Helen Hanson - Dark Pool (14 page)

“The bank closes at five. I need to take my paperwork with me, or they won’t let me near the box.”

“The power thing?”

“Durable Power of Attorney. Thank God, Dad had the sense to put it in place before all this.”

“I think Mom made him. I remember them arguing one day right after Mom found out she was sick.” Travis leaned back with one foot up against the wall. “She told him they had to get the legal stuff done for our sake. She wanted it to be as easy as possible if, you know, they couldn’t be in charge anymore.”

Easy as possible. This was easy all right. Searching for Easter eggs in a game without rules.

Self-pity. Not a fitting memorial for Trisha. She did the best she could for them. It wasn’t her fault she died.

Travis stood and leveraged Maggie up from the floor. They replaced the second beam in silence.

She dusted off her skirt and surveyed the room once more from the hallway. “Everything ship-shape?”

“Aye. As we found it, Captain.” He saluted, but it wasn’t a gesture any naval officer would call regulation.

They padded out to the living room. Her father and the dogs slept, but Belli cracked open an eye when they entered. Bailey continued to snore. Travis called to the dogs in a voice too soft to wake their father. They scampered after him to the back door.

Maggie fixed a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich for her father, in case he woke while they were gone. She left it on the table with a glass of tea. Travis returned from the beach with The Firm panting and clicking toenails all the way to the water bowls.

She kept an original copy of her Durable Power of Attorney in her purse at all times. Her father had the foresight to give her a couple of originals, just in case. No matter what else, she knew her father trusted her. Everything he owned, all his medical care, even his precious son came under her control with that document. She never expected to use it. Maggie was barely an adult when he laid this gig on her, long before his situation eroded.

But then Trisha died. Another unimaginable event. Vital pieces of Maggie’s father left with her as if she were the resin of his epoxy. The chemical bonds of his fragile grip on reality weakened.

“You ready, Trav?”

He slipped on some sandals. “I am now. This is exciting. Don’t you think?”

She hung her purse on a shoulder. “Yeah, it is. You got the key?”

“It’s heating up my pocket, Magpie. Let’s hit it.”

Maggie trailed Travis to the front door. After he went out, she looked around for Fyodor before exiting. He had a tendency to appear when she wasn’t paying attention. Fyodor’s yard was empty, except for a pair of chipmunks who scrambled up a tree when Travis ran back from the mailbox.

“My driver’s ed book is here.” He slid into the shotgun seat and ripped open the padded mailer. The book dropped on his lap.

“Cool. I should start grilling you on the road signs we see along the way.” Maggie reversed out of the driveway. “Then again, the bank’s like ten blocks from here.”

Travis gripped the book. “As sweet as this is, I can’t think of anything but that safe deposit box.”

“I know. Dad always had a sense of the dramatic. I wonder what’s in it.”

“My money’s on some kind of document.”

“My money’s hoping it’s money.”

Travis said, “You win.”

He flipped through his driving book while Maggie drove three minutes to the bank. She found a parking space in the rear lot.

“I can come in with you, right?” Travis tossed his book on the floor.

“If I’m allowed, so are you.”

The architecture of the bank simulated an old mission with a series of archways fashioned from modern stucco. They entered the bank and approached a woman at one of the desks. An excess of white around her sky-blue irises caused her to look startled.

“May I help you?”

“Yes. I want access to a safe deposit box.”

“Certainly. I’m one of the managers here. Do you have your key with you?”

“I do, but the box is not in my name.” Maggie opened her purse and withdrew the worn envelope. “My father has Alzheimer’s. I have a Durable Power of Attorney on his behalf.” She unfolded the document and handed it to the bank employee.

The manager lifted a pair of glasses off her desk and tucked them onto a tiny nose. Her lips moved as she read.

“Safe deposit boxes are specifically listed on the next page.” When the manager turned the page, Maggie pointed to the appropriate section.

“Thanks.” The woman reviewed the section then looked back on the first page. “May I see your identification?”

