It was the winter solstice, a low time for Jonathan. Reminding him of his fetish, stockings. The worst time of the year to see stockings, which he loved more than sex itself. Ramona wore a black suede skirt just above the knee and a scarlet jumper split down the middle. Black nets. But were they stockings or pantyhose?? He had to know. They were in the boardroom, sitting across a small oak table. It overlooked the dark insomniac city, with its multi-coloured lights and cars growling faintly 37 floors below. The fluorescent light was soft, a warm white, good enough for upper management. As were the red chairs, inviting relaxation rather than the sharp thinking he needed, and it had to be with the brain above, not the one below. The setting could have been romantic, with two glass walls meeting at right angles where they sat. The euphoria from the cocaine had worn off; his system was back to baseline.
He tore himself back to business, an interview by an auditor about some unusual transactions. His palms had begun to sweat, but his speech was still calm and measured. He took a sip of chilled water from his glass.
"What about the transfer of $151k to Golden Enterprises?" she asked casually. The amount was not a great one for CryptoMax, the largest cyber currency exchange, the only significant one left standing after the bubble burst. However, it was large enough to trigger a yellow alert.
Trying to focus, he turned his eyes away from her. She wasn't pretty. She was utterly beautiful. She should be an actress, not an auditor, he thought, irrelevantly. Not only that, but her looks were exotic, betraying her part Indian ancestry. They scored a bullseye on his libido. But this was just a distraction, he reminded himself, angrily. He was at 7 out of ten on the anxiety meter, and the interview was in its early stages. Ramona had booked an hour of his time.
She dropped a pen. When she picked it up, there was the payload. A glimpse of black stocking top. Something below the belt stirred. She was only a metre away, so that he inhaled her perfume, Lily of the Valley. Expensive and subtle.
"Don't get side-tracked!", he admonished himself. His career and possible incarceration were in the offing. How much did she know? Her questions seemed innocent, as though she trusted him implicitly. Or was that a ruse to get him to incriminate himself? To make him think there was no need to worry.
Of course, there was $9.4 million to worry about, a significant amount, even by crypto standards.
Being Colombian, she gesticulated liberally, engagingly, flinging her jet black long hair. Her jumper also opened, causing rioting among his hormones. No bra. She seemed innocently unaware of the display. Her manner was soft and gentle, not like an interview, which it certainly was. As if they were in this together, almost as friends. She just wanted some details clarified. She leant forward towards him, her eyes bright. He noticed the mascara, subtly applied.
"So when did you transfer these funds?" she asked casually, as though the question was unimportant.
"Why, I don't recall the date," he lied, his stomach and chest tightening. He had a perfect memory of every detail of his machinations. Otherwise, he would not be able to lie effectively, consistently.
"Surely, we have a record." She ignited her Apple and logged into the system using a high-level password.
"It says August 13th."
This was untrue. He had falsified the date so that he could not be accused of insider trading.
"Does that sound right?" she asked brightly, just a confirmation among friends.
"Yes, it must be." Cold sweat trickled down his neck. His new suit was slightly too small, threatening to choke him.
"So what happened to the funds after that?"
"Well, at management request, they were transferred to the Bahamas shelf company. Standard practice, of course." He said this a little too quickly, he realised.
"Interesting," she commented, fluttering her eyelids. His heart skipped a beat. The molotov cocktail of focused investigation and sex appeal poured adrenaline into his dehydrated body.
"Yes, after that we applied the standard procedures required by law."
"Did you really?"
He was tense as piano wire now. Her touch was velvet, but for the first time, he sensed menace. How much did she really know? Raw fear gripped his chest like a tight steel blanket. He swallowed, trying to clear the bitter taste.
"I need to go to the gents, please excuse me," he said, just managing to keep his voice level. The Bahamas entity was at the end of a chain of corporate links, whose camouflaged origin was Jonathan. His throat burned as if he had downed a vodka.
She was hot, both in terms of sex appeal, and in cutting to the core of his covert operation. He needed a break to solidify his story, to set her off on a tangent, away from the trail that lead back to his account.
Maybe he should wank in the toilet, to loosen her hold on his genitals?
Half an hour later, after she honed in on the money trail in detail, it was clear to Jonathan that she knew, that she knew what his scheme involved, perhaps minus a few details. There seemed to be no point throwing red herrings her way. Ramona was as sharp as she was lovely and she had done her research. She was smiling, framed by her spectacular hair.
But if she knew the plot, why was she even talking to him? Did she need to fill in some details to round out her investigation? Jonathan intuited she had something else in mind. He was a kangaroo caught in the beam of her headlights and he could not hop away. He tried to maintain a poker face, more out of habit than anything else.
Surprised by his own boldness, Jonathan asked, "So what do you want?"
Caught off guard, she fielded the question with, "There are some aspects I don't understand, such as why the funds in the Broadwell account were converted to Litecoin, rather than Ethereum, the logical choice."
Jonathan knew that she did not care about the conversion. She was after something else entirely. He leant forward and loosened his pale blue jacket. He cleared his throat, swallowing his fear.
Jonathan, "I'm asking you again. What do you really want?"
A pause, then, "I'll level with you. Jonathan, you could get into some very hot and very deep water over this. Maybe do time."
Jonathan said nothing. He watched her face intently. How could such a lovely women be a severe threat?
"Or you might not."
"Meaning?"
"50-50"
Jonathan didn't realise he had been holding his breath. He now exhaled and leant back in his chair. This was territory he could navigate. There was room to manoeuvre, space to breathe. He wasn't out of the water, but he was no longer drowning.
"Do you mean going forward or altogether?"
"I feel generous tonight. I propose 25% of your past profits and 50% of future ones."
She smiled sweetly, as if she were inviting him into her bedroom.
It was hardly a palatable option, but he felt relief pump through his veins. Although her sexual intentions were still unclear, wanting money was better than his neck.