Billionaire Decoded (4 page)

Yes, Brecken had told her last night
that Alyson was crazy, but that was such a general comment. Chances were the
most exes would say that about their former lovers, but what exactly did he mean
by it? Heather had already gotten an unfortunate inkling of Alyson's attitude.
She was a stuck up, spoiled, demanding bitch, but that had nothing to do with
her business acumen. It looked like Alyson's family was rich, but not quite as
rich as Brecken's. Her parents had passed away over five years ago. They had
left the bulk of their estate to her and she was obviously doing pretty well on
her own.

Even millionaires had to invest
their money to make it last years, decades…if not a lifetime, so it was
apparent that Alyson had a good head on her shoulders. The fact that she had
started a company with Brecken was even more of an indication that she knew
what she was doing.

Still, Heather didn't get the
impression that Alyson was a computer whiz. Once again, she thought about Shaw &
Burk. Could they possibly make that much money with computer programming? Did
they work for the Defense Department, another government agency, or global
entities? They had to be bringing the money in some way, but just computer
programming?

Maybe she would learn more about the
company as she got more familiar with the digital books, but still, she was
curious. Finishing her coffee, she got ready for work.

Heather spent the day sitting in
front of her computer working on spreadsheets. She didn't see hide nor hair of Brecken,
which was probably just as well because every time Heather thought about him,
she remembered what she had done in the shower last night and felt her cheeks
flush with warmth.

It was early February, and while it
was still brisk and cold outside, it hadn't snowed in a week. As she took her
break in the middle of the afternoon, Heather gazed out the window and wondered
if she should schedule a spa appointment for the following day. Saturdays and
Sundays had always been her usual days off, but it had been a busy week, what
with her interview on Wednesday, her first day yesterday, and today being
Friday.

Would Brecken expect her to work on
Saturdays? She wasn't sure. With the amount of money he was paying her, she
supposed she wouldn't mind, although she was used to having her weekends free. Come
to think of it, she didn't even know what her schedule would look like. Would
she take weekends off, or would she get two days off in the middle of the week,
or even one day early in the week, another day later?

She opened the desk drawer and found
the list of extensions for all the employees in the company, thought about
calling Brecken to ask, but then decided not to. He was busy enough and didn't
need to answer stupid questions. She could always call someone in the HR
department, but she didn’t even want to do that. It might seem silly to ask.
She would take the weekend off, unless of course, he called and told her
otherwise.

She put in a full day of work, her
head spinning with numbers by the time five o'clock rolled around. She had a
slight headache and wanted nothing more than to go home, have a nice dinner –
which in her book meant something she didn't have to microwave – and probably
just lounge around watching TV while she “defragged” her brain.

So it was that her second day of
work passed uneventfully. She would schedule a spa treatment for first thing in
the morning, then go home and watch TV for a while, and then go to bed and crash.

*

Saturday morning dawned clear and
bright, the sky filled with white, puffy clouds blowing high up above the city.
It was a cool, blustery day, but there was no hint of snow in the air, so she
was content. She enjoyed her Swedish massage at the spa and then the body wrap
that followed.

After she stepped out of the shower
following the body wrap and began dressing, she noticed that she had missed a
phone call. She looked at the screen, startled to see that the call had come
from Brecken’s extension at Shaw & Burk. Shit. Was she expected to show up
for work today? She tried to call him back, but he didn't answer. He wasn’t in
his office, so maybe he wasn’t at work, either. She didn't think too much about
it then, especially since he hadn’t left a voice message telling her to get her
ass to work. She decided that if he needed to call her back, he would.

As Saturday was her day for running
errands and catching up on chores, she did just that on. After she returned
home from the spa, she made out a short list, went to the supermarket, and
purchased a couple of bags of groceries. Back home, she sat at the counter,
sipping coffee and paying bills. She then decided to walk a few blocks to her
local bank branch, thinking to talk to somebody about refinancing the loan she
had gotten last year to pay off her school debt.

