Imperfect intentions, p.11
Imperfect Intentions, page 11
With that, he turns, leaving me with a lingering fluttering in my belly. I stand rooted to the spot as he gets onto his bike.
“Go inside,” he orders.
With all the security, it’s unlikely that anyone will be able to break into the property, but I’m not obeying Leon as much as fleeing. I go inside, lock the door, and watch through the window as he fits the helmet. The engine of his bike roars to life. He doesn’t look back as he drives away.
Sleep well.
Will I ever?
With what I’m about to do, probably never.
I stand in the foyer until the sound of his bike fades into the night. A sudden sense of loneliness creeps up on me, catching me off guard. The feeling is foreign. I’ve never felt alone because I’ve always had my mom, but this isolation is different. It reaches deep into my soul and rips away something I didn’t know I had, leaving me with despair. A feeling of loss overwhelms me. Not even the loss of my mobility had been this profound. This goes even deeper, like something I’ll never be able to repair. Maybe it’s the loss of my innocence, the shreds of goodness I’ve been clinging to. To protect my mom, I’ll finally lower myself to Elliot and Gus’s level. By turning myself into a thief, I’ll become one of them. It has to be this causing the havoc inside me, because I can’t consider the alternative. I can’t already be mourning the loss of a man I have no intention of falling for.
The emptiness follows me down the hallway. Weirdly, it’s amplified between the confines of the walls. Longing for company, any company, to expel the isolation, I walk to the kitchen, but the room is dark. Opening the connecting door to the garage, I peer inside. The Maserati and the Landcruiser are there. Elliot’s BMW is missing. He must be out.
I go upstairs in search of my mom and pause in front of her bedroom door. I’m about to knock when I hear the grunting.
“Gus, please,” my mom says.
I’m not sure if she’s begging him to carry on or to stop, but I can’t listen to the loud thumping. She doesn’t deserve this. She may be a free spirit, but she’s not a whore. I’m the reason she became one.
Turning on my heel, I go downstairs and get into the Lexus. I don’t know if it’s the intention that’s churning inside me, but my hand shakes when I push the ignition button. I don’t think about where I’m going. If I do, my courage may fail me. I drive to the office and park in the deserted lot.
The night guard looks up from his phone when I approach.
“Hi,” I say with a wave. “I forgot something. Can you turn off the alarm? I won’t be long.”
“Sure, Miss Starley,” he says, jumping at attention.
A few seconds later, I’m inside, breathing hard with fear as I flick on the lights and use Elliot’s key card to open the control room. It’s cold in here. Goosebumps run over my arms. I’ve never been inside the room, but I easily locate the control station Elliot described. A big screen shows all the rooms in the building apart from the bathroom and kitchen where there aren’t cameras. He explained how to override the camera feed. My heart pounds in my chest as I plug in the USB key that he gave me, which contains a prerecording of the building. A message pops up when I type in the command I memorized.
Override?
Holding my breath, I press enter and wait. The real-time images blur on the screen. A split-second of blackness follows, and then the images are replaced. I don’t relax yet. Going to the corner, I step in front of the camera. My face doesn’t appear on the monitor. It’s working. I blow out the air in my lungs, but my stomach is still drawn into a ball as I go to the basement.
The ceiling lights flicker on when I enter. The glaring illumination is like a flashlight shining on my crime. Ignoring the fear and guilt, I hurry to Leon’s desk and sit down in his chair. The notebook with his password is in my bag, but I remember the sequence thanks to the story I created in my head. My fingers tremble when I switch on his computer and wait for the screen to come to life. The cursor blinks next to an icon with his initials.
I hesitate. If I think about what I’m about to do, I won’t be able to go through with it. Pushing all other thoughts aside, I only think about my mom when I enter his password. In a second, I’m in. I insert the second USB key and take my notebook from my bag to type in the commands Elliot had given me. It all looks like Greek to me, but I follow his instructions step by step until a program opens. Typing with two fingers and taking way too long, I enter the characters. An instruction to copy appears with a question mark. My finger hovers above the key. My doubt only lasts for a few seconds, but when I think about the sounds that came from behind my mom’s bedroom door, I press enter.
