Crypto Shrugged: Bitpats, #1

Chapter 1

A Currency Solution

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Bitcoin has made more institutions obsolete, in more rapid fashion, than any invention in human history.

— Andy Hoffman

Proprietor of CryptoGoldCentral.com

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Office of the Deputy Minister of Finance

Ministry of Finance

Dar es Salaam, Tanzania

Mitch Childer strode purposefully down the wide, marbled hallway, stopping at the end, just outside the carved wooden door to the office. There was a mirror there, hanging over a small marble table. It was a good one and he looked into it. He was checking the knot of his Turnbull & Asser silk tie and his attitude that showed on his face. After the flight from Zurich and the usual problems with the airline, both were somewhat askew.

That wouldn’t do at all. Mitch Childer had an image to maintain. It worked well for him. He was known for being neat and tidy. If you were to try and capture Mitch Childer in a single word, you couldn’t do any better than the word precise.

His effectiveness in his job was certainly partly due to being good at what he did, but also from the way he instilled confidence, sometimes fear in the people he worked with. He was always perfectly congruent—his appearance and demeanor projected the exact same message, whatever that message might be.

Satisfied that he’d corrected both his appearance and attitude, brought them into powerful alignment, he was ready to go to work. In a few short moments, he would begin a process that promised to influence the entire world and Mitch Childer would accomplish that while making a man in power think that he, Mitch Childer, was agreeing to do him a favor.

The idea pleased him.

A glance at the Tank Louis Cartier watch his mentor had given him when he rose to his current position reassured him. The simple, yet elegant timepiece wasn’t the most expensive watch in the world, not even $20,000 new, but this one had been owned by President John F. Kennedy and been gifted to his mentor. Now it was his. It was a wonderful piece of Swiss craftsmanship, and it was unfailingly accurate. With a single glance he was able to open the door to the room and step into the office confident that he was exactly three minutes late for his meeting. That was just late enough to show he was in command without being so late as to be obviously rude. It was a fine balance, and his command of it was as impeccable as his dress.

Good morning, Deputy Minister Dola, he said. He kept his face businesslike, almost serene so that he masked his personal reactions to his surroundings. It was never helpful to let his distaste for an office like this one, or it’s inhabitant, be apparent.

And both were distasteful to Mitch Childer in the extreme.  The office was, at best, gauche. He understood the attempt, the intention, if not the result. This ornate office,  and its furnishings, was intended to instill confidence, or intimidate supplicants, just as Mitch Childer used his appearance and demeanor. Unfortunately, the execution failed horribly. It was far too ostentatious to be either comfortable or awe-inspiring.

As for the man...the portly bureaucrat who sat behind the mahogany desk—Deputy Finance Minister Haki Dola—well, he was very much like his office. The congruency was ironic and amusing. Childer was certain that the decor pleased Deputy Finance Minister Dola and felt it suited him. Childer agreed with that.

Although they’d met only twice, Mitch Childer knew everything worth knowing about Haki Dola. Not that he cared about the man, but Deputy Finance Minister Dola was a necessary tool to accomplish his own goals—the group’s goals. To do that, Mitch Childer could be polite and even respectful. If it hadn’t been for that, he would never even talk to a man like Dola. Childer’s analysis was that, as a person, Haki Dola was a waste of time and space.

From a professional point of view, it pleased him that he knew Dola far better than the man would’ve liked anyone to know him. His personal staff in Zurich, not the staff in Washington who served him in his official role, had compiled a thick, mostly dull, dossier on the man. They’d been thorough. After sifting through tons of information, some of which might prove useful levers if needed, they had boiled everything down into a rather sad summary: Deputy Finance Minister Haki Dola had a third-rate mind and he was a second-rate thief, but he had first-rate connections. That’s how he had secured his current lofty position. That, in itself, was useful information.

This is my assistant, Andwele Kassain, Dola said, indicating a trim and relatively dapper young black man who had been sitting in the chair across from him.

Mitch Childer knew far less about Kassain. He was an economist with a background in public policy.... and he was ambitious. Those things made him promising as an asset, and Childer’s staff was collecting data on him now.

As Kassain stood and offered his hand, Mitch Childer noted that the man had decent manners. That was another point in his favor—a big point. When he took the man’s hand and shook it, he was pleased by the sincere smile and firm handshake. Those things were superficial; they meant nothing of substance, but in his experience, paying attention to just such superficial things often decided success or failure in the world of finance and politics.

Haki Dola waved Childer into an uncomfortable leather chair. Please be seated. We are delighted to have you here. Your insights into the good and bad of creating our own currency will be much appreciated.

Childer sat, noting that Kassain waited until he was seated before retaking his own chair. You mean creating your own cryptocurrency, he said curtly.

