A circuitous route back to the rental agency made me feel better, and I took several turns right as the traffic signals locked, ensuring nothing behind me at that moment. Was I paranoid enough?
Silver had a jammer running, but the power was quite low, since that itself could be traced if it put out enough. There was also the emergency transponder, if they knew anyone at the response company or rental agency.
I was paranoid, but it might not be enough.
We made it home, checked our seals, checked our cameras, determined some city services had coasted by; trash and street cleaning, and that everything seemed safe.
I might be overreacting. I didn’t know where his safehouse was. He shouldn’t know about mine. I’d taught him what he knew. I had Silver for backup and we both knew our lives depended on perfection. With luck, he might outmaneuver me, but he shouldn’t be able to flank us both.
We cleared the inside with pistols out and determined nothing had been touched. I’d still want to do another DNA spray across town soon, though.
Randall was probably equally paranoid. I wondered if he’d yet figured out his employer had turned on him. Not allies of ours, though. Mutual enemies, but we were not allies.
Silver interrupted my musing.
“Here’s a real wrench in the works,” she said, and fronted the news load.
“The God and Goddess are on my side,” I said.
“It looks that way.”
Buckley Bank had massively overextended itself on mining speculation in Theta Persei. Meanwhile, they’d been marketing the investment for more income to roll in. A risky proposition, against the typical bank charter, and certainly unethical. There were links to hundreds of opinions on the legal ramifications, satisfaction and settlement, long-term repercussions and why their underwriter/inspector hadn’t caught this. Especially as it was a repeat of a similar event a decade before. Greedy people never learn.
That was all fascinating, but the important part for me was that the confidence drop had caused two other banks to pull credibility from their money. Then a couple more. Then an outsystem bank here, actually. Then more. Remember, our currency is a private issue by several banks in concordance. There’s no national backing. The other banks were pulling their reciprocity and leaving Buckley alone and unloved.
No one would take a penny of any currency produced by Buckley. It was being melted down for scrap value, about a quarter of its previously valued worth.
So, about a quarter of the Freehold money we had along was now worthless except as cheap bullion in coin form, totally worthless in card or paper.
And Randall’s account was an “asset with a claim.” It would be settled in a few months for cents on the cred, and paid by whoever bought out the smoking ruins of Buckley. In the meantime, he had nothing.
It was a gratuitous stroke of luck, but it was to my advantage.
Even if he had hard assets or other accounts, this had to hurt. He was earning less than our initial predictions, spending more, and had just taken a hit. If I could pile on a few more, I could finish breaking him.
An hour later we had more. Marquardt called us.
“We have a murder that looks like a chameleon job. Joseph Rosencrans. The banker.”
“We’ll be right there.”
I drove. It was at the far north end of the valley, in foothills that were strangely sharp, as linear basaltic extrusions.
The house was an impressive mansion, as I’d seen from the nav, but that didn’t do it justice. The foundation was carved basalt blocks. The main level was fired clay brick. The upper floors and buttresses were solid hewn timber. It was part Tudor, part Classic American, and all Modern Ostentatious.
I pulled into the apron, then had to park on lava gravel. Every space was full with police and support vehicles. Silver hopped out, I followed, and she looped an ID over my neck.
Apparently our pictures preceded us. Damn. I appreciated being waved in on sight, but it didn’t speak well of perimeter or operational security, nor opsec for us.
Marquardt was in the foyer, awaiting us.
“Gos Gold, Ms. Wickell. You’ll pardon me if I’m not glad to see you,” he said.
“Likewise,” I offered, while looking around. They’d taped and lit a route to the scene to minimize traffic elsewhere. The scene had a field around it, and a full evidence crew at work. Patroller Meyerson seemed much more relaxed with an intact dead body. I expected she’d be fine from now on, if we could finish this.
Marquardt led the way left into a large front room with bay windows, and pointed.
“A classic clubbing with a blunt instrument. It doesn’t appear the victim saw anything. It would be someone familiar or invisible. He was well-liked by his staff. I’ll question them, of course, but I have no reason to doubt that they just found him like this, after hearing a thump.”