I do believe I’ll be spending money in this place before I leave.
“I’ll need to get the drive.” I address the much smaller man behind the counter. “How much?”
He purses his chapped lips. “Depends on effort to extract files. Give me. I’ll look.”
I glance down and see a dated laptop for probably not much more than I’ll end up shelling out to this guy. I also don’t want to be maneuvering through one potential extortion situation while gaining myself another. Who knows what’s on the drive? Could be paranoid sales projections that show the funds losing assets, or could be dirt on people Betsey thinks have wronged her.
Whatever it is, it certainly won’t be good news.
“How about if I buy that laptop now, and then I’ll come back with the drive if I can’t get to the files?” I point at the display case.
“This one.” He pulls out a silver Dell computer. “You need a power cord?”
“Yes.” I pick up the white card he places on the counter.
He quotes me a price almost double the tagged number on the back of the brief specifications.
Annoyance ripples through me. Not at the obvious gouging, but because I ever thought coming here was a good idea. “Does it have a regular USB slot?”
He turns the machine over in his hands. “Couple of ’em.”
I pull out the cash and hand it to him.
He tosses the laptop and cord into a plastic bag. “You come back if you can’t get those files.”
I nod and turn. The mountain of a man remains planted as if I’ve not quite concluded my visit.
Trapped.
Erika’s word echoes in my head.
I phoned her twice when I got back to the hotel. The rock that formed in the pit of my stomach as my calls went to voicemail growsheavier as I watch the massive man’s dull eyes rake over me. He picks at something in his front teeth with his long yellowing thumbnail.
If I’ve learned nothing else in my fifteen years in and around Wall Street, it is to never project fear. I casually roll back my shoulders and nick my head to the side.Move. I’m leaving.
The man swags his broad chin at me, his eyes narrowing, but he then steps back and opens the door behind him.
I steer my way around his bulk and squint into the glare reflecting off the steel building across the empty street.
My running shoes scuff the pockmarked concrete sidewalk as I stumble toward the hotel. The sensation of being trapped has not left me.
9
I PULL MY SPINE AWAYfrom the hotel chair as the telltale sounds of the laptop booting up fill the space around me. I probably should have asked the neck tattoo guy to turn on the computer and prove the technology actually worked. Ridiculous to buy something without any indication it was functional. Does it even have an operating system?
I glance over at the embossed card on the desk explaining the hotel’s Wi-Fi. I may need to download a Microsoft package to get started. I scrub my face with my hands. I’m getting way too embedded in this seriously flawed plan.
A deep-purple background appears on the laptop’s display and a dozen different application icons line the bottom toolbar. The laptop has Microsoft Office installed as well as a few different browsers. Labels pop up and disappear as I run the mouse pointer over all of them. I’m in awe as I open File Explorer. An empty Documents folder displays on the screen. Small mercies, as I certainly don’t want to inherit anyone else’s junk.
I poke at the small gray thumb drive and then turn it over.DatCore. Data at the core of your business.Betsey must have picked it up at a conference, one of the plentiful tchotchkes available at the booths. I probably have one just like it tucked in my desk.
Do I really want to do this?
A much wiser course of action is to wait until tomorrow and get Compliance involved. It’s their job to assess and mitigate corporate risk. Risk that I should not be assuming.
I slide the small device toward the lamp and study Betsey’s note again, quickly skipping over her revelation about Lucas and focusing on the next line.
I’m “calling safety.” Lending you research.