Dola gave him an odd look. I beg your pardon.

You wanted to talk about crypto. You have a currency in circulation—the shilingi. It was introduced when your country abandoned the East African shilling in 1966.

Yes, of course. Crypto. That’s exactly what I meant, Dola said.

That Dola didn’t bother getting terms right annoyed Childer. Finance, in his opinion, had to be dealt with precisely, the terminology correct. Sloppiness resulted in failure. I just wanted to be clear, Childer said.

He studied the man’s face, noting the pinched look. The minister didn’t like being corrected. That was how bureaucrats were, but here and now, given that Mitch Childer was there on behalf of the International Monetary Fund, he held his anger in check. Of course.

And what will creating your own currency get you? Childer asked. Why bother?

Dola looked shocked. What will it get us? Why Tanzania is a poor country. Thirty-four percent of our people live in poverty, and youth unemployment is abysmal. Despite our booming economy, compared with other countries, the poor stay poor.

That is, in part,  due to poor and inadequate education. The UN report was rather clear. The students pass whether or not they do the work—you are not training a workforce for the future.

Yes, yes. But, you see, we lack the funds. Instead of having the money to improve schools, we spend too much on financial transactions...wasting money on paying interest on old debt. And getting foreign investment, even with a growing economy, is difficult.

Even Dola knew that debt relief wasn’t in the cards, not now. Childer directed the conversation on track. Tell me how introducing crypto will reduce the financial costs. What are your biggest problems, the large obstacles to turning things around? Childer asked. He already knew the answers—he was curious if the minister did.

The man looked nervous, clearly out of his depth. Andwele, you speak this man’s language—explain that to me.

Childer saw the young man draw himself up. Another good sign. He was prepared and confident. One factor is the poor receipt of tax monies, Andwele said. Currently there is a great deal of waste...of corruption.

Andwele! the deputy minister said, his voice harsh with anger.

I apologize for being so blunt, but we gain nothing by sugar-coating the truth, Minister. We have a serious problem with corruption that the new system, the platform can resolve.

Dola’s face was even darker. Go on.

Kassain nodded. You see the paper system is inefficient and it invites corruption. Businesses don’t report sales. In a cash economy, there are no checks and balances. Even large businesses can get away with blatantly cheating.

So business is part of the problem.

It is. When the government sold off the state-owned businesses that the old socialist-style government mistakenly created, many went into the hands of powerful people. Because these men and women have friends in high places, it is hard to convince the tax authorities to audit them. A subtle nod of his head toward Dola made his point. It can be hazardous to one’s career to even suggest that they are doing anything wrong. So they don’t report all the taxes they should pay. Naturally, the poorer people follow their example. Thus, the government is deprived of that revenue. It’s the same for income tax. Companies hire workers and pay them with cash. That saves them payroll taxes, and the people don’t even file, much less pay any tax. If, however, transactions are conducted through a blockchain that is properly implemented, we have the opportunity to collect the taxes at the instant they are due. The tax money streams in constantly, which means we have the use of it for longer as well.

Why? Childer asked. He wanted to see how firm a grasp the young man had of it.

Consider this. We implement our digital currency, then a sale takes place in a small shop. Payment is made using a cell phone. If we use a well-designed blockchain to execute the exchange, not only does the shopkeeper get the payment instantly, but the sales tax is collected immediately as well. The shopkeeper is freed from the responsibility of reporting it as it is paid as part of the transaction—it goes directly into the government coffers. There is no opportunity to steal or accidentally miscount. Collections increase and so does the government’s cash flow.

That sounds well thought out.

Kassain looked pleased. And that is just the start.

It certainly is just the start, Childer thought. Implementing the use of the blockchain will also prevent embarrassing incidents like the one in 2005 when an audit of the external arrears account found that the Bank of Tanzania lost 133 billion shilingi in dubious payments.

That little mishap cost Mr. Ballali, the bank's governor, his job, Dola said.

So it provides important safeguards, Childer said. But it does take control away from the enterprises. Do you think your banks and businesses will adopt it willingly and not discourage its use? Childer directed his question to Kassain. He liked the man’s careful, organized thinking.

I know they will. We’ve talked to them. It’s a matter of offering some incentives, Kassain said. First, if a business brings its transactions to our platform, then they will be offered a lower tax rate that reflects the savings to the government. If a bank works with us in getting their clients to adopt the platform, then they will be acting as full nodes.

They get to mine the currency, Childer said.

Exactly. The government and the banks will create new currency at a rate of 5 percent, so they share in that. Furthermore, that will become the only way to transact business with the government. All new government loans, for instance, will be made in the new currency and loan payments will be made through the platform.

