Zero Sum, Book One, Kotov Syndrome Read online

  Steven halfheartedly checked in on the stock and the boards, and there was little action today. He put off dealing with the cleanup issues presented by Avalon’s untimely demise, unwilling to confront the gory reminder of that reality, and instead went upstairs to wake Jennifer. He stood over her in the soft morning light and watched as she slept, her face untroubled and looking all of eighteen years old. She really had been put through the wringer in the last twelve hours. He debated letting her sleep, but then remembered she had a job and couldn’t just fan all her obligations due to a late night.

  Steven slipped into bed next to her, kissed her.

  She jerked awake, opened one eye and peered at him. “God, Steven, you scared me. What time is it?”

  “About 7:45.”

  “I’m going to call in sick again and help you deal with the house. I feel like shit. How about you?” She opened both eyes and appraised him.

  “I’ve had better days. The run was hard. You don’t have to stay home, you know. I can deal with things.”

  “I’ll be useless today in an office. Let me catch another hour or so, and I’ll be up and around. Try not to piss anyone off while I’m asleep.” She apparently wasn’t going to let up on him.

  “All right. I’m gonna go get some bagels.” He pulled on a baseball cap and grabbed his sunglasses off the dresser. As he made his way down the stairs, he was again confronted by the area still covered by the blanket. Sickened, he grabbed his keys, wallet and cell phone and climbed into the car.

  Steven considered the events of the previous day as he drove. The break-in was hugely disturbing, the hacking only mildly troubling, the Gas Company visit ultimately noise. He thought about taking the website down, but rebelled at the thought. He’d be damned if he’d intimidate himself by jumping to conclusions and throw in the towel when he’d just started; Steven had absolutely zero logical reason in the cold light of day to believe Avalon’s murder was related. It would serve no purpose to get overly suspicious and assume everything that happened was caused by Griffen’s invisible hand.

  Even if he was inclined to take it down, which he wasn’t, would that change anything? Griffen’s problem was that the information was now out there. That damage was done. You couldn’t stuff the toothpaste back into the tube.

  And there was the ultimate issue, namely that Steven was plain old stubborn. He had a strong sense of right and wrong, and didn’t like being controlled or told what to do by anyone.

  He’d started his own company for the same reason. Building his business before successfully selling it reinforced his conviction in his own abilities. Losing money by depending on others taught him to only depend on himself. Self-sufficient and confident by nature, backing down wasn’t in his makeup.

  He pulled up to the bagel place and got a couple of still-hot cinnamon raisins, and then stopped to fuel up. That sucked the last of his cash, so he hit the ATM at his bank to pull out a few hundred bucks. He inserted his card, punched in the PIN, and after a few seconds a screen he’d never seen before flashed at him: Access Denied. That was weird.

  His card ejected, so he re-inserted it and re-entered the PIN, figuring he must have flubbed it the first go around. Access Denied. The bank was just opening, so he went in, the only customer, and approached the teller. Her nametag said Linda, and she looked sleepier than a narcoleptic. He explained what had happened and handed her his ATM card, asking if she’d look into the problem and help him withdraw $300.

  “Sure, mister, uh, Archer. Let me swipe the card and I’ll see what’s going on.”

  Nice girl, helpful. So far, so good.

  “Uh, that’s strange. Let me go to another screen.” She typed in more data. Punched at things. Clicked things. Swiped the card again. “Uh, just a second. I, uh, need to get a manager.”

  Great. Where had he heard this before?

  A few minutes went by. A rather rotund woman approached him while his original teller hovered in the background.

  “Mr. Archer, I’m sorry for the confusion. I’m afraid we can’t help you with any withdrawals at this time.” She stared at him. He stared back. Her porcine face was shiny with perspiration, no doubt caused by the effort of moving across the floor to meet him.

  “Come again?”

  “I’m afraid we can’t help you with any withdrawals today.”

