Transparency Charles Royce (phonics reader .TXT) 📖

funds from the Élan Trust has been diverted overseas.”

“Wait, seriously? He’s using his own trust to pay his investors?”

“I have no idea what the money is for, but it sure looks that way.”

“Poor Miss Harriet. She has no idea.”

Shawn grabs a flash drive with a red circular sticker on it. “This one. This one is weird. It contains one gigantic file that’s inaccessible, says I can’t open it because I don’t have the right program. You should take it back to Phish before you head to the CAAD meeting.”

“You take it back to Phish.”

“Buddy, you need to know everything about this company before you hop into bed with the FBI completely.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Just do it. Phish is harmless. And I guarantee you he’ll be able to open that file.”

Josh holds it in his hands. “Agent Pillsbury has pretty much dismissed the stuff on the flash drives, said there’s bigger fish to fry.”

“I would agree. This organization, Cod. Or whatever you call it. Spying on everyone and their dog.”

“CAAD, not Cod. CAAD, like bad or mad. West said they’ve stopped the spying, no more illegal surveillance. I believe him.”

Shawn laughs, grabs his keys. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“Something else is bothering me.”

“What now?” Shawn turns.

“West agreed to double my salary without a blink, then invited me into his inner circle. And the FBI is using me as a confidential informant.”

“Yeah? So? Spit it out.”

“I’m just wondering why me? I’m just a glorified event planner.”

“Oh, good grief.” Shawn stops leaning, stands, then bends down to pick up his gym bag. “Because the FBI needs help from someone with access to West? And West needs a partner, somebody to help him? He probably feels naked and vulnerable without Kimbo.”

“He pretty much said as much.”

“Then there ya go. Now get out.”

C h a p t e r   4 3

“GET. OUT.” JOSH’S mouth gapes open as Phish pulls up the file.

“Pretty cool, huh?” A beautiful 3D image of the entire new Élan building appears on Phish’s giant monitor. He uses his stylus to move the image around, flying above it like a drone, going inside it like a virtual tour. He clicks a side button. The image turns to a blueprint, the outlines of the building transparent, glowing. “This is the world’s most expensive program. It’s called ArchEngine, $2.5 million for the full version. I hacked a copy about a year ago, just to play around with it. This is stupid. I love it.”

Phish clicks another side button. The screen switches back to photorealism. People are now walking in the spaces.

“They look so real.” Josh touches the screen. The people turn away from his touch. “Did I just do that?”

“Yes,” Phish says. “This is freaking incredible. Touch interaction, nondestructive re-importing, Python scripting, automatic LOD, Proxy Geometry; I mean, holy shit. They took advantage of everything. I’m surprised something this detailed fit on a two-terabyte flash drive. It must have some built-in compression I’ve never seen.”

“I’ll take your word for all of that.”

Phish clicks another side button. The image zooms out in slow motion. The entire skyline begins to come into view. The Staten Island Ferry is now passing in the forefront, the Hudson River flowing, water glistening. He presses again, the day turns into night, the sun flowing across the sky like a comet, disappearing off screen toward Brooklyn. The new Élan International building is now completely lit up against a Manhattan nightscape.

“ArchEngine is huge now. They started out as a gaming software, so people could create photorealistic creatures and people, then work on developing them so they could seem more real. Most of these game designers are hackers. But whoever did this? Damn.”

“They used the old logo.” Josh touches the Élan façade. The image zooms in so much that the logo takes over the whole screen. “Aagh!”

Phish zooms back out, clicks on another view labeled FB. A password prompt appears. “Hmm.” He clicks another just below it labeled SIM. Again, a password prompt. “Some of this is protected, want me to figure it out?”

“I need to bolt. Just give me the program, I’ll figure it out.”

“You sure? If this is from the same place as the underscore file, this company uses some weird encryption shit.”

“Just the program please.”

“Not to mention it’s a robust program. The processor on your normal shitty laptops and computers won’t be able to run it.”

“Just the program please.” Josh stares at him, snaps his finger. “I have trust issues.”

“That’ll be $2500.” Phish puts the screen to sleep.

“What? For something you stole?”

“Dude, it’s one-thousandth of the actual price.”

“No way, I’ll pirate it myself.”

“I guarantee you don’t know where to hack this shit, or how to cover your ass while you do it.”

“A thousand, that’s all I can afford.”

“Bullshit. Two grand.”

“Fifteen hundred.”

“Done.”

Josh pulls out his wallet. “You’re such a prick. Hurry up and copy it over, I’ve got a late meeting.”

“Shall I erase your existing flash drive so it’ll fit, or will you be purchasing another?”

C h a p t e r   4 4

“BABY, WE PAY the housekeeper a lot of money to do that.” Shawn walks up, hugs Haylee’s legs from behind.

She’s cleaning the upper bookshelves in Shawn’s study.

“Careful, honey, the ladder.” Haylee bends down, kisses him on the side of the cheek. “Ew. Is that salt?”

“I worked out.” Shawn flexes downward, tries his own version of a bodybuilder pose.

Haylee lets out a single laugh, her mouth contorting, nose scrunching.

“What the hell is that look?” Shawn smiles. “What? I work out now.”

“Okay.” Haylee looks at what he’s wearing.

“I know, I know, I need to invest in some workout gear.” He flicks his pants, looks back up at his wife. “Seriously, baby, you’re pregnant, get down from there.”

“I’m almost finished. She never dusts up here, it’s been bothering me.”

“We pay her enough—you can tell her to do the bookshelves. Seriously.”

“Baby, why do you keep bringing up money? We’re good, right?”

“Yes. We’re good.” Shawn sits down on a black Eames lounge chair in the corner of the room, pats