Page 37 of Tamed Enemy
“It’s all over the news.”
I pull my phone away from my ear and stab a finger at an app. Headlines leap from my screen.
Billionaire Hacker Exposed as Fraud
White Hat Billionaire Goes Black
Lone Wolf Billionaire Unmasked
I tap on the first story, skimming so quickly the words waver. Reclusive billionaire Cole Wolf… Fraud… White hat hacker trusted by banks and corporations worldwide… Fraud… Seen just this week with the Silicon Valley brain trust… Fraud… Fraud… Fraud…
“Breagha,” I say. “I’ll call you back.” And then I say to Cole, “It’s all lies.”
He shakes his head, but before he can speak, Nilsson’s phone rings again.
“Jacobson,” Nilsson says to us, identifying the caller. This time he answers. “Yes?” he asks. And then a series of short sharp answers, rising in pitch as the implacable Swede becomes flustered: “No… Send them away… They have no right... No… Mr. Wolf has no comment… No… I do not know when…”
He listens for longer, and then he says, “Dammit! This is your job. Send them away.”
Jacobson’s voice rises in pitch as well. Nilsson interrupts him to say, “Fine. You cannot make them leave. Tell them they will be waiting a very long time for a response.”
Nilsson ends the call. “Reporters,” he says, the way most people would talk about slime molds.
There isn’t any meaningful response to that, but I ask, “Can you give us a few minutes?”
Nilsson turns with military precision. As he crosses the room, the heels of his oxfords sound like gunshots against the floor.
I wait until the door is closed before I ask, “What the hell happened?”
“Tarasov.”
“What about him?”
“He released the indictment.”
“That makes no sense,” I say. “That feckin’ document was a monthly paycheck for him.”
“There’s something he wants more than money.”
I understand every one of the words. They’re simple. Straightforward. Not one of them’s more than two syllables.
But what mob boss passes up the opportunity to skim ten million a month, no strings attached? Da would have sold me in a heartbeat if he could have guaranteed a take like that.
Dadidsell me. To Cole. So Cole could handle the Canton Crew’s computers, managing all the clan’s finances.
“Tarasov’s staking his own claim,” Cole says.
“What claim?”
“He wants RedBear. The cryptocurrency will practically print money for him.”
“He’s been hollering for that all along.”
“And he wants you.”
“That’s not news?—”
“He knows I was dragging my feet. Drawing things out until we came up with a plan to keep you safe.”
