Mastermind, page 2
part #1 of Mastermind's Mutants Series
“Yes, yes we are!” read the director.
Ray couldn’t help but chuckle. He knew how bad this script was. And considering their budget and level of experience, this film was only going to go from bad to worse. But he needed a “real world” project management experience for one of his MBA classes. And his friend was the director. The whole thing was supposed to be filmed and finished in a single weekend. So Ray signed on as the film’s production manager.
He could’ve invested some of his own money into this, if he wanted. But he wasn’t going to. He actually had some extra cash set aside for the right project, business idea, or investment opportunity. He was only 27, but he was already building himself a humble fortune. It’s ironic. While Luke struggled financially, Ray was on a roll.
After getting his BA in Finance, he put off grad school for a few years to start his own company. Cartwright Consulting. It was a life coaching/business consulting type thing. Lasted a few years, made some money, but ultimately he decided it wasn’t for him. He started a few other part-time companies here and there. Some made a little money; some didn’t. But he learned something valuable from each experience.
And one of the things he learned was to never put his own money into something he didn’t believe in. And this student film project was one such example. He actually tried passing on it at first, but his director friend begged him. Apparently no one else would sign on. And Ray did need the credit for his class. This assignment was a full third of his final grade.
So he just told his director friend that all his money was tied up in other investments right now. And that was partially true. He could’ve sold his stocks if he really wanted to. But his friend was just grateful to have him on board helping out on production.
Anyway, apparently Ray was the only person on the team who felt it was a bad script. The director and his assistant (the nasally kid) loved it. And the actresses – well, they all at least acted like they loved it. Except for Dawn.
She tried to like it. She gave an honest effort to make the dialog believable. She tried to put authentic emotion into it. But the more she read, the more her cheerful face turned to one of confusion, bewilderment, and palpable distaste.
Finally, an honest actress.
Sure, she looked like just about every other girl they’d seen all day. But an honest actress, he could work with. Of course, he also knew she’d never take the part, even if they did offer it to her.
“Thank you,” said the director. “That’ll be all. We’ll call you if we’re interested.”
“Thanks for your… time,” she said.
She handed back the script to them. And then politely, but swiftly, bolted for the door.
Ray wasn’t about to lose his opportunity. He quickly got up. “Excuse me,” he said to the others. He went after her.
In the other room, where countless others still waited to read the same bad lines, he stopped her. “Dawn, wait up.”
She stopped and turned around. She was almost afraid to ask. “Yeah?”
He checked over his shoulder to make sure they couldn’t hear him in the other room. “Listen,” he said, lowering his voice. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to be in this movie.”
She smiled with a sigh of relief. They laughed about it.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asked her. “I’d like to take you out to dinner. If you’re not busy.”
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Really?”
“Just you and me. And I promise not to talk about this film.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
“Great! You like Chinese?”
“Love it.”
“P.J. Wang’s it is,” he said. “I’ll call you after I’m done here. Shouldn’t be more than a couple hours.”
She smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Awkward silence. All the other hopeful auditioners stared coldly at her.
“You, um, need my number or anything?” she asked Ray.
“I got it from the audition video.”
“Right!” she said. “Okay then, I guess I’ll go then. Talk to you later?”
“See you tonight,” he said.
And with that, she turned and left. With a pleasantly surprised smile on her face. Ray watched her as she went out the door. He checked her out from behind, too, of course. He was a nice guy. But a guy nonetheless.
At least something good came out of this film.
And then the kid with the nasal problem popped his head out the audition room door and called, “Next.”
Ray couldn’t wait for tonight.
Chapter Three
Enter the Villain
Not to be confused with Bank of America, the Bank of American Savings is one of this country’s largest and wealthiest banks. In fact, it’s so large and wealthy that ever since the 1950s, it’s exclusively catered to the world’s top 15% richest.
No ordinary citizen would use this bank. If your cash assets were less than a few hundred million, you didn’t have the minimum requirement to open an account here. So, as you can imagine, the bank lobby was usually pretty empty. Occasionally a super rich business man, celebrity, politician, or royalty from another country would grace this bank’s halls. Its expansive, marble-floored, high-vaulted, pillar-columned, echo-y and airy halls.
The kind of place where you’d expect a butler named Jeeves to anticipate your every need before you do. The kind of place where fresh organic gourmet coffee and delicious exotic fruits were always served complimentary. The kind of place where the tellers recognized every client’s face and knew every client’s name.
Which is odd, because today, an unfamiliar face entered this bank.
It was the end of the day. The bank would be closing in about fifteen minutes. Rush hour had already began. It was rare for a client to come in at this time. And this man – this unfamiliar, unknown man – strolled right in with confidence and purpose as if he lived there and owned the place.
He walked right up to the teller.
She didn’t recognize him, but this could be a new client, so she greeted him cheerfully and pleasantly. “Good afternoon, sir. How may I serve you today?”
He smiled.
