American Beauty roses to those charitable souls who have reviewed!
It´s been a wonderful, quiet week, and I´ve been able to write unhindered. Now Real Life is snapping at my heels, and my updates will be less frequent, I´m afraid. However, I have this sketched out to the end, so this story will be completed!
I don´t own POTO, or its characters.
Christine left her last exam with a sense of liberty made keener by the beautiful May weather. She stepped from the darkness of the hall into the sunlight, blinking as her eyes adjusted. Her academic adviser had checked her credits, complimented her on her grades – she would be graduating cum laude, in spite of all her contretemps – and clucked in disapproval when he found she would not be attending her own graduation ceremony. She explained that she had an important schedule conflict, but she knew he did not believe her. She had always been a terrible liar. Yet, how could she tell him the truth? Three months ago, she had felt at home on campus, where she was just another student. People took her at face value, and were kind to her or rude to her as their individual characters dictated. Now, however, she found that people were no longer themselves when they dealt with her. She was a stranger now.
She had told Erik that she did not wish to be in the graduation ceremony.
"Why not?" he had asked, watching her carefully. Three months on, and Erik still watched her as intensely as the first day. She no longer found it unnerving or exhausting – it was just Erik. It was typical for her to study for hours at a time feeling his unyielding gaze on her.
"I don´t care much for ceremonies," Christine had answered him. "It´s the degree that´s important."
Erik had looked at her, his lips set in a grim line. He knew the truth. He always did.
Now, Christine crossed campus for the last time, thinking of the changes in her life. Months ago, she had contacted various companies, submitting her transcript and references and hoping for an internship. Two of them had responded positively, but after her marriage all contacts had ceased. Erik had other plans for her.
As she approached the street at the edge of campus where she usually met the limousine, she saw that it had not arrived yet. She checked her watch; she had finished her exam earlier than scheduled and would have to wait five or ten minutes more. Within the heavy traffic, she noticed a Mercedes convertible whose driver changed lanes upon sighting her and screeched to a halt. It was Phil de Chagny, and Tracy was in the passenger´s seat.
Phil got out hurriedly, tearing away from Tracy´s desperate attempts to restrain him. Christine could hear Tracy´s voice, screaming: "No, Phil, don´t…" but all she could focus on was Phil approaching her, his face twisted with rage. From the look of him, he had already had a few beers. Even in her panicked state, Christine noticed the contrast between the soft pink of his polo and the flushed purple ire evident on his face. She looked around wildly for Jake, but he was nowhere to be seen.
"You don´t mess with my family! They lost everything – well, I´ll show YOU…YOU!... what it is to lose something," he said, gripping Christine´s arm and screaming into her face, his spittle flying. She could smell the beer on his breath, and the stink of his sweat. She struggled to break free, despairing; Phil spent a great deal of time working with weights, and he was quite muscular – his grip on her arm only tightened. She felt a sudden relief as he was wrenched away from her. Jake reduced Phil to the ground in two moves, then cuffed him. The campus police had come by this time and were taking charge of the situation, so Jake turned around to scrutinize Christine.
"You okay?" he asked, to which Christine mutely nodded. "Shit! Where´s the limo? I thought you were already in the limo!" he said. As if in answer to his question, the limousine appeared some distance away, coming toward them slowly, since the traffic in front was tied up by people slowing down to move around Phil´s convertible, then to gawk at the handcuffed man about to be escorted away by police. Phil twisted around toward Christine, his face contorted with rage, and screamed "You´re a bitch! You´re a bitch! You´re a BIIIIIIITCH!"
Jake used his body to block Christine from Phil´s view, which she deemed pathetic, since nothing could block out Phil´s screams. Jake was moving her carefully toward the limousine now, but before she got in, Christine pleaded with him frantically.
"Please, Jake, I´m begging you… Please don´t tell Erik about this…"
Jake was silent.
Erik greeted Christine with his usual eagerness, and she sighed in relief as she entered the house. There would be bruises on her arm, but they could be hidden – and, so far, Erik did not know about the incident on campus, and perhaps he would never know. But his voice startled her out of her reverie.
"What happened?" He had turned to look at her, and he scrutinized her from head to foot. Christine was thankful she was wearing long sleeves.
"What do you mean?"
"What were you thinking? Why did you sigh just now?" He held her gaze in his. Uh-oh. "Something´s wrong," he said, his eyes unrelenting.
