files for me?”
Derrick took the memory stick and plugged it into his tablet. He was surprised to see what appeared on his screen.
“I assume you recognize the first program,” Rose stated.
“I should. I wrote it when I was freelanced to Equity FX.” Another revelation seemed to flash across Derrick’s face. “How did you get your hands on this?”
“My brother is considering another acquisition.”
“Equity FX?” Derrick picked up on Rose’s subtle affirmation. “And what, he happened onto these files while kicking the tires, as it were?”
Prav had explained to Rose that he wanted to bring Equity FX back to life, that he needed an American subsidiary to Indus Bank, an Indian financial institution with which the Gill family of companies had a significant ownership stake. Rumours persisted, however, relating to hundreds of millions of dollars still unrecovered. Thus far, the SEC investigation had been fruitless in finding the FX funds. The fact that the last outstanding lawsuits had recently been settled for pennies on the dollar offered the best testament that, notwithstanding the investors’ honourable intentions, all involved were ready to put the sordid matter behind them.
Having developed some of the software for Equity FX himself, at least the original, unaltered versions, Derrick closely followed the financial institution’s demise, much of it from the booth in which he was presently sitting. Yes, he had cooperated with the investigation, but back then he was committed to the capitalistic notion that the markets should be allowed to regulate themselves. Relationships pertaining to institutionalized authority were, therefore, tenuous at best. He did, however, offer to find the money, to track it down through a pre-Sophia, painstaking process, but Director Phelps’s predecessor turned down Derrick’s so-called finder’s fee as being ridiculous.
The thought of wanting a contemptuous ten percent of the funds recovered caused Derrick to smile as he scrolled through his adulterated lines of code. He knew there was no stale date on money; that someone might eventually come to him with an offer, such as the one Rose was proposing this evening. And with recent advances in computing power, he might even be able to find the millions without Sophia’s help.
Rose returned Derrick’s thoughts to the task at hand. “And the second program?” she asked. “That little gem of yours has apparently been lying dormant in the background for some time now.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. It was designed to avoid detection from prying eyes, so to speak.” “You know,” he said, pausing, “I still think this ranks as some of my best work.”
The first software program on Rose’s memory device was set up as an investment vehicle that provided micro-loans to underdeveloped countries. Sponsored by the U.N., and backed by its G20 member nations, it quickly became a popular tax avoidance tool. Its rate of return may have been mediocre, but the social contagion aspect of lifting the Third World out of poverty caused it to take off more rapidly than anyone expected.
Registration of peasant artisans and farmers amounted to the first of many hurdles, however. The poor of India suffered from logistical obstacles as much as those from African nations. The second problem was born, in part, from the first; a dramatic over-funding caused millions of dollars to be bottlenecked at source institutions.
Some brokerage houses discontinued the program, while others, like Equity FX, used ingenuity to solve the problem. Ancillary software was written to fabricate bogus entities. Once created, tens of thousands of approved applicants allowed the money to flow. And flow it did.
Although Equity FX benefited greatly from the brokerage fees they earned, it wasn’t long before the program fell victim to its own success. The fact that Equity FX was succeeding where everyone else failed brought the company under U.S. government scrutiny. The Security and Exchange Commission
eventually shut down the American version, but not before hundreds of millions went unaccounted for.
“You know I was cleared of all wrong-doing on that file,” Derrick stated, vociferously.
“It’s the second piece of software I’m interested in,” Rose stated.
The second program Derrick wrote for the same firm was not designed to work in parallel with the aforementioned, but that’s how it ended up being deployed. The following bit of programming genius became a cover to protect the assets of the first.
Originally designed to hide offshore assets from prying eyes, this program had the ability to make it impossible for regulatory agencies like the SEC to seize monies in suspect bank accounts. As soon as attempts were made to retrieve the assets, Derrick’s software ensured any aggregate sum was splintered into dozens of smaller amounts. They would, in turn, be transferred to other foreign institutions whereby they would sit idle until the process required repeating. Every split, every movement of money, every transaction carried with it a unique electronic signature so that every dollar could be accounted for.
Equity FX executives were eventually indicted as a result of the ensuing SEC investigation, and Allan Forbes played a role in bringing it and other companies under control. While Equity FX’s fledgling carcass languished under the pall of an uncertain future, the usual lack of funding caused S.E.C. investigations to founder and subsequently come to a halt. But as much as Prav Gill could trace the scent of financial opportunity, so did Allan have a nose for those bitten by the vice of greed. He was patient, moreover diligent, if anything.
Again, Derrick didn’t break any existing American laws, so he was eager to remind Rose of his exoneration during what he considered a lengthy and exhaustive investigation.
As he scrolled through the program he created some eleven years earlier, Rose looked on with a measure of disinterest. Prav promised her a portion of the fund, if she would help in its recovery, but money never excited her the way other things did. She obviously had her reasons, not the least of which was to help Simon. However indirectly, she could play a role in finding Jennifer alive and safe.
Derrick continued scrolling through the program, looking for deficiencies, as Rose’s mind raced with conflicting thoughts.
She truly believed her relationship with Simon was solid and safe, but was it too safe? To get involved with her brother’s scheme was risky. He had a way of influencing her to do risky things, though. The danger of being caught or exposed, like she was with her first boyfriend, still resonated with her to this day, however faintly. She struggled to detach her mind from what still smoldered within the ash of her addiction. It was so crafty, exploitive, and sometimes too overwhelming.
Rose felt a resurgence of feelings she had long suppressed. She had sensed Derrick’s lust for her from the moment she sat down. All she had to do was appear indecisive, react with hesitation to his inevitable advances. Derrick would interpret that as weakness and then take it as a sign to press for what he wanted. Daring to confront the eroticism that would define their encounter, Rose summoned the strength to look away. She focused her attention on another couple sitting several booths down. They were laughing, carrying on like committed lovers should. The romantic, more natural spectacle made her think of Simon ˗ how he was helping her to find inner health, become less fragmented, live like a whole person again. He didn’t know how damaged she really was. He never would, Rose said to herself. She took a deep breath then looked up and found Derrick staring at her. “Is everything alright?” he asked.
Rose was accomplished at hiding her true feelings. “It’s been a long day.”
“Can I get you a glass of white wine or …”
“Are you able to retrieve the assets?” Rose interjected.
“Someone has done a hatchet job here, but with a little work … yes.”
“I have three bank accounts,” Rose said, sliding a piece of paper across the table.
“Three?”
“One is for you.”
Derrick felt the presumption of being complicit to things unspoken, but he could also feel a palpable tension emanating from Rose. She was so close, so irresistible. “What if I don’t need the money … if I’d prefer something else?”
Rose could feel Derrick undressing her with his eyes. She shuddered, trying to displace a desire to indulge herself, to acquiesce to Derrick’s burning desire.
She quickly slid herself out of the booth. “I’ll be in touch,” she coolly stated, glancing toward the entrance.
Derrick’s eyes followed Rose’s every step to the lounge’s front door.