He was tall, dark, and handsome. Just over six feet tall. Suited up in the sharpest business suit. Perfectly tied tie. Spotless, shiny shoes. Neatly groomed, clean shaven. And a confidence, a presence, about him that only the super rich – or super clever – seemed to possess.
“Yes, I’d like to make a withdrawal today.”
Bank employees were required to memorize important data about every client. There was a file for each and every account holder at that bank. Photo, name, date of birth, spouse and children names, favorite hobbies, favorite foods, favorite countries to visit, favorite flavor of coffee... All to provide “legendary” customer service. Another perk of being super rich.
But this teller had never seen this man before. Not in person. Not on file. Not anywhere, ever. So for him to make a request for a withdrawal was … odd. She almost didn’t know how to handle it. But she was a trained professional.
“Certainly sir. I apologize, I must be having an off day. Would you please remind me of your name again, sir?”
“My name is not important,” he said.
She looked him in the eyes.
And suddenly, she felt okay about that.
“No problem. I understand, sir. How much would you like to withdraw today?”
He thought about it. “Eh, let’s say… A hundred… thousand.”
“One hundred thousand dollars.”
“In cash.”
Exactly which account was she supposed to withdraw this money from? She was afraid to ask. She made eye contact. He seemed polite, gentlemanly, respectful – but quickly growing impatient.
“Now, please,” he said, a little more sternly.
Right. It didn’t matter where she got the money from. She just knew she needed to give it to him – fast.
“Right away, sir. I will need my manager to open the vault.”
“Go ahead.”
She left her station. The mysterious man leaned against the marble counter as he waited. He checked his nails. Looked up at the clock. Began whistling some old tune.
The teller returned with the manager – but not the money – a moment later.
“Good afternoon sir,” said the manager. “I’ll be happy to release your funds immediately. I just need your signature here, and your full legal name printed here…” He handed the mysterious man a standard bank withdrawal form. But it was also a discrete way to reveal the man’s identity, so they could figure out which account to draw from.
The mysterious man sighed. He looked the manager right in the eyes and said, “You don’t need my signature. Just hand over the money. Now.”
The manager paused for a second, but only a second.
“Y-Yes sir. Gladly, right away, sir.”
The teller and manager left – and returned a few minutes later with all the money in cash. The teller quickly counted the stacks of hundreds. Each bundle contained fifty one-hundred dollar bills. Each stack was $5,000. Twenty stacks equaled the $100,000 total.
The entire time, something deep inside her knew this was weird. But at the same time, she didn’t care. It was almost as if she wanted to give this man, this total stranger, whatever he wanted.
The manager seemed to agree.
They pushed the bills across the counter. The mysterious man loaded them one by one into his own briefcase. After the last one, he closed the case, locked it up, looked at them, and smiled. “Thank you. You’ve been most compliant.”
“A pleasure to serve,” said the manager.
“Have a good evening, sir. Come again soon!”
“Perhaps,” he said with a smile, walking out the door.
And he was gone.
The manager stopped for a second, reflecting on what just happened.
“Who was that man?” he asked.
The teller was at a loss. “I have no idea, sir.”
Confusion set on his middle-aged face. “Did we just give away all that money to a complete stranger?”
“I… I believe we did… sir.”
A terrible sinking feeling came over them both. What just happened? Why did they just do that?
They remembered everything. They willfully, gladly, unquestioningly complied with everything he asked of them. Of their own free will. At least, it sure felt that way.
They needed to figure out who that man was. And quickly.
Both the teller and manager went into the back security office, where the video feeds from all the cameras were recorded. A security officer was on duty, watching the videos the entire time.
“Pull up camera three from five minutes ago,” said the manager.
The security officer did so. The camera showed the teller, by herself, waiting at her station. The mysterious man never appeared in the video.
“Try going back farther.”
They watched the video in reverse. Nothing. Except, around three minutes before the man allegedly entered, there was a brief “blip” in the video. A split second when everything went black, and then seemingly returned to normal.
“Wait a second,” said the teller. “Go forward again.” She watched herself closely. “Look at my hair!” she exclaimed. Her hair was pulled up. But today, right now, her hair was down. “My hair was like that yesterday,” she said.
“Oh my God,” said the manager. “Someone hacked our security feed and played back tape from yesterday.”
“That’s impossible!” said the security officer. “We’re on a closed circuit.”
“Then how do you explain that?” she said, pointing at herself on the screen.
“We both saw the man,” said the manager. “He’s not anywhere on this footage.”
“I’ve been watching the whole time,” said the security officer. “I didn’t see anybody.”
“Oh, so now you’re telling me we saw a ghost?” exclaimed the girl.
“No, I just—”
“It’s not important,” sighed the manager. “Check the security cameras from out front.”
The officer pulled up that footage. Same thing. A small blip at the exact moment the mysterious man would’ve entered.
“Damn.”
This was not good.