A bar appears. My nerves are wrecked as a solid blue color slowly fills up the bar. It runs from zero percent, crawling along. Biting my nail, I glance at the time on the wall clock. I’ve already been here for a few minutes. I can only hope the guard doesn’t come down to see what’s taking me so long.
Bouncing my leg, I wait. It takes a good few seconds before the copying is completed. Like Elliot instructed, I shut down the program and close the window. Then I open the USB key to make sure the information is there. I’m not schooled in computer language, but between the characters in the top line a name jumps out at me.
Violet.
Taken aback, I stare at the name.
Violet I.
Leon named his program after me? I don’t know what to make of it, but I don’t have time to process the information. I act fast, scrolling to somewhere in the middle of the program before deleting two lines. I delete another one at the bottom, press save, and eject the USB key.
Elliot may be forcing me to steal Leon’s work, but I’m not going to hand it over just like that. With a few lines missing, the program can’t possibly work. It has to be faulty.
My palms are clammy when I drop the key and notebook in my bag. I’m careful to leave everything on Leon’s desk the way I found it, straightening his mousepad and the stack of files at my elbow. A sick feeling sinks to the pit of my stomach when I switch off his computer.
I should be relieved when I finally make it back to the control room and eject the USB key to reactivate the camera feed, but the nausea only increases when I step outside.
“Everything all right, Miss Starley?” the guard asks.
“Found it,” I say, my voice surprisingly normal.
My whole body is shaking when I get into the car. I lean my head against the backrest and wipe the sweat from my brow. After taking a few deep breaths, I start the engine and drive home.
Elliot’s car is parked in the driveway when I arrive.
I don’t want the USB key on me for a minute longer than necessary. The quicker I hand it over, the quicker I can pretend the guilt isn’t gnawing at my insides.
Upstairs, I pause on the landing. No light falls from under my mom’s door. Gus’s snoring reaches me through the wood. They’ve had separate rooms from since I can remember, but if Gus spends the whole night with my mom, he sleeps in her room. Is it significant that he never lets her spend the night in his room?
Going to the end of the hallway, I knock softly on Elliot’s door. He opens it wearing pajama bottoms. His flat chest is naked, the hollow of his breastbone caving inward. When we were young, the other kids always teased him about it. For that reason, Elliot never took his shirt off at the beach. He only exposes his pale skin at the pool at home.
I take the USB key from my bag and hand it to him.
He takes it with a grin. “Good work, Violet. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Hatred pushes up in my throat, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “I gave you what you asked. Give me the photos.”
“What’s the point? There will always be more where they came from. What matters is that I won’t show them to my father.”
I grit my teeth. “You better honor your agreement.”
He clicks his tongue. “Don’t you trust your own brother?”
“Not as far as I can throw you. And you’re not my brother.”
“Good night, sis,” he says with a mocking smile, shutting the door in my face.
It’s done.
There’s no turning back.
Nothing and no one can help me if Leon ever finds out.
Chapter 21
Leon
* * *
If I’d known dating was so much fun, I would’ve started dating a long time ago. Only, it’s not the act as much as the person that makes it exciting. Violet is one of a kind. I got to pull down her panties on our first date. On the second, I ate the best burger I’ve ever had while squatting on a pavement. Life with her will be anything but boring.
I can hardly wait to see her again. She’s all I think about on Monday morning. Six o’clock is too far away. Since I’m at work, I have to content myself with a text message, which she ignores. No surprises there. I send another to ask if she wants to have lunch and get the same response.
Nada.
My ego would’ve taken a knock if I didn’t have such a thick skin. I don’t understand why she’s fighting our attraction so hard, but I’ll take as much time as necessary to win her over.