After all, she would be making quite
a bit more money now, and the thought of being debt-free in a couple of years
was certainly tempting. Of course, she wanted to put some money away into a
savings account, as well, just in case the job at Shaw & Burk didn't work
out, but she would do her best to make sure that it did. She might not be able
to find another job that paid so well. She had to make it work.

By two o'clock that afternoon, she
was pretty much done with all her chores and errands and was ready to leave the
bank. No refinance. She had felt annoyed at first, but then decided she would
just make extra payments, which would result in much the same savings when it
came to interest.

Even though it had grown a bit
cooler outside, she decided to go ahead and walk home. The streets weren’t too
crowded and the breeze was brisk as it blew through her hair, and she needed to
clear her thoughts, anyway. She sat behind a computer eighty percent of the time,
so getting outside and actually walking around felt pretty good.

A few minutes later, however, she
began to get a niggling feeling that somebody was following her. She glanced
over her shoulder, looked at people walking along the street behind her, and noticed
that nobody was paying her any particular attention. She glanced across the
street. To her dismay, she noticed a tall man wearing a dark suit, holding up a
cell phone and pointing it in her direction. He couldn't be taking a picture of
her, could he? Why would he? She glanced at the building beside her, noticed
the stonework, and decided that he was just a fan of early twentieth century architecture.

She continued on, shaking her head
at her silliness. Besides, a large number of people she passed on the street
were holding cell phones, some pausing right in the middle of the sidewalk to
text. It was so annoying. Still, she felt a little unnerved. She thought of Brecken.
He was probably followed all the time, probably experienced nosy people and
gossip magazine photographers snapping pictures of him doing every little
thing. That would certainly be frustrating and exasperating. Did he even run
his own errands or did somebody do it for him? She supposed that someone as
well-known and good looking as Brecken would certainly find it difficult to
move about unnoticed, especially in a city where his face was familiar.

She gradually made her way back to
her building and up to her apartment. She would call her mom and read the newspapers.
She made a daily habit, or at least tried to, browse through paper versions of
the
New York Times
and
The Economist
that she had subscriptions
to. She had to pay extra for paper delivery, but to be honest; she was frankly
tired of reading everything on the web. After spending all day on the computer,
she wanted off! Once in awhile it felt good to hold paper between her hands, to
step away from the computer and actually read something, smell the ink on the
paper, and feel the texture of paper beneath her fingertips.

She finished putting away her dry
groceries and cans that she had picked up earlier. She then grabbed the papers
from the kitchen counter and plopped down on the couch. As soon as she took the
rubber band off the
New York Times
paper and unfolded it, she was surprised to find, above the fold, an image of Brecken
above a secondary headline: "Man of Mystery."

What the hell? She knew that Brecken
was often in the news, and she herself had Googled him before going to the
interview the other day. While he mainly seemed to be present in a number of
gossip columns, she did find a few articles about the early formation of his
company, his money, and a few interviews about his quick rise to success in the
computer industry. Nevertheless, as she read the article, she realized that Brecken
and his company was no stranger to controversy. In fact, she read with alarm
that the company had been accused of not only tax evasion, but holding shell
companies.

Seriously? Shell companies? She
would have to do some research on her own, but as far as she knew from the
spreadsheets she had seen, there was not any unusual activity. Then again, she
was not the firm's tax accountant and didn't handle paperwork related to direct
negotiations or dealings of the company. But tax evasion and shell companies? She
read through to the end of the article, but saw no mention of any evidence or proof
of such accusations. Without any substantiation, she knew that such accusations
were well below the regular standards of the
Times
. She glanced at the byline of the writer of the article and
then looked him up on her computer.

The guy was a hack, or a least,
after reading a few of his other articles and discovering that he had been sued
several times for slander, it seemed the guy appeared to be focused on controversial
headlines. But to make the front page? Of the
New York Times
? That
was
unusual. She wondered what kind of
pull he had with the editors at the paper. The
Times
was better than that. Once in a while it did try to
sensationalize gossip and rumor, but they also put themselves in a very risky
position doing so. She shook her head. Printing unsubstantiated rumors? What
were they thinking?

