The Scarab by Scott Rhine

game.
The Scarab is just an image I’ve built up over the past few years.”
    She laughed, accepting the news
like a good sport. “I guess they’re up against more than they bargained for.
Anything else you want to show me before we start?” Just as I was about to
suggest another shower, the big phone on the table rang. Before I could stop
her, she put it on speaker.
    It was our lawyer. While Mary Ann
exchanged pleasantries with him, I sulked in my coffee. Foxworthy explained our
situation from a financial point of view. After midnight, the TSM stocks began
to drop steadily. The Tokyo exchange set the mood for the rest of the day.
People were dumping their shares, not drastically, but consistently. The index
had gone down seven points by the end of breakfast, and was predicted to drop
sixteen by closing time. The race had just become very personal.
    “You still have a chance to get
out, my boy,” he said.
    “No way,” I said, popping an
aspirin. He could no doubt hear the bottle rattle over the speaker phone. A
true business man would have said something like “that is not an option,” but I
never did fit into the corporate scheme.
    “Remember, our little Congressional
time-bomb goes off today, and Exotech might not be too pleased if they connect
you with the complaints.” I think I detected fear in the old boy’s voice. Maybe
he wanted to get out himself.
    “Stay with me, Nigel. If they’re
losing money, hopefully we’re gaining.” I found a clean glass over the sink and
filled it, knocking down three pills for good measure.
    “There’s more. Somebody has been
putting out feelers in the market to find out how vulnerable we might be to a
hostile takeover. The buy options for our last 15 percent of preferred stock
might earn us more than what we made on the rest of it combined.” I could hear
a nervous pencil tapping on the other end.
    “But Mr. H, once they find out you’re
the majority stock-holder, they’re going to get dirty. I’ll hide you as long as
I can,” he said, without much hope of his success.
    Mary Ann spoke up, “When they learn
he doesn’t have a driver’s license or a voting record, a few eyebrows will be
raised. Someone might go to the SEC claiming he’s a front for some crime
family.”
    Foxworthy sounded like he was ready
to hit the antacid tablets already. “Any other enemies or clandestine facts I
should know about before the siege begins?”
    Mare held up a finger to stop me. “Is
this line secure?”
    “For another day.”
    I fielded the question. “Just
Exotech, GEDM, TSM, and anyone between me and the finish line.”
    “Good Lord, don’t you make any
friends?”
    I shrugged, not that he’d see me,
but it’s reflex. “Count on the Feds both overt and covert, you, Mare, a few
allies at LAS, and most of the poor plugs who bought it in the massacre.”
    “Fat lot of good it’ll do, there’s
only one left in the game,” said Foxworthy.
    Mare didn’t exactly understand
either, but she had faith in me and didn’t press the issue. I liked that. My
drink being doctored opened up a whole can of worms for me. Why? “I’d also like
you to hire a PI we can trust to run messages that can’t be tapped and watch
our room when we’re away.
    “It’s an iceberg, Nigel. The game
is bigger than I imagined, with more levels than we can possibly see. Even the
dead have a part to play. I may still be bush-league, but I’m a fast learner.
From now on, we drink bottled water and only eat food we buy ourselves. Nigel,
I suggest you do the same. Any word from our customers on all this?”
    “Now that you mention it, the
prototype they’re using in greater Boston has a small problem,” he said.
    How could something have gone
wrong; I had tested it myself. “Not enough arrests?”
    “Quite the contrary, lad. Too many
for coincidence. The local police usually check after a crash, resulting in
about five violations a month. The prototype was responsible for over fifty
tickets