Gus comes past my desk just before lunchtime, telling me to join him. I don’t miss how Elliot clenches his jaw as I follow his father. If Gus and I are going to run this company together, Elliot will be a problem. There are only two options. Either I teach him his place or he finds employment elsewhere. I prefer the latter, but he’s Gus’s flesh and blood, his only son no less. Gus would rather promote him to a bogus position with a fancy job title than letting him work for a competitor. He’ll just have to learn his place.
“You’ll need a suit and tie,” Gus says, stopping in front of the locker room where I keep a set of formal clothes in case I’m needed at an impromptu meeting. After changing into a suit and tie, I meet Gus outside.
“Where are we going?” I ask as I get into the passenger side of Gus’s Maserati.
“I’m having lunch with an old friend. I’d like you to meet him.”
Since Gus knows everyone in the traffic department and gets all his fines squashed, he breaks the speed limit, showing off the impressive acceleration of his car that goes from zero to a hundred kilometers per hour in less than four seconds.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” he says when he pulls up at the Johannesburg Country Club. “Impression is everything. The car you drive and the clothes you wear tell people who they’re dealing with. It tells them how successful you are.”
He cuts the engine, jumps out, and throws the key at the valet. Gripping my shoulder, he guides me to the entrance. “You already have all the basics right. Now observe and learn.”
He pushes through the door and makes his way to the restaurant, greeting everyone we pass on the way with a jovial handshake and by name.
“It’s imperative that you make people feel important,” he says under his breath as we enter the restaurant. “You never know when you’ll need a favor.” He adds with a wink, “It also doesn’t hurt to be popular.”
The maître d’hôtel is conversing with an elderly gentleman who I recognize as Tobias Fisher, the mayor of Tshwane. We seat ourselves at the best table in the house with a view of the golf course, even though a card that stands in the center of the table says it’s reserved.
Gus dusts the sleeve of his jacket. “Act as if the best is due to you, and people will presume the same.” He leans closer. “Look around. People pretend not to stare, but they’re noticing us. More importantly, they’re noticing that we’re having a better table than the mayor.”
The maître d’hôtel bustles over. “Mr. Starley.” He shakes Gus’s hand. “It’s an honor, sir.”
“Steven, my man,” Gus says. “How’s the family?”
“The wife is doing all right, sir. She’s battling with her arthritis, but she’s not complaining.”
Gus adopts a sympathetic expression. “You let me know if you need a good doctor. I’ll put you in contact with the best team of specialists in the city.”
Steven nods his gratitude. “I appreciate that, sir. What may I get you to drink?”
“A bottle of your best red.” He turns to me. “This is my colleague, Mr. Hart. He’s a wine connoisseur. I’ll have to impress him.”
“Yes, sir.” Discreetly sweeping up the reservation card with a gloved hand, Steven slips it into his pocket. “Will anyone else be joining you?”
“Mr. Carter from Platinum Consolidated.”
“Yes, sir.” Steven removes a knife and fork, leaving three place settings. “Your waiter will take your order as soon as your guest arrives.”
Gus flashes me with a smile when Steven has left. “That’s what I’m talking about, son. You don’t only want them to kiss your ass. You want them to do it with it smile.”
Getting my ass kissed isn’t my modus operandi, but I’m not going to tell my boss how to operate. I have a different matter on my mind. While we wait, I may as well make use of the opportunity to inform him of my plans.
“Violet is moving in with me,” I say.
“Times are modern.” Draping an arm over the back of his chair, he studies the diners. “I pride myself on moving with the times.”
“If you don’t have a preset idea about a wedding date—”
“That’s for you to decide,” he says, getting to his feet and straightening his jacket.
I follow his example. A graying man wearing a silk suit enters. When his gaze falls on Gus, he smiles broadly and makes his way over.
“Gus,” he says, shaking Gus’s hand. “You’ve been scarce.”
“This is my colleague, Leon Hart.”
“Mr. Hart.” Carter excepts the hand I extend. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Following their lead, I take my seat. “Likewise.”
