Authors: Carey Green
Yardley’s office was on the fifth floor in an area where Vanessa rarely visited. There was a computer forensics lab and various technical parts of the Bureau that she rarely dealt with. The feel of the floor was completely different from hers. Unlike the sterile white offices where she worked, the feel of Yardley’s floor was a modern mix of glass and steel, like an industrial art gallery somewhere in Berlin. Vanessa had a hard time finding Yardley’s office, as it was tucked in the farthest and most remote corner on the floor. Vanessa knocked when she arrived, though the door was open.
“Come in,” Yardley said, as he swiveled around in his chair.
“Yardley, I’m Vanessa.”
“Gotcha. Yardley Trussell.” They shook hands.
Yardley was bordering on heavy without crossing over, a middle-aged spread held somewhat at bay. His hair was scattered amusingly to the left side of his face, and he would wipe it over every few minutes.
“Yardley, one thing: What we are discussing here is extremely confidential. I need your word that you will not share this information with anyone.”
Yardley smiled. “Of course, Vanessa.”
“Good.”
“I took a look at your iPod.”
“Could you make out the account numbers or anything like that?”
“No, there’s some type of encryption that protected that, but I did find the list of names.”
Vanessa and Yardley huddled over a computer screen filled with columns of numbers.
“What the hell is it?”
“It’s called a hash table,” Yardley said.
“Corn beef or rye?”
“Ha, Ha,” Yardley answered. “A hash table is a way to look up information quickly; for example, your name in a phone book. A hash would associate your name with a numerical index, then use that index to look up your name. The thing that links your name with the index is called a hash table. The thing that creates the hash table is called a hash function; it’s almost like a blender that chews up information, then links it back together again. This particular example is called a cryptographic hash function: You feed the table a bunch of information, and it kicks back a uniform series of eight-character gibberish.”
“What would it be doing on an iPod?” Vanessa asked.
“No idea. But it looks like it was put there by whomever owned this iPod.”
“Can you tell what’s in it?”
“Absolutely not. To unencrypt the hash, you’d need the program that created the hash function. That could be ten lines of programming, or ten pages.”
“Where would we get that level of encryption?”
“You’d have to get it from whomever wrote the hash. Based on the stuff I see on this iPod, whoever did this knew what they were doing.”
“Great,” Vanessa said sarcastically. “I’ll let you know when we get it.”
Though it had only been a week, Corbin and Corbin seemed much the same. The receptionist had not arrived yet and Dylan had let himself in using his I.D. It still worked. There had been a major exodus of employees after Ray had died, and a skeleton crew was running the office. Wong was now the only trader left, but it was more than simply a question of loyalty. Finding a position in another hedge fund would be a challenging proposition.
“So much for a change of pace,” Dylan thought to himself, as he made his way down the corridor towards the trading floor. But then it struck him. He U-turned and changed his direction. He needed to go and see Martha.
Dylan strolled down the hall towards her office. Though it was now closer to 8 a.m., the other offices on the trading floor remained empty. Martha looked up when he knocked at her door.
“Hello, Martha,” Dylan said as he entered her office.
“Dylan,” she said as she looked up with a smile. “I didn’t think I’d see you here again.”
“Neither did I, Martha. I just wanted to say hello. How are you?”
She took a second to compose herself. “I’ve seen better times, Dylan. I’ve seen better times.”
“I know the feeling.”
“What’s going on here?”
“You mean, what’s going on here since Ray died?”
“However you want to put it.” Dylan looked at Martha’s face. Perhaps it was just his imagination, or perhaps it was his knowledge of the recent events that had transpired, but something seemed to have changed in Martha now that Ray was gone.
“As you can see, Josh has taken full reign of the ship.”
“I haven’t seen him yet.”
“He’s barking out orders like he built the place.”
“I guess he figures his last name is Corbin too.”
Martha took off her glasses for effect. “I know what his last name is, but there was only one Ray Corbin.”
“I know you two were close.”
“I loved him, Dylan. Don’t think harshly of me for saying that.”