“Of course.” Maggie fished for her wallet and then sifted through her stack of coupons and discount cards to find her driver’s license. “Here you go.”

“I haven’t seen your father in a long while. How’s he doing?”

Her heart skipped in place. Her father did have a box here. “He has better days than others. Thank you for asking.”

The woman nodded as if she understood. Maybe she had an afflicted family member. Eventually, this disease haunted everyone.

“I’m sorry. It must be difficult.” The woman continued her scan, now including the ID. She handed everything back to Maggie. “Excuse me a moment, please. I need to get my key.”

“Certainly.”

Travis sat on the edge of the desk. Maggie had been in this bank before with a friend, but her father didn’t have a current account with them. “Did Dad or Trish ever come here?”

“I was just thinking this place looked familiar. The arches outside—I remember ducking under them like I was entering a tunnel.” He pointed across the lobby. “A man gave me a lime lollipop over there.”

“How old were you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe five, six. It was just Dad and me.”

“Daddy never mentioned this bank before.”

The bank manager approached. Maggie and Travis met her midway.

“Please, follow me.”

They walked to the far side of the cashier windows. The huge vault door was open but not the gate. The manager asked Maggie to sign the logbook while she unlocked the gate. She led them through the round door and into a cave of drawers. They stopped in front of a wall of the smaller boxes. She placed her master key in box 1196. Maggie looked at Travis and tilted her head toward the box. He put the other key in and turned.

The keys opened the outer door to reveal a gray box with a handle. Maggie steadied her hands as she withdrew the box from the wall. Whatever was in there didn’t weigh much.

“Our privacy rooms are this way.” The manager showed them to a pair of small rooms outside the vault with curtains for doors. “Please let us know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Maggie veered into the closest room. It contained two chairs and a deep shelf connected to the back wall. She placed the gray box on the shelf. Travis pulled the thick, black curtain closed, and they each took a seat.

Complete privacy. It reminded her of a confessional.

They stared at the box. It was long and narrow, about twice the girth of a carton of cigarettes. She half expected the contents to erupt.

Travis moved in closer. “What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping it’s something. You know?”

He touched her shoulder. “Me too.”

She huffed out a breath and lifted back the lid.

Papers.

Maggie took them out of the box and sifted through to see what they were.

Her shoulders fell. “Receipts. Just some old receipts from an internet hosting site.”

“Why would Dad keep those?”

She dropped her head to the table. “Because he has Alzheimer’s.”

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Three

 

 

An employee in the bulletproof booth activated the buzzer, inviting Anton and Yuri Suslova to enter the man-trap that led to the lobby of Silicon Valley Server Farms. A non-descript building from the exterior, it provided 100,000 environmentally-controlled square feet from which computers served up interactive games, shopping opportunities, recipe exchanges, think-tank libraries, weather station data, and pornographic images the world over. The employee buzzed a second time, allowing Anton and Yuri an escape from the man-trap into the building proper. The employee’s bulletproof booth protected him from any menace the lobby might unleash.

 

“Can I help you?”

As usual, Anton did the talking. “We have an appointment with Mr. Jack Scarson.”

“I’ll let him know you’re here.” He slid a logbook along a metal tray that curved underneath the bottom of the window. “I need your driver’s licenses, so I can issue you badges to enter.”

Anton left his better suits at home, opting instead for an off-the-rack charcoal gray to complement his fake ID. The fabric scratched his skin. Yuri dressed in Dockers, a whitish shirt with maroon and blue pin striping. He bought a pocket protector on the way. He intentionally let his thick, curly hair air-dry without taming. Anton wasn’t sure where Yuri had picked up the fake glasses.

The young man behind the Lexan was slightly overweight and wore a security uniform even more ill-fitted than Yuri’s Dockers. The tails of his shirt barely qualified as tucked-in. He took their licenses and documented their breach into the secure domain. The five cameras Anton counted on the way in also recorded the event.

“Your badge, Mr. Cambrose.”

Anton took that one.

“Mr. Barsok.”