  “I don’t understand. I have over a hundred fifty thousand in my account. I want three hundred dollars. What’s to help?” He felt his anger rising, but also the anxiety was creeping into his stomach again.

  “Sir, we value your patronage, but at this time we are unable to allow any withdrawals from your account. Perhaps you should speak with Ted, the manager?”

  Like a robot. A fleshy, sweating robot.

  “You have my money,” Steven began, arms now folded, “which I gave to you for safekeeping, and now you’re telling me, the owner of the money, that I can’t have it? Am I hearing this correctly?” His blood pressure rose, bit by bit. “You’re damned right I want to talk to Ted. He was more than happy to help me when I was opening accounts and referring friends.” Enough of this horseshit. Time to get into someone’s face who would do something about the situation.

  “One moment, please.” She departed to the rear office area, returning a minute later.

  “Ted will see you now.”

  Great, sounded like a doctor’s visit. He’d see me now. You bet your ass he’d see me now. They proceeded to Ted’s hallowed office.

  “Steven, I’m so sorry for this. Sit down. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll get to the bottom of it.” Ted exuded bankish conviviality. “Let’s see now, here’s the account, blanket hold placed, see file notation A(6), hmmmmmmm, A(6), A(6)…oh…hmmmmm…I see…” Ted looked decidedly paler than he had two minutes earlier. He was also uneasily avoiding Steven’s gaze.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “Steven, I can’t really say anything due to banking regulations, but because you’re such a high value customer, let me ask; are you in any kind of dispute with, say, the IRS?” Ted inquired. “Maybe being investigated for something, no doubt all a big mix-up?”

  “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. I called the cops because my dog was killed last night, but that’s it. What’s going on? What are you trying to tell me?” Now the blossom of anxiety was turning into a full-fledged incipient panic attack. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in...

  Ted pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m so sorry to hear about your dog. No, according to my screen, your account has been frozen by a law enforcement agency. I can’t go into more detail. Shouldn’t have even said that. Didn’t…if you take my meaning.” Ted was not having a good start to his day. That made two of them.

  “That’s impossible. It’s a mistake.” What the hell was going on here?

  “It’s not the bank. It’s actually out of our hands. I’d suggest if you have an attorney, you get in contact and have him talk to our headquarters to see about clearing this up. I’m really sorry we can’t do more.” Ted was ready to conclude the meeting.

  Steven walked out of the branch in the fog of a daze. Account frozen? A hundred and fifty grand inaccessible? He looked in his wallet. Three one-dollar bills. Fucking just great. The bagel had completely lost its appeal now. His mouth tasted like tin.

  He got into his car and called Stan Caldwell, his attorney and asset protection specialist…and also his very good friend. Stan listened intently to his story, then suggested they get together in half an hour in San Clemente. Stan made his living in part by being ultra-paranoid about privacy concerns and didn’t like cell phones.

  Steven was in turmoil as he drove down PCH. Why would his account be frozen by a government agency? Didn’t the IRS have to file something, some sort of notice, if that was it? Besides, he didn’t owe anything, wasn’t being audited. Could it be identity theft? That had been a big topic with the Group a few months back. Could someone have used his ID to do something illegal, forc
ing him to jump through hoops to clear it up? What a pain in the ass.

  At least he had a full tank.

  Cash wasn’t an immediate concern, as he still had about seven thousand dollars left from what he’d won in Vegas at the last bachelor party. But not having access to a little over a hundred and fifty Gs was an issue, that was for sure. He wondered if they’d also frozen his credit cards. And who they were. And why. Which brought him right back to the beginning again...

  Stan Caldwell was a very smart man. Quiet. Looked nothing like an attorney, more like a successful real estate developer. Heavyset, usually smiling, relaxed, did a lot of listening and spoke rarely. He had many high net worth clients for whom he’d structured asset protection solutions. Discretion was his mantra. His specialty was creating transactions for company sales so they wound up being tax-free events, which is how Steven and he had met. They’d been friends ever since.