“I don’t.” Dylan had no response. It took a massive effort to still look her in the eye. Neither spoke for what seemed like a minute. Martha composed herself and began to speak.
“What about Binky? Anything?”
“Nothing. The cops are at a loss.”
“Do you have any idea what might have happened?”
“I’m not sure I’d be sitting here if I had the answer. Anything on Ray?”
“The police didn’t find much. They still claim it was a suicide, but I don’t believe it. The man who I knew would never have taken his own life. I saw the note; it was not his handwriting.”
“Did they call in an expert?”
“Yes. But even he could not say definitively.”
“What happens now?”
“Nothing,” Martha said. “Either way, life goes on, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” was all that Dylan said. He had nothing else to offer; there was nothing he could say to Martha to make her feel better. He put his head down and coughed into his clinched fist.
“What happens to this place now?”
“I guess we’ll see how long it takes for Josh to run it into the ground.” Martha smiled grimly as Dylan stood up.
“Take care, Martha.”
“You too, Dylan.” Martha stood up and shook Dylan’s hand. She lingered near the door as he exited her office. Dylan headed over towards his desk in the old location.
It was hard for him not to think about Binky. He looked over in the direction of Binky’s desk several times. Most of Binky’s possessions had been boxed and packed away in several non-descript boxes. Steve Wong came over and said “hello”.
“What’s going on around here?” Dylan asked.`
Steve rolled his eyes towards Josh’s office. “Lots of changes.”
“What does he have you doing?”
“Unwinding whatever trades we have left. I’m still sorting through King’s bullshit.”
“What exactly did King do?” Wong laughed.
“What
didn’t
he do. The guy was desperate: he was losing big, and you guys were making shitloads of money. He would go into the trading system and see what trades you guys were doing, then try to do the same trades. The guy was so stressed out. He didn’t stop to think that you guys were getting in and out of the trades at specific points in the market. By the time he would make his trades, you guys would already be out.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. “That’s the way it works.” When he turned and looked up, Dylan realized that Josh was staring right at him.
Josh was standing inside of his old office, looking out through the glass windows at him. Dylan began to walk across the trading floor towards him. When Dylan reached Josh’s old office, he could see that it was empty. Josh made a gesture in the direction of Ray’s office, and Dylan began to follow him down the hall.
Dylan reached the office that was formerly occupied by Ray Corbin. He had expected the office to be closed like a shrine to the man who had founded the firm. That or empty. What he did not expect to see was Josh Corbin already settled into the space.
“Hello, Dylan. I’m glad you came in.”
“I’m not sure why I did.”
Dylan began to look around the office. It wasn’t so much that Josh had moved in; it was almost as if he had superimposed himself onto his brother’s former space. Many of Ray Corbin’s possessions were still in their place, only with Josh’s now surrounding or crowding them. Even Ray’s desk had been cannibalized, with Josh bringing his own chair and pushing Ray’s off to the side.
“I see you’ve changed offices.”
Josh gave him a sarcastic smile. “No point waiting around. Of course, you were right. Investors have already started calling to redeem their shares in the fund. I’m going to meet with a few of them today. This office is a little bit more presentable than my other office.”
“What do you plan to say to them?”
“About what?”
“What are you going to tell them about removing their assets? Redemptions are quarterly.” Most funds had a rule stipulating that money could only be removed at certain points in time. This helped stave off a run for the money in market downturns or in sticky situations such as this one.
“I’m telling them that the fund is closed for withdrawals for the rest of the year.”
“The rest of the year?” Dylan said, raising his left eyebrow. “I don’t think that will fly.”
“It will have to. With my brother’s untimely death, we need the extra time. I will also emphasize that my brother made some rather poor decisions, investing in illiquid assets that we will have a difficult time getting out of.”
“You’re going to blame this on Ray?”
“Dylan, it’s true. Ray put this fund in a very precarious state. You witnessed it yourself.”
“Josh, by blaming this on your brother, you might appear a tad, well, unsympathetic.”