While Heather continued to read
through the paper and then through the
Economist
,
she went back several times to reread the article about Brecken. While she had
wondered herself how the company made all their money, she didn't believe for a
minute that Brecken would be involved in anything illegal. Then again, what did
she know? She had only worked at his company for a couple of days, not nearly
long enough to become familiar with its operations. She hoped not. She wanted
her job – and the benefits that came along with it.

Her thoughts troubled, she decided
that she would look to see if any additional articles about Brecken or Shaw &
Burk appeared in the
Times
tomorrow.
She would also take the time to do a little more digging on her own. Maybe she
could find more information about the company, its clients, and where the hell
it managed to pull in so much money.

While she wasn't particularly
worried or alarmed, she figured that if she were committed to working for such
a prestigious, and apparently controversial, company, she would need to find
out as much about it as she could.

Brecken waited impatiently at the restaurant
for his client to arrive – one of his biggest, if the deal went through. The
restaurant was a little out of the way, located in one of the southern suburbs
of Boston, but he preferred it that way. It was not fancy by any means, but it
wasn't exactly a Denny's, either. It was some family-owned restaurant that
served home-style cooking. Brecken had met clients here before, especially
those that he didn't want to be seen coming and going from the company offices
downtown.

While he waited, he thought about
Heather, and by default, Alyson. Heather was like a breath of fresh air. He had
really enjoyed having dinner with her the other night. It wasn't that she was
so unique or unusual, but she was different. She carried herself well, spoke
confidently, and didn't feel an endless need to fill silent gaps in
conversation. She seemed to prefer the simple things in life, unlike Alyson. Alyson.
He knew he would have to have a talk with her soon, but the thought of doing it
today made him cringe. Still, he knew that when it came to Alyson, putting off
the inevitable was impossible.

He grimaced. It was so annoying to
be at the mercy of other people. Every day, or so it seemed lately, he
regretted going into business with her. At first it had been great, a logical idea.
Together, they could be incredibly successful, but apart, he wondered. He had
his secrets, just as she had hers, and in turn, so did the company. He just
hoped that her impulsive behavior and sometimes-runaway mouth wouldn't get them
into too much trouble. He was already fielding threatened audits by the IRS and
some gossip that his company was involved in illegal dealings and had hidden
offshore accounts. That was another headache he didn't need. And, where had these
rumors come from, anyway?

He always took special care to keep
his meetings with clients, big and small, confidential. In many cases, his
clients insisted on it. Fine with him. Still, when it came to Alyson, he just
couldn't be sure. This uncertainty led him to feel a bit defenseless, and he
didn't like feeling that way. He was used to being on the offensive. Proactive.
With Alyson, he always felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Still, there was nothing he could do, at least, not now, about the problems
that assailed his company. He certainly couldn't discuss his concerns with
anyone else.

Did he want to? Sometimes he yearned
for someone that he felt he could truly count on and trust. He thought he had
found that person in Alyson. What a big mistake that had been. A big one. He
had allowed her beauty and their sexual attraction to one another to override
his gut instincts. He would never allow that to happen again. But the damage was
already done and it looked like he would have to live with it for quite some
time.

He drank one cup of coffee, and then
two. He glanced at his watch. His prospective client was fifteen minutes late.
He grew impatient. He had a lot to do today and waiting around certainly wasn't
appreciated. He felt the constant pressure and stress, and he wondered if it
was all worth it.

He glanced down at the paper he had
just read, thinking about the article he had read, and the brief mention of
Julian Assange, the former editor-in-chief of WikiLeaks, founded in 2006
following a rather notorious career as a hacker and computer programmer. Brecken
had done his share of hacking and was quite good at it, but he had no desire
for the negative notoriety that Assange had achieved, nor the desire to have to
flee to another country to avoid criminal prosecution.

In his business, a lack of
confidentiality, trust, or even the slightest hint of threat perceived by one
or the other party was enough to keep most of his business dealings right where
they belonged – meaning private.

