When Hendrix and I got back to the cabin, I had Hendrix take a shower and used the time alone to get on a video call with DB and his tech guy. Jake—a fashionable goth type with massive multimedia art projects lining the walls behind him—had gone above and beyond. He’d done his job with gusto and had a plan of action that made me smile.
DB and Jake reiterated that they’d be happy to take care of things on their own, but I declined. I needed to look Dick DeWitt in the eye so that he knew I was not to be fucked with. Especially as it concerned Hen.
Which was how, on Monday morning, I found myself outside DeWitt’s office with an appointment to review his digital security.
“Mr. Finch, Mr. DeWitt is ready for you,” his secretary said.
She seemed like a sweet lady. I hoped he at least treated his staff well, though I doubted it. I thanked her and sent her a smile before letting myself into his office.
Good old Dick was sitting at an ugly, expensive-looking desk, chewing on an unlit cigar, focused on the screen in front of him. He didn’t bother to look up when I walked in.
“Hello, Mr. DeWitt. Sawyer Finch with Blaylock Security and Investigations. We have an appointment to discuss your network security.”
“Not sure how this meeting got on my calendar, Mr. Finch. I already have McAfee. I don’t need whatever it is that you’retrying to sell me,” he said, switching out his chewed-up cigar for a fresh one.
He still hadn’t made eye contact with me.
“Yes, sir. McAfee is excellent for spyware. They wouldn’t be much help, however, if someone were to hack into your offshore accounts and zero out your balances.”
That got his attention. He dragged his eyes from the screen to me. “Do I know you?”
“I doubt it. I’m loosely acquainted with your son, Chase. I hear he’s in Dallas these days, living with a leather daddy.”
The thing about the leather daddy was just weird enough that I’d had to double-check DB’s sources. Chase DeWitt could go suck my left one, but he’d really had no chance of growing up a well-adjusted member of society with Dick as his father. Hopefully his new daddy would teach him some fucking manners.
It was fun watching the elder DeWitt try to figure out who the hell I was. After a moment, his eyes widened in recognition. “You’re one of Mr. Paige’s boys.” Snarling, he demanded, “Why are you here?”
“I have a proposal for you, Mr. DeWitt. Release Hendrix Cavanaugh from his contract, and I won’t let my hacker friend eat your organization alive.”
DB’s associates would be zeroing out the illegal parts of the organization regardless, but I was willing to give DeWitt a chance to save his legit holdings.
DeWitt’s eyes narrowed, and he stood up, trying to look intimidating. “You’re bluffing.”
I touched my neck, where my shirt collar concealed a hickey from that morning’s round of lovemaking, and smiled. “I thought you might say that. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.”
I pulled out my phone, navigated to a website I knew he’d be familiar with, and slid the device in front of him. He glanced down at the screen and did an admirable job of keeping his face neutral. He was looking at the super-encrypted portal that controlled all of his holdings. The one no one was supposed to know about.
This, however, was the webmaster’s page, and a line of Delete buttons ran parallel to DeWitt’s accounts.
“My friends are thorough, Mr. DeWitt. We know where everything is. No need to start off with the nuclear option, though. I had them find your smallest holding. It’s a tiny, insignificant shell company fronting as an online shop for baby clothes.”
DeWitt blanched, some of that neutrality draining away.
I continued, enjoying myself a little too much. “The shop’s finances appear to be put together in such a way that the money goes to only one person. My friend—who is truly so industrious—took it upon himself to do a little digging. Turns out, a Ms. Emma Connor is blackmailing you. I can’t imagine what kind of leverage a pregnant twenty-one-year-old could have against an upstanding, married member of society like you, but I’m sure we’ll find out when the money dries up.”
“You touch anything of mine and I’ll dial 9-1-1,” he warned, but I had far too many aces up my sleeve to be worried about law enforcement.
I leaned forward and hit Delete. “Oops. Look how quickly it vanished, right off the face of the earth. Every penny gone.”
Actually, I’d transferred the assets into one of DB’s offshore accounts, which were a good deal more secure than DeWitt’s.
“That’s it. I’m calling the cops,” he spat, his eyes bulging.
“And what will you tell them?” I asked blandly.
“The truth.” He drew himself up to his full, unimpressive height. “My office has a number of hidden security cameras, and you’ve been caught on tape.”
DB had insisted that my chuckle was villainous, and based on DeWitt’s reaction to it, I had to concede that my boss might be on to something.