  Steven told him about the account, and he jotted down the information, asking a question now and then. Stan assured him he would get to the bottom of it quickly. Steven then told him about the events of the last thirty-six hours or so; Avalon, the ISP, Griffen, the website. Again, Stan asked pointed questions, clarifying a point here, requesting more information there.

  Stan quickly decided that Steven was playing with very hot water, and cautioned him that not all factions of society played nice.

  “Steven, if you hit a snake on the head over and over, eventually it will try to bite you. Law of the jungle. Seems to me you’ve made a hobby out of hitting this particular snake pretty hard, and pretty regularly.”

  “Griffen’s a liar and a thief, and he’s robbing little old ladies. All I did was create a website and shine a light on his latest scam. There’s nothing illegal about creating websites, last time I checked – besides which, it’s too late; the damage is done.” Steven didn’t need any more statements of the obvious.

  Stan framed his fingers together and looked through them at Steven.

  “A colleague of mine used to go on safari, in Africa, years ago. He had a saying: If you’re going to go elephant hunting, bring an elephant gun and be willing to use it. Otherwise you have no business elephant hunting. Steven, my point is you’ve been elephant hunting. If you have even half of this right, he’s been doing this for years, successfully, and is well connected. Your current situation may or may not have anything to do with him, but it isn’t lost on me you’ve had a lot of strange things happen since you started with this...”

  “Stan, I’m not saying you’re wrong, or that I wouldn’t change anything if I could. But I can’t. So what do I do?”

  Stan considered the question for a long time. “I’m not sure you have the means to get a gun big enough to bring this particular beast down. Let me think on this. I’ll take care of the bank first thing.” They shook hands and agreed to talk soon. Stan looked at Steven again.

  “At least your life’s not boring, I’ll give you that. And sorry about Avalon. I liked him.”

  As Steven pulled onto the freeway to return home, his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and saw it was Jennifer. He picked up.

  “Hi there. All rested?” Steven asked.

  “Where are you?” Alarm…no, make that borderline panic in her voice.

  “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  “You need to come home now. I don’t think I can deal with this anymore, Steven.”

  “Deal with what? I’m twenty minutes away. Tell me what happened.” He hated when people said things like ‘there’s a problem’ and then refused to elaborate. This was very unlike Jennifer.

  “When you get here. I have to go.” She hung up. Christ, she’d hung up on him. She’d never hung up on him. He stepped on it. He figured he could be there in fifteen minutes if he worked it.

  He made it in twelve.

  He rushed through the door from the garage and found Jennifer sitting in the living room. The blanket was gone, but a dark stain remained on the beige carpet. Her arms were crossed as she gripped her shoulders. She looked scared. He’d never seen her like this before.

  “What’s going on, honey?” He approached her, but she pulled away.

  “Two men came to the front door this morning, at around ten-thirty. They wanted to speak to you. I told them I didn’t know where you were, which was the truth – you were just supposed to go get bagels. You were supposed to be here with me...” She started sobbing.

  “Oh, Jennifer, I’m sorry. I had some emergencies come up I had to deal with.” He tried to hug her, but she pulled away. Shock? “I picked up the bagels, then stopped to get some cash from the ATM. Turns out my account is frozen; some law enforcement agency froze it, no explanation. So who were the men?” Steven asked.

  “They were from Homeland Security, and yes, I made them show me their badges,” Jennifer sobbed. “They wouldn’t discuss why they needed to talk to you. They just asked a bunch of questions.” She was still crying, scared, and angry. He should have been there. She’d been dealing with the mess, cleaning up dog blood, and now this.

  Whatever this was.

  Homeland Security? Wasn’t that the terrorist people?

  “Honey, I have no idea what this is about. I swear,” Steven protested. At least that much was true.