He sighed, finished his second cup
of coffee, and glanced at his watch again. The client was a half-hour late now.
It was obvious that the guy wasn't going to show up. Brecken wasn't going to
bother calling him to see what had happened. He didn't really care. Anyone who
stood him up without notifying him of a change in plans, schedule, or even
delay, lost a chance to deal with him, no matter how much money was involved.
That's not how he ran his business and he had no desire to do business with
anyone who felt otherwise. Besides, it was downright rude. Brecken had gone out
of his way to meet his client down here, and this was how he was repaid?

He picked up his phone and texted
his driver to come around. As he waited, he glanced out the window. Frowned.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Turning from the window, he glanced at
the patrons in the restaurant. No one seemed to be watching him or paying the
least bit of attention to him. Then again, why should they? He had made an
attempt to somewhat disguise himself, wearing a golfer's cap and a pair of plastic-framed
glasses with clear lenses. He sometimes had to resort to such steps in order to
go about his business without ever-present hacks and gossip column
photographers somehow managing to find out where he was and haranguing him.

Not seeing anything alarming in the
restaurant, he once again looked outside the window. He watched passersby,
shoppers, and people rushing here and there, like they always did. No one stood
out. He shrugged, deciding that he was just annoyed, overly sensitive, and
frustrated. He thought about Heather and tried to call her again, but she
didn't take the call. She should be in the office by now, early on a Monday
morning. Surely, she would hear her cell phone ring. Then again, maybe she
turned it off when she was at work. He appreciated the diligence, but was
frustrated when she didn't pick up. He just couldn't catch a break.

There were times when his money
didn't get him everything he wanted. He couldn't just snap his fingers and tell
Heather to be at his beck and call, even if he would've liked it. He had way
too much respect for her than to treat her like that. He had just met her, but
he nevertheless felt very comfortable around her, or at least he had at dinner.
Only time would tell whether or not that would remain true. He had gone through
a few business managers for the billing department since his breakup with
Alyson.

It seemed as if every person he
hired, and okay, they were all women, Alyson had such a problem with and she
either drove them away or he got fed up with her haranguing him and let them
go. He certainly hoped that wouldn't be the case with Heather. She captivated
him. He smiled when he thought of the sight of the two of them in Heather's
office. While she had seemed slightly alarmed by Alyson's temperament, she had
stood her ground. Good for her. That's what Alyson needed – to be faced with
someone who wasn't intimidated by her. Then again, he would have to warn
Heather again to watch out for Alyson's temper. She had a way of getting even
when things didn't go her way.

Brecken heaved a sigh when he saw
his driver pull around the corner and into the parking lot. He rose, tossed
some cash down on the table, picked up the soft leather satchel by his side,
and left. He climbed into the car, looking forward to getting back to his
office. He shook his head, thinking that it was pretty pathetic that the only
place that he felt truly comfortable was at work.

He knew too many secrets.

He reached into the satchel, pulled
out a folder, and studied it for several minutes. It was the dossier of the
client he was supposed to have met at the restaurant. Brecken was not pleased.
Sometimes, his clients needed to be reminded that they were playing with fire. He
was not one to be toyed with.

By the time he got back to his
office, he was on a slow burn. He nodded wordless greetings at those he passed
in the hallways, peeked into Heather's office, but noticed she wasn't inside.
Where the hell was she?

He walked to his office, closed the
door behind him, and moved to sit down behind his desk. Logging onto his
computer, he typed in keys until he reached a folder that required three
different passwords and eye recognition for access. He had several such
documents on his computer and relied heavily on digital security. He had to.

He had several files that enabled
him to open, scan, and determine DSM locations. He was able to utilize numerous
powerful features that included vulnerability auditing modules for a number of
services within the system, and so was able to analyze, audit, and scan a range
of IP addresses, as well as tapping into remote access servers, IP addresses,
machine names, operating systems, and dates of access. His retina access system
enabled him to select single IP addresses or servers that scanned addresses or
a scanner's IP address to check on DNS or NetBIOS, as well as address groups.

