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I held up the first paper. “You haven’t seen all our cards yet. I have here an affidavit from Melissa Benson stating that she sent you, Carson…” I pointed a finger at him. “An email containing the files that were to be planted on my computer.”
The happiness melted from his face.
I held up the USB Suzanne had given me with the resume on it she’d asked me to print and distribute. “You then had those files transferred to this thumb drive.”
Swartzman objected. “We did no such thing.”
“You instructed your employee Suzanne Murtog to give it to me.” I lifted the last paper. “I also have an outside analysis confirming that this USB contains malware that would transfer the files to any computer it’s plugged in to. I attached it to mine on the day I met her.”
Cartwright glanced at his lawyer and back to me.
“The analysis also shows that the files on my computer are identical to the ones on this USB drive, and also identical to the ones emailed to you by Melissa Benson. They appeared on my computer that same day I met with your employee. And yes, the FBI retrieved those emails of Ms. Benson’s yesterday with a warrant, so there is no question of their authenticity.”
Happy Larry spoke up. “I’d say that is game, set, match.”
Syd nodded, now back in confident mode. He’d not known what I had up my sleeve.
Cartwright shifted in his seat. “We’ll need some time to read these over and consider it.”
Swartzman nodded his agreement.
I checked my watch. “You have sixty seconds before I send Syd to join Dennis with the FBI agents. Decide quickly.”
Cartwright looked at his attorney, who shrugged and put pen to paper.
A minute later they were gone, and Larry and Syd were high-fiving it.
Epilogue
“Life is a flower of which love is the honey.” — Victor Hugo
Jennifer
It was Saturday morning, and as usual, the bedroom window was cracked open at the beach house. The wind made the curtains billow slightly, letting in the morning light. This early, the only noises outside came from the surf in the distance.
I rolled toward Dennis.
He was fast asleep after our late-night bottles of celebratory champagne. The go-private transaction had closed yesterday, and the company was now out of Cartwright’s or anyone else’s reach. The king’s throne was secure.
Lifting up to see the red numerals on the clock, I realized we didn’t have much time this morning. We were due over at the big house early, to get it ready for all the employees he’d invited to celebrate with us this afternoon.
The magazines said a man’s testosterone levels were highest in the morning, and I had no intention of letting that go to waste. I got wet just thinking about the prospect. Slipping beneath the comforter, I lay my head on his abdomen, grabbed for my prize, and started to stroke.
He was already erect, and growing harder.
“Morning, Angel,” he said groggily.
That name still sent a tingle down my spine every time—especially now that I knew I wasn’t destined to disappoint him by being the avenging angel.
“Morning. Does Little Denny want to play?”
“Always, but you know that name sucks.”
“How ’bout Big Willy?”
He pulled me up from my cave under the covers. “That still needs work.”
I kept stroking him. “You have two choices this morning.”