“You’re right. I’ll say that Ray had just made a series of investments before he died. Unfortunately, they were illiquid.”
“You didn’t like your brother very much, did you?”
“My brother and I had a complicated relationship. Contrary to what you may think, we did not have an easy childhood.”
“Ray and I talked one night. He told me about your parents; nothing all that specific. Just that it wasn’t easy.”
“What happened in our youth does not make us who we are. I would rather you not judge me, okay?”
“Fine. I won’t.” Both men said nothing, like actors in a Mexican standoff. Dylan finally chimed up in a cheerful voice. “Why am I here?”
“Good question: I’ll be straight with you. Your friend, Charles, Binky, whatever you want to call him, he hacked into our system and stole the money in Jonathan Kay’s account.”
“How do you know it was Binky?”
“Look at this.”
The trading system was loaded on Josh’s computer. Dylan sat down on Josh’s desk and examined the screen. There was little or no activity on the screen, as trading had ceased a week ago halted. Dylan looked at the positions that were loaded on the trade blotter, and everything looked normal. He turned back towards Josh with a gesture of disdain.
“Looks, alright,” Dylan said. “Obviously you are not trading much.”
“Sure,” Josh countered, “looks alright. Go ahead and try to make a trade.”
Dylan pretended to execute a simple trade, an order to buy 100 shares of IBM. When he clicked the button to confirm the trade, a large bull’s-eye appeared, and then the screen went blank.
“This is what it does now. We go to make a trade, and all sorts of junk appears on the screen. And then it freezes up.”
“I agree that it’s bizarre, but what makes you think Binky did this? Anyone could hack into these systems.”
“Of course. But there’s a special screen that comes up when we log in as you.”
“Me?” Dylan asked. “How did you get my password?”
“Your friend did not have time to hack everything; I’m still the network Admin. I changed your password to read your emails. When I logged into the trading system, I saw the strangest thing of all.”
“What did you see?”
“Try it yourself. Your password has been changed to ‘Corbin01.’” Dylan turned towards the computer and began to type.
He entered his username and password, just as Josh had instructed. The screen went blank. The trading system reappeared and went blank again. An animated screen then appeared with a ghoulish figure plastered in the middle of a screen.
The image was of a clown, red hair, orange nose and a white powdered face. The hair was gelled in front, with a spiky tip. The clown’s lips were gestured in a fantastic grin. It was Ronald McDonald on speed with a bad hangover. The background behind the clown was jet black.
“Friend of yours?” Dylan asked.
“Very funny. Watch the screen.”
The image of the clown held itself for a matter of seconds, then shattered into a thousand images on the screen. The trading system then reappeared as if nothing had happened.
“Nice trick,” Dylan said. “But what does it mean?”
“Don’t act stupid. The money that is missing all came from the special trading account that you had set up with Jonathan Kay.”
“Josh, are you out of your mind? Your brother is dead! Binky is missing! And I don’t know anything about missing money!”
Josh sat there like a pasha, saying or revealing nothing.
“Okay, then, Dylan. Have it your way. There are other ways of finding the information that we need. And I will do whatever is necessary to get to the bottom of this. I have a fiduciary duty to my investors.”
“I hope you’re not threatening me, because if you are, I will put my foot so far up your ass, they will need a search party to come and find it.”
Josh laughed. “Dylan, you know where the door is. I’m done with you. I’m sure you have plenty of people to see. Tell the FBI I send my regards.”
The slamming of Josh’s office door reverberated through the entire office. The few employees left looked up from their screens as Dylan walked stormed the trading floor and out the front door.
Dylan heard the apartment doorbell ring just as he was getting out of the shower. He was already late for dinner and could not imagine who would be stopping to visit him. Wrapped in his bathrobe, he answered the door on the second ring.
“Are you Dylan Cash?”
“I think so.”
“Hello. My name is Robert Kane. K-A-N-E,” The younger man said. “This is Wilber Howard., United States Treasury” Kane extended his badge towards Dylan, the other man followed.
“Treasury? Did somebody rob a bank around here?”