  “They wanted to know where you were, when you were coming back, if you had an office around here. I told them you were out, maybe for the whole day.” She was staring at him.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong. This is crazy,” Steven exclaimed.

  “They wanted to come in, and I told them no, someone had broken in and killed your dog last night, and you didn’t want anyone in the house without you being here. They didn’t seem to know about that. One of them left a card and asked you to call as soon as you could. It’s on the counter.” Jennifer pointed at the kitchen.

  “I don’t get it.” What was happening here?

  “Don’t you? DON’T YOU?” Jennifer finally lost it, screaming at him now. “Steven, your dog’s dead, they’ve frozen your money, and now they’re coming for you.” She beat upon his chest with her fists. “What don’t you get? Your little game with the goddamn stock has turned into a nightmare and you’ve endangered everything we’ve got, everything we had. Avalon’s dead and they’re after you. WHAT…DON’T…YOU...GET?” She’d expended her energy, and he held her shaking wrists as she collapsed back onto the sofa.

  She looked up at him. Composing herself a little. Then suddenly calm. “You thought you were so damned smart, and now Homeland Security’s at your door. This isn’t a game, Steven. It’s real life. Real consequences. You lost Avalon, for real. You could lose everything.”

  Jennifer looked away, then back at him, directly at him, with an intensity born of betrayal and anger. “And you’ve lost me, Steven. I didn’t sign up for any of this.”

  So there it was. He was to blame for everything, and she wanted no part of it.

  And she was right.

  “Jennifer, I haven’t done anything wrong. Don’t you see? There’s no law against creating a website. This is lunacy. There’s gotta be some other explanation.” Even to him, that sounded empty. Lame even. The only new variable in his life the last few days was the website. They must have tracked him, even though he’d been extremely thorough; or so he’d thought. And they wanted him off the air enough to pull out all the stops.

  “Well, you’re going to have to figure it out without me around, Steven. I love you, but I didn’t agree to risk everything for some stupid stock, and this isn’t the life I want. Maybe I’ll feel differently later, but right now, you’re living in some kind of nightmare, and I’m scared, and I want out.”

  She was beautiful even as she hated him.

  “You’re not the man I met. You spend more time on that stupid computer than you do with me, and now it’s gotten you into big-time trouble.” Her voice cracked raw, hoarse from the strain and emotion. “I don’t want this life. I want our old life back. But it’s gone, and it’s all be
cause of you and that fucking company. I can’t take this, Steven; I don’t want to be involved in whatever you’ve exposed us to. It isn’t fair.”

  She’d pretty much nailed it. He’d impacted her right to happiness by taking poorly calculated risks without accurately understanding how much was being put on the line. And now he was in crisis mode, and Steven in crisis mode wasn’t a good partner or mate. She wanted security, stability, not chaos and danger and change. Hard to argue that.

  He’d sensed a confrontation coming for a while, the dissatisfaction building, the resentment over his time involvement in the market becoming a simmering issue. Just as with the kids and family thing, he’d hoped to deal with it at some vague point in the future, hoping it could wait. But it hadn’t, and the last two days had tipped the already teetering balance.

  “Maybe we should take a break while I figure this out,” was the best he could manage. It sounded shallow, but the reality was he had bigger problems right now. Internally he was churning, trying to figure out the next step, and Jennifer’s dissatisfactions weren’t at the top of the list – even if they were justifiable.

  Her being right wouldn’t fix things, and he needed to focus on fixing this quick-smart.

  “Yeah, Steven, you do that…figure it all out.” She got up and stalked across the room, kicking the rag she’d been using to scrub the rug as she went. She stomped upstairs and he heard drawers closing, closets being slammed.

  She flounced back down a few minutes later with two suitcases and her purse.

  “I hope you come out of this okay,” she conceded as she opened the door.

  He went over and kissed her lightly on the cheek, and held her tightly for what seemed like could be the last time. Tears welled dangerously in her eyes, but she looked resolved.