At Wit's End

by Lawrence, A. K.

  He wanted to kick his own butt for not remembering to get Witson’s cell number. Yes, he’d told the man he’d been trying to call him but that hadn’t been the truth. That phone number was one of the most difficult to hunt down in NYC. Brandt had tried to contact him through his old firm but that hadn’t worked; the firm hadn’t had a forwarding address or phone number.

  Brandt didn’t know which of his associates might have that magical phone number but he did know of one person who would. The caterer. He’d call Regina once the sun came up and it was officially morning and find out who had made the food for the party. He’d get the number, call the caterer and he’d be off and running. What minimum wage worker wouldn’t give up a phone number for a couple hundred dollars?

  For the worst case scenario Brandt had access to several dozen client accounts. On an errand into the senior partner’s office he’d discovered the man’s sign on name and password laying on his desk. Brandt had left the paperwork he’d been delivering and taken with him the memory of those few words. He could do a lot with them, if he needed to, and it was highly unlikely he would suffer any blowback.

  A small fire crackled in the fireplace in Wit’s bedroom and candles glowed on the bedside table. The sheets were twisted and the chocolate duvet was half off the bed. Wit checked the alert from his cell phone and grinned. He leaned over and patted Marie’s perky butt.

  “I have something to check on in the other room. Take a nap and I’ll wake you up in a little bit. We’ve had a rough day,” he grinned wolfishly and flicked a love bite he’d left on her thigh.

  She peeked out from under the pillow covering her head. “Your hair still looks good. How do you do that?”

  “Genetics,” he told her. He took a clean pair of shorts from a drawer. “I’ll be in my home office. I’ll leave the door open in case you want to come in.”

  “K.” She was half asleep and he left her to get back to the other side of awake.

  After entering his office he propped the door open. The main computer, what he called his Command Center, was humming efficiently on his desk. The alert that had come had been from here, letting him know his search was complete. He now had a biography of James Alan Brandt waiting his perusal.

  The couple had been at loose ends for the day. Marie didn’t have any imminent events and, of course, Wit had his days to himself for the foreseeable future. They’d gone to the salon and she’d had a pedicure while he’d gotten his hair cut.

  Just knowing those cute little toes hiding away in sensible shoes had a flirtatious Cotton Candy pink covering had made him want to nibble. When they’d returned to his penthouse they had taken a bubble bath in his huge tub and he’d followed the urge. That had led to an interesting afternoon.

  Thinking about that pleasant interlude had Wit consider crawling back into bed for a few more hours. Now that IGGY had run a search on a real person, however, he felt drawn to read the results. Before he began scrolling through the several screens he selected the last ten pages to print and set them to start. Those pages were the final report and Wit would save those for last.

  He began with the most recent information and took his time reading through Brandt’s employment contract. The firm was medium sized and specialized in safe investments and Brandt’s commission and benefits package were decent for someone with his education and experience. He took his salary through direct deposit, of course, and there was a link to the financial information. Wit followed the trail and immediately had a Eureka moment.

  Brandt had liquidated all retirement plans and anything else he had access to. The money had been deposited into his checking account, the same one his salary went to. Three days later the total had been withdrawn, in cash, down to the last fifty-six cents. That had been six months ago.

  Through those six months Brandt’s balance had yo-yoed nearly in sync with his pay and commission checks. Wit made a mental bet the man had a gambling or woman problem. Considering what he’d done to Marie, Wit essentially ruled out women trouble. He considered drugs and discarded the notion. From what he could gather from the history of the man’s trade patterns he was too steady at the wheel.

  His current account balance was $153,622.09. Wit was sure this was what remained of Marie’s business loan after the various institutions it had been bounced through had taken their cuts. Wit noted that IGGY had tied in accounts under the name Michael Morrison to Brandt’s. That was an impressive feat as Wit had not included the alias in the search. He gave a silent cheer.

  Brandt’s financial information was a mess but with a pattern that was easy to understand. Wit figured he had two days, three tops, before Brandt drained the account once more. He returned to the transaction history, selected deposits and went back five years. Yet another fairly consistent pattern emerged.

  Wit wondered what would happen if he contacted the various women who had deposited large sums with Michael Morrison. Would they tell him it was voluntary? Wit highly doubted it. Would they tell the police about the Spontaneously Invisible Man? Wit thought that probable.

  In his experience, no one wanted to admit they’d been scammed. However once they heard other people had fallen victim as well they became much more amenable to going to the police. Often they would want revenge. Wit opened a document and began two sets of notes. One for future police involvement – Wit loved to use the old-fashioned anonymous tip – and one for his own plans for this particular scumbag.

  Marie’s money would be leaving Brandt’s account, no doubt about that. The only question that remained was where it would go. All of their talk of karma made Wit not want to boomerang it back to her. That felt dirty.

  Besides, Dream Will hadn’t wanted him to do that.

  The sub-conscious was a powerful thing and Wit’s had been screaming at full volume. He was listening this time. No more ignoring strange little men in alleys. Dream Will had wanted him to stop pulling tricks with the computer and, to an extent, he was. Marie’s deposit would be coming from Wit. To put it bluntly, Wit was loaded and he considered this a good cause.