“Thank you,” Yuri said. He hung the lanyard around his neck.

Another buzzer sounded behind them.

A square-chinned man with moppy, brown hair blasted into view before they had a chance to turn around. “Mr. Cambrose?”

Anton reached out his hand as the man approached. “Please, call me Anton.”

“Jack Scarson.” He pumped Anton’s hand. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“No, your guard allowed us in just now.” He gestured to Yuri. “This is my IT manager, Yuri Barsok.”

“Welcome.”

Yuri did not offer his hand.

Jack smiled anyway. “I’d like to answer your preliminary questions before the tour. This way please.” He ran his badge through the scanner, and the door popped open.

The interior of the building wore more drama than the outside. Stainless-steel relief sculptures lined the corrugated walls while droplight fixtures of brilliant art glass illuminated the short walk to the conference rooms. Around the glossy black table, sumptuous leather chairs awaited them.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Yuri shook his head.

Anton sat across the table from Jack, laid open his notebook, and took out a business card. He reached over and handed it to Jack.

“My company, Pragsys International, develops software for managing manufacturing systems. The majority of our customers are located in Eastern Europe, Balkans, the Middle East. But we are expanding this year and need secure space to co-locate our servers.”

Jack nodded at every statement issued by Anton. “Our data center employs best practices in every functional area. With our redundant power and internet trunk lines, we can guarantee an uptime of one-hundred percent. How much space do you need?”

Anton swiveled toward Yuri. This was his cue.

“We need a custom cage for up to thirty racks and a workstation for two technicians. We can provide detailed specifications when we return to the office.” Yuri laced his fingers together.

Back to Anton.

“Part of this evaluation is to determine what other services we might include in the quotation. If you will indulge me, I have a list of questions for you.”

Jack leaned forward. “By all means. Fire away.”

“Who would have access to our cage?”

“Unless you intend to use our technicians, then access is restricted to the people you authorize. Our staff can only enter your cage by permission or in the event of an emergency. We record all the activity within our facility. You may have noticed—” Jack pointed to a corner of the ceiling. “We have cameras everywhere.”

Anton nodded deeply to demonstrate his approval of such news. “And how long are these recordings kept on file?”

“Three months.”

“That would seem adequate.” But not for Anton’s purposes. The video files he wanted were six months old or more. He referred to his notebook. The page was blank. “How do you keep track of the many visitors who come through your facility? The security measures to reach this room from lobby were minimal.”

“This side of the building is entirely separate from the data center. We monitor and record activity but without the more stringent security protocols. Visitors, job applicants, and suppliers come here. Tours of the data center are restricted to specific hours as you know. Only five members of our management team are authorized to give tours.”

“And the data center?”

Jack sat back in his seat. He appeared to think the sales pitch was going rather well.

“Data center access begins on the other side of the lobby. You’ll have an opportunity to experience our security measures first-hand during the tour. We employ round-the-clock security personnel, biometric scanners, man-traps, and closed-circuit surveillance throughout the facility. Except the restrooms.”

Anton and Yuri laughed as expected.

“But seriously, there are no restrooms in the data center.” Jack grew somber. “If you’re on our floor, you’re being watched. We train our team members to challenge anyone unknown or unauthorized. It’s part of our on-going access awareness program.”

“What financial exchanges are accessible here?”

He deserved the smile rippling across his face. Few data centers in the nation had direct access to the financial exchanges that he offered.

“We’d be happy to give you a hard copy of the full list. Let’s see, NASDAQ, New York, Hong Kong. Euronext, to name just a few. As you must know, this enables you the lowest possible latency in your trades. With your buys and sells trading in real-time, your trades happen faster.”

Actually, Anton knew that the largest banking houses routinely engaged in trade front-running—trading ahead of the normal investor, shutting them out of an honest opportunity to profit. They even probed the standing buy-sell orders to determine the maximum buy price and the minimum sell price, and then used this information to calculate additional ways to manipulate trades and bilk additional profits for themselves. He’d rather play craps blindfolded with filed dice.