Thread: The Heiress and the Hacker [[Silva & Quix]]

He shouldn't have been there. The grand ball-room was filled with stuffy old men in Tuxedo's twice or three times his age, and their equally stuffy wives, attired in five thousand dollar dresses and mink shawls, ostentatious rings on their fingers, and garish make-up painted on their faces. It was meant to make them even more attractive, and to appear younger, but to Richard Treloar it just accentuated their fading looks. Many of the women had once been quite beautiful, and a few famous in their own right, but that was decades ago, before they'd married their wealthy and influential husbands, and rode their coat-tails to power and glory. As he stood in a corner of the room, and slipped another scotch from the tray of a passing waiter, Richard counted three State Senators, a billionaire shipping mogul, and an International media tycoon. Another thing was that many who were not accompanied by their wives had instead brought their mistresses. Or maybe they were whores? It was difficult to tell the difference, with none being older than twenty, and wearing skirts which barely covered their buttocks, and tops so tight it seemed as if any sudden movement would cause the fabric to tear, and their breasts, already so prominently on display, to pop out for everyone to ogle. The smell of hypocrisy was as strong in the air as that of cigar smoke - these were men who so often appeared in the media decrying the degradation of moral values, and fall of society. Although they wouldn't recognise him, Richard knew each man in the room intimately it was his profession. He was what had come to be known in underground circles as an 'information broker' a man with the ability to hack into virtually any computer system or network, and sell the intelligence discovered to the highest bidder. A far cry from the hopes of his middle-class parents that their wayward, but gifted, child would be the next Bill Gates. They still had no idea what their son did for a living, and neither did any of the occupants of the room. Although he'd dealt with many of them, and helped make, and break, political careers, Richard Treloar had never shown his face, or declared his identity. Most of his deals were done online, and on the odd occasion he was required to speak to a client by telephone, he disguised his voice with a twenty dollar scrambler. He lived in the shadows, and his business was not advertised. The men rich enough to afford his services knew how to find him, and were smart enough not to ask questions. They could be the next target. Normally, he avoided events such as these, but tonight was different. He wasn't here to attract new clients, but for another reason entirely. Her name was Alexandra Huntington. The two had a history, and although it had been a long while since they'd last spoken, she was a woman Richard could never forget. After spotting her image once again in the society pages of the newspapers, Richard could bear it no longer, He needed to see her, even if it was only to say a proper goodbye, and the function at her parents manor was the best opportunity he was ever likely to receive. He and the Huntington's didn't run with the same crowd their money was old, and his was new. It didn't matter how much he obtained, or how it was acquired, that fact alone meant he would never be respected by her family, or accepted into their lives. Gaining an invitation wasn't a difficult task, Richard had one printed, and declared himself an aide, and stand-in, for a high-profile mayoral candidate who'd been unable to make it - he was currently in the Bahama's fucking his eighteen year old intern -, and been granted entry without question. He'd dressed the part , donning a pale blue suit, with vest, white dress shirt, and matching blue tie, and attempted to remain unnoticed as he'd slipped into the room. The last thing he desired was to come to the attention of Alexandra's father. The two men also had a history, and it wasn't a pleasant one. Richard had learned the hard way that Huntington was not a man to be crossed. Except for the drunken flirtations of a couple of elderly woman attracted to Richard's slim, athletic body, and ruggedly handsome features just the slightest hint of stubble, slick-backed, neatly combed, dark-brown hair, and piercing blue eyes he succeeded in his quest to remain anonymous. He'd been there an hour, and hadn't moved from his isolated location, when he spotted her. Drink to his lips, Richard's posture stiffened, and his mouth went dry. For a moment he stopped breathing, then he exhaled the air in a rush as he appraised the slim, young woman in the black dress. Alexandra. Instinctively his eyes ran down her body, to take in the curves, and manner in which the fabric displayed her figure. Elegant, but classy, he thought, just as he remembered her. So much unlike the other 'rich bitches' who'd derided him as poor white trash when his talents had won him a full scholarship at one of the most prestigious, and exclusive, schools in the city, and his parents had unfortunately forced him to attend. He remained motionless as Alexandra appeared to glide across the room, then stepped through a door only twenty feet from where he stood. Richard downed the last of his drink as she disappeared from sight, placed the empty glass on a table behind him, and steeled himself. He'd changed since they'd last seen each other, and he guessed so had she. With nerves tingling, he reached the exit, and pulled open the door. The hallway was dark in comparison to the brilliance of the ballroom, and whilst he could discern a shadowy figure he knew must be Alexandra, Richard was unable to tell if she faced him, or was turned away. Hello Alexandra, long time, no see. You're just as beautiful as you were back then. Maybe even more so. Richard spoke as he stepped into the hallway, and the door clicked shut behind him. Would she even know who it was?