"Very last day on campus, that´s all…it feels weird," she said, but she could tell he was not convinced. He let it drop, however, with a preoccupied air.
Erik was escorting Christine now towards the office downstairs, and she looked at him, curious as to his intentions.
"There is something I wish to show you, my love," he said simply, as he closed and locked the door behind them. He reached for a button hidden within the relief on a baseboard, and the fireplace and part of the wall slid aside to reveal a door. Erik punched in a combination and opened it, ushering Christine inside a hallway. Everything closed behind them, and she saw that they were on the landing leading to a dimly-lit stairway. Upon descending the stairs, they came to an enormous, thick metal door, and Erik punched in another combination. Erik kissed Christine lightly as he showed her into a large room filled with computer terminals.
"This is where my business ventures really are," he said.
Nadir, who had been seated at one of the terminals, rose and went to greet Christine. "Christine! It´s good to see you. Congratulations on getting your degree!" Christine thanked him as her eyes swept the room. It was a Spartan place, with no decoration whatsoever, which seemed out of character for Erik. Besides the terminals, all of which were on and running, there were a couple of desks, one filing cabinet, and, in one corner, a bed. There was a small refrigerator in one corner with a sink and counter next to it. Christine wondered whether this deep basement might have been a bomb shelter at one time.
Erik was rocking nervously on his heels. "You know I hold a controlling interest in several concerns, but one of my favourite hobbies, which became my profession, really, is to broker investments. And what better way to do so than to know beforehand what numbers a corporate balance sheet is going to present?"
Christine wondered if she was hearing what she thought she was hearing, and looked at Nadir, questions in her eyes.
"Erik is very good at cracking algorithms, Christine," said Nadir, softly. "He´s the best mathmetician and hacker I know. He´s written program after program, designed to…examine… the various accounts contained in corporate mainframes, even flag certain pieces of in-house correspondence and memos which indicate tendencies the decision-making process may take within the company. The most remarkable thing is that he moves like a ghost through the mainframe, leaving no trace of his presence. No one knows he´s watching."
"The secret, really, is never to become avaricious," added Erik. "There´s an art to this. One can make a fortune in only one day, but he will draw unwelcome attention to himself. But, imagine, calculating a certain amount of ´human´ error into the procedure, and your decisions will never appear that they were based on inside information. They will appear to be lucky guesses, or astute but blind calculations…"
Christine felt weak. "And how many corporations are you…watching?"
"Every publicly-traded company of any importance," stated Nadir flatly. There was a silence.
"You are thinking of ethics. Yet what is ethical, Christine? An executive making 25 times what the all-too-expendable worker bees are making? And what if he pushes the envelope when it comes to acceptable accounting practices? Who do you think provides the authorities with the anonymous tip which eventually leads to his all-too-timely professional demise, before he ruins things for everyone?" asked Erik, quietly.
"I would call Erik a grey-hat hacker, not a black hat, Christine," said Nadir, quickly. "He intervenes in cases of criminality, incompetence, or … criminal incompetence. He is actually a boon to the economy."
Christine thought about the de Chagnys, and Phil´s assertion that they had lost everything. What role had Erik played in that?
Erik drew her into an embrace, his eyes examining hers. Christine smiled weakly.
"You´ve finished school, Christine, and you have little love for the campus life now, so I do not believe you wish to pursue a postgraduate degree. You will come work with me now, and you will see how everything works – all the secrets in the world exposed to you, bit by bit, so to speak."
Christine felt nervous, and left Erik´s embrace to stroll around the room examining the computer screens. She stopped at one monitor against the wall which revealed a familiar scene: Mrs. Geary´s office at the Cit as seen from the perspective of the mirror. Another near it was focused on the artistic managers´ office, with a clear view of their desk and whatever might be on top of it. Erik looked embarrassed.
"That, Christine, is closed-circuit. Sometimes I cannot be in the passageways of the Cit personally, so this is the next-best thing," he murmured. "I have not monitored it for a long time, though."
An intercom on one of the desks buzzed, and Erik went to answer. Christine examined one of the terminal screens. It had just flagged a memo from a pharmaceutical company which suggested public relations strategies; they were to combat public alarm over certain secondary effects associated with a new antidepressant. Erik was suddenly at Christine´s side, and he gave her an odd, penetrating look as he told her, "I must go upstairs for a few minutes."
He hesitated, then looked at Nadir in a way that conveyed an unspoken warning. Then he was gone.