“Should we…” she was almost afraid to ask. “Should we call the police?”
“And tell them what?” said the manager. “That we voluntarily handed over $100,000 to a total stranger – and the only proof he was ever here is that you let your hair down?”
“You gave him what?!” shouted the security officer. He nearly spilled his coffee. “Did he hold you at gun point? Was he wearing a bomb? How come you didn’t trigger the alarm?”
“No,” said the teller, shaking her head. “He just asked… politely.”
The manager sighed, pulling back his thinning hair. How were they going to explain the missing money? They would both be arrested for grand theft. This all sounded exactly like an inside job. And they’d never be able to get the money back. It was rush hour. He was long gone. They’d never see him again. Even if they filed a police report and gave a description of the man, how were they going to explain why they just freely handed over all that money?
“We have a problem.”
Several miles away, the mysterious tall, dark, and handsome man strolled into one of the more luxurious hotels in Burbank. He took a seat in the lobby. The briefcase with the $100,000 casually placed at his side.
He waited.
Another man entered. By far a less attractive, wild-haired, unkempt fellow. “Eccentric-looking” some might say. “Crazy homeless guy” others might say, if not for his lab coat and apparent purpose in this luxury hotel’s lobby.
The crazy-eyed, wild-haired pseudo-scientist sat down across from the tall, dark, and handsome mysterious man.
They made eye contact. But the scientist didn’t speak. He began moving and flashing his hands around, quickly signing different words. He spoke in sign language.
He signed a question. “You have it?”
The mysterious man interpreted the words. He nodded, and began signing back, while also quietly speaking just in case the scientist could read lips.
“I do,” said the mysterious man. “Is the formula ready?”
“It’s in a safe location,” signed the unkempt man.
The mysterious man reached for his briefcase and pulled it closer. “No formula, no payment,” he signed and said.
“No payment,” rapidly signed the crazy, wild-eyed scientist, “no formula.”
He looked the mad scientist in the eyes and sighed. Fine. He had no choice. He’d have to trust him. “Alright,” he spoke and signed. “Where?”
The crazy scientist reached into his lab coat pocket and pulled out a small business card. The front of it read “Dr. Albert Troyd, Freelance Geneticist” with a TTY telephone number, e-mail address, and even a Facebook page. On the back was written an address, not far from here.
“Alright,” said the mysterious man. He passed over the briefcase.
The crazy mad scientist smiled with glee. He opened the case and looked inside. He saw twenty stacks of hundred dollar bills. His eyes went wild with excitement. He even let out a small little mad scientist “muwahahah” kind of laugh.
The mysterious man stomped his foot on the floor a couple times to get the mad scientist’s attention. “Hey,” said the man, and he signed, “What time?”
“Eight o’clock. Bring the test subjects.”
The mysterious man nodded. And a small grin came to his face. No problem.
The mad scientist locked the briefcase, signed goodbye, and got up to leave. But then he stopped himself. He signed, “Don’t forget about the message.”
The mysterious man sized him up. “You’re really confident it’ll work this time?”
The crazy scientist nodded yes.
The mysterious man sighed. “Fine,” he said aloud, holding his hand out.
The scientist reached into his lab coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone. It was one of those special cell phones for deaf people – but it worked like most smart phones too. The mysterious man grabbed it, opened the video recorder app, and pointed the camera at himself.
He recorded himself saying, “You will grant this man access to anywhere and anyone.” He stopped and saved the recording. He handed the phone back to the scientist.
“Don’t use it until it’s time,” he signed.
The scientist nodded, looked down at the briefcase, and smiled. Then he headed out the exit.
Hmm. Eight o’clock. The mysterious man pushed back his jacket sleeve to check his Rolex. He had some time to kill. And some new test subjects to find, to make sure this formula batch actually worked.
At that very moment, a young couple entered the hotel. Judging by their luggage, they had just gotten off the plane. And noticing by how happy and playful they appeared together, their shiny new wedding rings, and the fact that they were still holding hands and smiling constantly made it easy to conclude that these two were newlyweds.
Probably, he figured, vacationing in Los Angeles to do the whole Hollywood tourist thing. But he couldn’t imagine why. There were many places more romantic than here.
Over twelve million people crammed into 4800 square miles. Full of crazies, drug addicts, homeless bums, and sleazy car salesmen. Full of celebrities, politicians, executive producers, and people who slept their way to the top. Aspiring actors and writers. Musicians. Religious leaders. Real estate tycoons. Average Joe Schmoes who anonymously worked like cogs in a faceless machine. And everybody else in between.
All stuck in rush hour traffic.
And there were even the occasional “mad scientist” types willing to push the boundaries of science and ethics for the right price. And in a city like this, there were also the occasional special someones – like this mysterious man – who had a few secrets of their own.
As the newlywed couple walked past, he couldn’t help but get a good look at the woman. She was quite attractive. Nice long legs, soft skin, tight ass, decent size breasts. He wanted her.