  The desire for revenge screamed just as loudly, however. To be fair Wit felt he had to consider that sub-conscious want as well. To balance that with karma he’d decided Marie’s alma mater culinary school would have a nice little scholarship fund paid for by Brandt. And it would not be anonymous.

  The room was ten degrees cooler than the rest of the penthouse. Marie nearly shivered as she walked in the door but a warm wave of air greeted her after she’d entered the room. “Whoa,” she said, “it’s hot and cold in here at the same time.” She walked over and put her arms around Wit’s shoulders from behind. She looked at the screen and realized she had no idea what she was looking at.

  “This computer runs at some pretty high temperatures. I had to install a separate thermostat in here. It keeps it cooler but those boxes,” he gestured under the desk where several towers were linked together, “even it out. Did you have a good nap?”

  “God, yes,” Marie nuzzled the back of his neck. “What are you working on?”

  “Oh, the usual,” he said dismissively. “Hey, check this screen out.” He pointed to the screen on the top left.

  “I don’t know how you keep track of five monitors. Shouldn’t that be information overload?”

  “That would depend on the information,” he said. “Have you ever had multiple documents you had to look at and been forced to flip from screen to screen?”

  She nodded. “Sometimes, when I’m really involved in a project, I’ll forget what I was looking at as I go to each screen.”

  “Exactly. I use these monitors to prevent that, as a short explanation. I don’t run all of them all the time.”

  Marie thought about it. “Okay, I can understand that. What did you want to show me?”

  Wit pointed back at the screen. Marie carefully read the top. “Is that your personal banking information?”

  “Some of it,” he shrugged. “I trust you not to run out to Central Park and b
roadcast the information.” He grinned at her. “I’m about to push a button. When I do your business loan will be back in your account and C U There will be financially viable once more.”

  “Did you take it from James?”

  “Not yet. I thought about it some. I have a few ideas to make that come full circle which are very technical.”

  “I’m not nearly awake enough for technical.” She watched his hand hover above the mouse. “Really? One button?”

  “Yep. This one.” He clicked the confirmation and his account balance dropped the exact amount her loan had been. “You are officially solvent again.”

  Marie’s spirit soared but at the same time… “Wit, I can’t take your money.”

  “Trust me when I say it’s going to work out in the end.”

  “I’m going to consider it a loan.” She was determined on this point.

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ll get my money’s worth.” And have a clear conscience to boot, he didn’t add. Dream Will would have been proud of him.

  Marie thought about what she’d just said. A loan from the bank, a loan from Wit, her debts were doubling as she stood there.

  Wit interrupted her musing. “I consider it an investment in my mental sanity.”

  “What?”

  “Working with you, the events that I pitched in on, helped bring me back out of my personal shell of misery. I feel better now than I have in months.” Wit spun in his chair, rose and started pacing. “I’ve never had my hands in what I’ve been eating.”

  Marie grinned. “I’ve gone grocery shopping with you. You have no need to tell me you don’t cook. I’m well aware.”

  “It’s not the cooking. Well, maybe it is. I don’t know. What I do know is that you’re good for me. I hope you’ll stay around for a while. That’s the kind of therapy I could get interested in.”

  “That’s not why you used your money, is it?” She looked so horrified Wit had to stifle a laugh.

  “No, not at all. I’m not trying to bribe you to spend time with me. Like I said, I have a plan to make this all work out in the end. And please do not say the ends justify the means. We aren’t at the end yet. Do you think you can trust me for a few more days?”

  Marie didn’t have to think about it. “Of course.” She considered what had happened over the past several days. A lump formed in her throat. “Bradley, I don’t know how to thank you for this.” She wrapped her arms around him once more and let the emotions course through her. There was a sense of relief mixed with the remainder of the stress she had been under.

  “You already have,” he told her. “And you’re very welcome. I sense a mutually beneficial relationship on multiple levels. There’s potential here.” Wit discovered he liked the way she had said his first name, it sounded natural.

  “Yes, there is.” Which answered one question Marie had been worrying. Would they go their separate ways when this situation was resolved? Apparently not. “So, what’s next?” she asked.

  Wit picked up one of the boxes George the doorman had had delivered. He examined the box and didn’t believe it had been tampered with during shipment. He slit the tape along the top with a small knife and opened it. Packing peanuts fell everywhere as he removed a smaller cardboard box. He checked the edges and, once again, decided it hadn’t been opened. From that he removed a cellular phone.

  “This is what’s next,” he showed her the phone. “I am going to need thirty seconds near his cell phone.”

  “What is it?”

  Wit thought about the explanation. “Have you ever heard of cloning a phone?”

  Marie cocked her head to the side. “It sounds like copying a phone.”

  “That’s it in a nutshell,” he agreed. “I can use this to clone Brandt’s phone, any phone actually, and then I can listen in on his calls, read his text messages and emails, etc. This one in particular has an added feature. When I’ve decided he doesn’t need his phone anymore I can enter a code and it will brick his phone.”