Eye scan security was vital to him
and essential for his own peace of mind and security, over and above the need
for passwords to unlock his computer, access certain files, and provide him
with a sense of confidence that his computer files were hack proof. He himself
had designed his firewalls, with alerts if anyone even so much as attempted to
peek inside his documents. He had fail-safe shutdown options, and in a worst-case
scenario, he’d created a hard drive eraser that he’d programmed to wipe his
computer clean in a matter of seconds.

He looked into the camera. The
device scanned his iris. He had one similar on his laptop at home – kept locked
in a safe when he was at work – though the digital scanning on that one was an
older version of the software that required him to hold a wand over his eye
instead of utilizing the computer’s built-in camera. He would be replacing it
soon.

It took him a few minutes to get
settled, but he finally opened one of the documents in the folder regarding
water rights in Bolivia. Actually, it was a lot less boring than it sounded,
given that he was the only one who actually knew what was really happening down
there. As he read and then reread the document, literally reading between the
lines and picking up on a few well-placed keywords, a smile turned up the
corner of his lips.

That all ended when he heard the
familiar
ding
of an incoming e-mail
message. He sighed with impatience and opened up another tab. It was from Alyson.
He grumbled and swore under his breath. He seriously needed to do something
about her and soon. This vendetta, this endless needling and disruption, or
whatever it was she was doing, had to stop. He wasn't going to put up with it indefinitely.

With his fingers hovering over the
message subject line, he once again was amazed at how quickly a relationship
could turn from blissful to hellish. He had never asked a woman to marry him
before and could only shake his head at his own foolishness. Alyson was a pro,
no doubt about that. She had managed to finagle, cajole, and tempt things out
of Brecken that he had never given freely before, including himself. Oh, he
enjoyed the women, no doubt about that, but he had always been able to contain
his relationships and prevent them from getting too complicated. There was no
doubt that Alyson had completely manipulated him. Every time he saw her, he was
reminded of that.

With another grumbled curse under
his breath, he tapped open the e-mail.

We have to talk.

Shit. She wasn't going to let up on
him until he agreed, so he returned the e-mail, agreeing and suggesting that
she come over to the office at five-thirty. Most of the employees would be gone
by then. Anything that Alyson had to say should be said in private and not in
front of gawking onlookers.

*

Brecken managed to keep himself busy
for the remainder of the day. Heather never returned his call, but then again,
she probably hadn’t left her office yet. He didn't call her again or walk by to
see if she was around. He didn't want to appear too obvious or overly
interested in her. He wanted her to get more comfortable in her job and that
wouldn’t happen if he kept checking up on her. That wasn’t his job. He had
hired her to do a job and he expected her to do it. He didn't want to make her
feel pressured by his attraction, no matter how carefully he hid it. He had a
feeling that Heather was very intuitive, and any untoward indication on his
part that he was interested in her would probably, likely, send her scurrying,
no matter how much he paid her.

He definitely wanted to get to know
her better, but he also had to be careful. He always had to be careful. That
fact had been drummed into him every minute since the moment he had told Alyson
that they were over. She had the power to destroy him, and it didn't seem to
matter to her that in destroying him, she would also destroy herself. He had
learned the hard way that a woman like Alyson could not only make his life unpleasant,
but could, if she wanted to, tie him up in a variety of legal issues that
frankly, he had no time for.

He managed to stay focused for most
of the afternoon, and by the time he glanced at his watch it was twenty after
five. Better just get it over with. He decided that he would go downstairs and
meet Alyson there rather than inviting her up to his office. Maybe they could
take a short walk, talk about whatever it was that she wanted to talk about,
and then he could send her on her way. He had had several of these
"talks" over the past couple of months, none of them anything he
looked forward to and most of them had ended on an unpleasant note.

To say that Alyson had trouble
letting go or accepting the inevitable was an understatement. Frankly, he was
getting tired of dealing with her, but he knew his options were limited. Until
and unless she allowed him to buy her out, they were inextricably chained
together, something that had him chaffing and growing increasingly annoyed
over.