Maddox
The Biker: I need the funds.
Socrates: How soon?
The Biker: As soon as I can get them without suspicion.
Socrates: Tomorrow. Can I ask, what’re you going to do with all that money?
The Biker: Build a life.
Socrates: Okay, consider it done. Thanks for the cut.
The Biker: Thanks for not stealing from me. It’d be a shame to hurt any of you. You did me a world of good with leaking the you-know-what about you-know-who.
Socrates: Anytime.
Socrates has left the chat.
***
I stand up from the computer and stretch out my arms. It’s been three weeks since I proposed to Eden, and she’s thrown herself into the planning like a crazed woman. I stay out of her way, mostly, for fear of having an invitation whipped at my head. She’s moved into my apartment, turned it into a war zone of dress and cake and catering and invitation magazines. Often, I will wake up to her and Nat sitting in the living room. When I ask them what time they got up, they laugh. They’ve been awake all night more often than not.
I don’t need to wait until tomorrow to start making preparations because Socrates – one of my many hacking friends – will deliver. He always has.
I pace up and down the office, a small smile on my lips.
Foolish Mason, I think. Silly, silly man.
He didn’t have his finances secured, and that’s his mistake. When I was doing the research into his and Cassandra’s embezzling scheme, it opened up for me a backdoor into his finances. His bank accounts were laid out like Christmas presents. I won’t rob the man of all he has. That would be too difficult to hide. But what’s twenty million out of two and a half billion, siphoned to a friend, lost on the Internet, and now to be transferred to an anonymous account tomorrow?
Mason being in prison (four months) is a plus. But even if he wasn’t, there is no way he could trace it to me. The money will never be in my name. When I withdraw the cash, it will be under a pseudonym; and the next time, a different pseudonym. Over and over at different banks with an ever-changing bank account courtesy of a few hundred lines of code.
I can’t wait to see Eden’s face, I think. I imagine it now: the way her eyes will light up; the way she’ll lean across and kiss my cheek; the way her hands will stray down my body. But it’s not the fact of the money itself I can’t wait to tell her about. It’s the other thing . . . They’ll survive, they always do. And now they’ll have a tax haven, to boot. But I know I’m kidding myself if I think it’s going to be that easy.
I bristle, already nostalgic.
I have to tell Markus. I have to break the news to the men.
***
“Everything okay, Boss?” Markus asks.
He knows something’s up. I can tell by the way he looks at me, his kind open face more inquisitive than usual. He sits in the chair opposite, his palms laid flat on the desk.
“Yes—and no. I don’t know how you’re going to take this, big man.”
“Uh?”
Part of me wishes that this isn’t what I want, but it is. But more importantly, it’s what I want for Eden. I don’t want her to have to live with the fear that I’m going to drop dead one day, catch a stray bullet and have to leave her, deserted, alone.
“I’m turning over control of The Miseryed to you,” I say, the words coming out fast. “I’m leaving the life. I’ll still be a silent partner, and I have an idea about a tax haven I can give you. A sort of two in one. But from now on, you’ll be the leader.”
Markus leans back in the chair, mouth hanging open. “Me . . .” He whispers the word, and then squints at me. “But why? You’re the best boss The Miseryed has ever had. All the men agree. None of us would want you to go.”
“That means a lot, it really does, but I’ve made my decision. I want to be a decent husband to Eden, and this is the only way I can see to do it properly. I’ll always be your friend,” I finish because he looks like I’ve just told him I’m leaving his life forever. “You’ll still be my best man at the wedding.”
“Uh,” he grunts. He pauses, and then says: “It’s a lot to take in. When are you going to tell the men?”
“Tonight,” I say.
“So that’s what the all-hands meeting is about, then?”
“Yes,” I say.
I stand up and walk around the desk, put my hand on his shoulder. “I was scared when I first became the boss, but you’ll grow into it. In a month, two months, you’ll hardly be able to remember what it was like just being one of the guys.”
“I doubt that,” Markus says. “I really doubt that. You leave a long shadow, Boss—dammit, what do I call you now?”
“Maddox,” I laugh, taking my hand from his shoulder. “You call me Maddox.”
“Maddox,” he says, tasting the word. “I’ve always known you as Boss.”
“Now you’re Boss,” I say.
I pace to the other end of the room. Markus stands up and faces me.
“You really love her that much, then? That you’d leave all this behind?”
“I love her more than that,” I smile. “You haven’t asked me what the tax haven is yet.”
“Well, what is it?”
I tap my nose. “That’d be telling. But you’ll know soon enough. I’m sure Natalie will chew your ear about it for days and days when Eden tells her.”
“Can I tell people?” Markus asks. “I mean . . . or shall I wait for the meeting?”
I shrug. “Why are you asking me? You’re the boss.”