So they join or they can’t play in the game? Childer asked.

Kassain nodded. Basically. And there are many other advantages to implementing e-Shilingi, which is the proposed name for the currency. We can go into them if you wish. Ultimately, the intention is to eliminate cash entirely.

Childer smiled. You bet your ass there are other advantages. And Kassain was clever enough to leave those out of this brief discussion. There was no sense getting too deep and confusing his boss. You and I should have that discussion later, Mr. Kassain, he said.

Then you approve? Dola asked.

Deputy Minister Dola, I will confess that I am impressed. You and your team seem to have thought this project through carefully.

We do our best to serve the people, Dola said, nodding his head in a pretense of humility.

From what I’ve heard so far, I think the International Monetary Fund will be delighted to support this project. The IMF can would begin work under the auspices of our existing Policy Support Instrument, the PSI. I recommend that my people work directly with Mr. Kassain and his team, as I’m sure you won’t wish to get bogged down in the details.

The man rubbed his hands together. The only remaining question...

Money?

He nodded. Is it possible that this support you mentioned could include funding? Dola asked. His face was rigid as he tried to hide his anxiety.

Childer smiled. They’d finally gotten to the bottom line—the reason Dola was even at this meeting; the reason he’d asked Childer to come. As a sovereign state, Tanzania didn’t need his permission to create a national cryptocurrency—but they did need his money. The country was deeply in debt.

Dola had been right about them spending too much on servicing debt. The IMF Policy Support Instrument intended to provide advice and consultation that would help the country figure out how to get back on its feet. It wasn’t a way to give them money. But there were always ways. I don’t see why we can’t convince the executive board that this deserves funding under the poverty reduction and growth facility. I’m sure I can convince those people to cooperate. Especially if my office was working closely with you, of course.

Of course. Dola sat calmly now. The offer had been made, but he was a clever enough politician to wait to hear what strings were attached to the funding before he let himself get enthusiastic about his victory. Can you tell me what that would entail? So I can report to the finance minister.

I recommend that you consider bringing in outside financial tech people with experience in the payment system tech and other financial technology, as well as blockchain.

We have good people, Kassain said. Childer could see he’d hurt the man’s pride. That was another useful thing to know about him. We have some who helped develop the Kenyan BitPesa system.

I’m sure you do, and they will be key to this. Bringing in a consultancy like Hoenig Fintech gives you the knowledge of international banking technology. That will make things go easier and faster. And the IMF would be happier to share the costs if someone we knew approved of the overall plan. He grinned. If you can accommodate this request, then I’m sure the executive board will be delighted to make use of the Rapid Credit Facility to get things started. We can forgive the debt when the project meets its first milestones.

Dola nodded. He understood that this was not optional. Then that is what we shall do. How do we proceed?

I can call them for you, give them the benefit of our input, Childer said. I can arrange for Claude Hoenig to personally call Mr. Kassain and discuss how to proceed. He gave Kassain a reassuring look. Perhaps we can arrange a meeting where I can sit down with you and his team.

Dola rubbed his hands together. Excellent. I do like things to be easier and faster, he said. Time is of the essence.

Childer smiled. Elections were on the horizon. The government needed to show some dramatic progress. Dola looked at his assistant. Kassain, this is good. You know as well as I that there is never any damage done by listening to an informed outside opinion.

Childer smiled at the way Dola managed to make it seem as if the consultant was his own idea. Let him. Kassain didn’t seem as thrilled and Childer understood. Outsiders stepping in meant he had less control. Well, he’d come to appreciate what those outsiders would actually provide. For now, his objections didn’t matter. Childer had taken away that choice.

Yes, Deputy Minister, Kassain said.

So now it was done. The deal was signed, sealed, and delivered. Childer could hear Stevie Wonder singing the words. Despite his desire for a predictable and ordered world, soul music, the raucous, gorgeous music that came out of Motown, was Childer’s vice. Well, one of his vices—the one he let people know about. Everyone had to have one, and it was foolish not to let one be obvious.

Dola beamed. Well, then, I think, Mr. Childer, that everything seems settled. Kassain will work with you on developing the strategy, Mr. Childer. Andwele, I’ll need a white paper on this to present to my boss, the minister of finance. He will want to report to the cabinet as soon as possible. Deputy Minister Dola stood up. This has been an exceptional meeting, gentlemen.

Yes it has been, Childer said.

As Dola waddled out of the room, he looked over Andwele Kassain, sizing him up. The man was revealing himself slowly. Childer saw that he would need to play to his pride of country. He needed to introduce a few suggestions on tools, parts of the platform that would make the new system better. Let him see how they, together, could help a people who, despite an annualized 4 percent improvement in economic conditions, couldn’t drag themselves out of poverty. Although that wasn’t the sum total of Childer’s goals, if Tanzania succeeded that would be useful. If nothing else, it would please the IMF and cause other countries to use their system as a template and that would be... deliciously perfect.