  “What does that mean? To brick it?”

  “Essentially it turns it into a paperweight. He won’t be able to use it in any way. It won’t even turn on.”

  “And we want his email and text messages?”

  Wit nodded. “We do. We also want the passwords that will be stored in it. I assume it’s a Smart Phone and, therefore, will have his home network information on it. I can get into that another way but this may be easier all around. More information with less work.”

  “More bang for your buck?”

  “I wish it had only cost a buck to design this thing,” Wit grinned.

  “Okay, well, how do we get to his phone?”

  “That’s easy enough.” Wit reached into his pocket and pulled out a small square. “He actually gave me his business card. I’m going to set up a meeting with him somewhere public. I’ll clone his phone and do some social engineering.”

  “Social engineering?”

  “That’s what he did to you but in a longer term fashion. Using a persona to extract information you shouldn’t be able to get normally.”

  “I see.” Marie thought about it. “That seems like a dirty trick.”

  “Oh, it most definitely is.” Wit checked the time. “It’s too late to call him for that meeting now. I’ll try him in the morning.”

  “Sounds good to me,” she replied. “In the meantime,” she eased closer to where he sat, a gleam in her eye, “how about a late dinner in bed?”

  The image in the mirror was not one Wit was familiar with any longer. The man wore a business suit that was slightly baggy due to weight loss. His dark hair was slickly styled and he had a close shave. The tie that hung askew around his neck was something he didn’t want to deal with.

  “You would think after wearing a noose around my neck for three years that I’d be able to still tie one after 6 months,” he grumbled to Marie.

  “I’m not sure you need it,” she told him. “Though you’ve scheduled this as a business meeting, Kid Midas has been out of the game for a while. It would make sense for you to not wear the full regalia.”

  He considered her point and had to agree. Thankfully he took off the jacket and tie and selected a burgundy cashmere sweater instead. Marie straightened the collar of his shirt and stood back, staring.

  “Well? How do I look?” he asked.

  “Like money with a capital M.” Marie knew Wit was well off financially, the apartment practically screamed it, she just hadn’t seen him with the full effect.

  “Brandt actually thought I was destitute,” he told her. “He suggested I could work with him to recoup my losses over the last several months.”

  “And the reality?”

  “I could buy and sell him and his firm several times over.” No ego, no vanity, it was the truth. “What are you going to do today?”

  “Well, as much as I enjoyed having the concierge bring me random clothes, I think I’m going to run back to my place and do some laundry, water the plants, things like that. Then, I’m taking my checkbook out for some exercise. C U There is behind schedule. The building I wanted to lease has been taken by someone else so I’ll be looking for office and kitchen space over the next few days.”

  “Sounds like you’ll be busy,” Wit commented.

  “I will, thank goodness. I won’t be worried about you meeting with Brandt.”

  “Nothing bad will happen. That’s one of the reasons I picked a public arena. I’ll chat him up for a few minutes, clone the phone and then I’m out of there. I’ll call you when I’m finished and let you know how it goes.”

  “That would set my mind at ease, thank you. And good luck.” Marie kissed his cheek and, when they reached the lobby, watched him slide into his Lamborghini and wondered what she was doing.

  The restaurant was near the Financial District and remained open from lunchtime thru 7:00 in the evening. Their clientele consisted almost entirely of workers from the area. They offered quick lunches, generally consisting of sandwic
hes or some kind of broiled chicken. The menu had not changed in five years which also made ordering easier.

  Brandt requested the table in the window and watched the street out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t been surprised when Witson had called for a meeting. It was his destiny to have everything he needed fall into his lap and it had been only a matter of time before Witson had followed suit.

  Eight days remained before he had to deliver the cash to Charles. Any monies he received from Witson would take three days to clear, give or take, and that would leave him plenty of time. If Witson flaked, or dithered, he’d be able to show Charles the prospect and surely that would buy him the extra days he’d need.

  Content with his plan Brandt used his phone and scrolled through the emails that had come in while he sat waiting. Witson was late but that was okay, Brandt had nothing else on his calendar for the day. That should have told him something, no client meetings or other appointments on a Monday in the spring, but he ignored that discomfort.

  A rumble caught his attention and he turned to the street. One of the most beautiful cars he’d ever seen sat idling at the curb. Valet attendants were fighting over the chance to park it. Brandt had priced that shimmering black Lamborghini out and knew the exact cost. He wondered who would be emerging once one of the valets finally opened the door.

  Wit slid smoothly from the low seat and gave a generous tip to the salivating valet. He looked vaguely like the guy in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off who stole the classic car and went joyriding with his friends. Reminding himself it was merely a car and he’d be done with this meeting in less than half an hour he entered the bustling café.

  He spotted Brandt immediately and made his way to the table, stopping along the way and greeting familiar faces. Wit had planned this. He wanted Brandt to know he hadn’t lost a step and Kid Midas was not a man to mess with. His reputation was flawless even with the six month sabbatical.