The waiter immediately appears at our table. “Gentlemen, may I suggest the chef’s menu of the day?”
Carter waves a hand. “I trust you, Becker. You know my tastes.” He turns to me. “What about you, my good man?”
“No chicken,” I say politely.
When the waiter is gone, Carter says, “I’m a red meat man myself. When it comes to white meat, I prefer guineafowl when it’s hunting season, but you have to do like my mother used to and hang the bird by the neck for a fortnight to let the meat ripen. Otherwise, it’s tough.” He measures me with cunning interest. “What about you, Mr. Hart? Does your aversion to sampling the feathered population of the animal species stem from the curse of an allergy or from making a standpoint about battery farming?”
From across the table, Gus shoots me a warning look, not that I needed that look to know it’s a test question.
“Neither,” I say. “I’m fond of guineafowl if, like you so accurately pointed out, it’s prepared correctly. As for chicken, the reason I don’t eat it is purely psychological.”
Carter looks intrigued. “Do carry on.”
“My father bought us chicks when we were little,” I explain. “When they grew up, he cooked them.”
Carter bursts out laughing, his baritone voice killing the other conversations in the room. “You’re funny.” Turning to Gus, he says, “I already like him.”
Gus gives me a proud smile. For some reason, that smile makes something expand in my chest. I sure as hell never saw a smile on my father’s face when he looked at me. If anything, it was a scowl.
The maître d’hôtel returns with a bottle of red that’s sure to cost more than the salary Gus pays me per month. After letting Gus do the tasting, he serves three glasses of wine and mineral water.
“What exactly is your role in the business, Mr. Hart?” Carter asks.
“I’m a programmer.”
“An ambitious programmer,” Gus says with approval.
“Ambition is good.” Carter studies me. “What kind of programs do you write?”
I look at Gus. Not everyone is privy to the illegal side of the business.
“He writes the kind of programs you’d be interested in,” Gus says.
“Is that so?” Carter raises a brow. “Enlighten me.”
The waiter returns with three platters of Tournedos Rossini that he sets in front of us.
I wait until he’s done before I reply. “I can create whatever you need.”
Another laugh shakes Carter’s bulky frame. “Where in the world did you get this young man, Gus?”
Gus chuckles. “I told you he was good.”
Rubbing a thumb over his lips, Carter observes me with narrowed eyes. “What car do you drive, son?”
“Aston Martin.”
“I’m all for British brands.” Carter grunts. “German cars aren’t worth the money. It’s all show but not enough horsepower.” His expression turns sly. “Tell me something, Hart. Where does a programmer get the money for a flashy car like that?”
Gus asked me the same question before he employed me. “I’ve been doing a few jobs here and there.”
Carter nods thoughtfully. “You must’ve done good jobs if that’s how well they paid.”
My smile is confident. “I’m the best, Mr. Carter.”
“Fuck,” he says, slamming a hand on the table. “I like you more and more.”
Both my companions laugh as they slap me on the back.
The initiation is over. I’m officially part of the inner circle. Carter is one of the big players. Platinum Consolidated is one of our best clients. The legal side of the operation provides a viable smokescreen for the transactions that are made under the table. Those are the deals that interest me the most. When I introduce my program, we’ll have to advertise it on the dark net. My plan is to release free demos to hook the big fish. Then I’ll set up an auction and sell to the highest bidder. I’ll request a substantial down payment for the second part of the development, plowing some of that money back into the business.
It’s all coming together beautifully. By the end of the month, my position will be secured, and Violet will be living with me. I already bought the best mattress on the market and changed my synthetic pillows for goose down ones. People with LLD often suffer with secondary complications, including hip and back ache, which is why a good mattress and pillow are important. The purchases set me back a good eighty thousand rand. I never realized that a luxury mattress could cost the price of three ounces of gold, but it’s not as if I don’t have the money. Violet is worth every penny. I just have to be careful not to attract too much attention by spending huge amounts.