Mr. Childer, Kassain called. I wanted to make you aware that my colleagues and I have already mapped out a fairly decent blueprint for implementation of the blockchain. It truly covers everything.

That’s a good starting point then.

Starting point?

My concern is that you haven’t considered all the angles, foreseen all the potential complications. When we get Hoenig’s people involved, they will help with that.

His smile faded. He’d tried to preempt outsiders and failed. How soon can we begin working?

Childer put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Andwele, may I call you that? The man nodded. I’m of the school that says there is no time like the present. If you can recommend a decent restaurant, I’d like to buy you lunch and hear a summary of this blueprint. And if you have a copy sent to my hotel room, this evening I’ll contact Hoenig’s people so that we can get some valuable feedback on the work you’ve done. You will find them wonderful to work with. They will be happy to use every idea of yours that works.

Excellent. A sudden resurgence of eagerness shone in the young man’s eyes. Good. He was out to prove himself. That in itself would be useful.

I’ve heard good things about the Serena Hotel, Andwele said. Their Serengeti Restaurant is famous for international and locally inspired cuisine. The best in Dar es Salaam."

Childer smiled. Locally inspired was hotel code for ‘palatable for tourists.’ Excellent. If you can have someone get us a reservation and arrange a car... Childer said. With the hardest task accomplished, he was feeling hungry.

The deputy minister has a table there, Kassain said. He’d want you to use it.

Childer smiled. Excellent. He was certain the deputy minister would be happy to share other local resources as well. After lunch, he would see that Dola got a private message telling him exactly the sort of welcome he would like to find in his room. Tanzania had some beautiful women.

He sighed. All in all, it was turning into a very good day. The other members of his group, including the stupid nationalistic bastards that he had to deal with on the executive board of the IMF, would be pleased.

Chapter 2

An Insightful Video

Every society honors its live conformists and its dead troublemakers.

― Marshall McLuhan

Futurist who predicted the World Wide Web almost thirty years before it was invented.

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Crystal Towers Apartments

Crystal City, Virginia, USA

Wyatt Osgood got up early. That was normal for him. Not that he was some early bird who wanted to catch more worms, just that he hated being rushed. He preferred to go at his own pace—especially in the morning. It was easier to get up early to give himself time to be lazy. All too soon he’d have to get in his car and head to the little tech park where he worked. Having this time for himself felt good. It was a self-indulgence.

The early morning habit had driven his girlfriend Janet nuts. Her routine was to shower the night before, lay everything out, sleep in until the last instant, dress hurriedly, and grab a coffee from a drive-through on the way to the office.

He got up, showered, and then put on his robe and went into the kitchen. While the coffee perked, he fried some eggs for his breakfast. As he often did, Wyatt took his breakfast and wandered into to his living room and turned on the computer. As it booted, he turned on the Bluetooth speakers carefully positioned in the corners of the room. As soon as the large flat screen came to life, he clicked on his browser, going to his favorite bookmark, opening the Sindilux video channel. If Sindi was on schedule, today she’d have a new video.

There it was—posted just a few hours before. He hit play and was treated to a shot of Sindi. She wore a bikini and was sitting at a table by a swimming pool.

Hey guys, it’s Sindi, the bright-eyed, petite black woman said. Her trademark Brazilian samba theme music played as the camera panned around a rather opulent pool area. Today finds comfort-seeking Sindi in the old Tanzanian capital of Dar es Salaam. I’m here being pampered. How come you’re sitting on your ass at home? Then came her laugh and Wyatt thought it flowed like a waterfall.

The blue pool water sparkled amazingly. Beautiful dark-skinned waitresses carrying drinks circulated among mostly pale tourists in lounge chairs, but Wyatt waited to see Sindi again. Something about her intrigued him. He had no idea what it was. The things she liked made him think they had nothing in common at all. After all, she always stayed in high-end places, expensive, five-star hotels that had no appeal for him at all. Most of her video spouted the same pro-tourism propaganda that all these young travel bloggers dumped out. Total bullshit. Or mostly. She was often talking about the fancy and expensive food the places offered and things like that, which was...okay, a lot of them did that. Still, Wyatt was addicted to watching her videos. He chuckled. The truth was that he was addicted to Sindi.

Ironically, it had been his girlfriend Janet who got him to watch the videos in the first place. Beautiful, arrogant, recently departed from his life, Janet had been a fan. She’d liked the upmarket locales, the all-inclusive resorts, and the elegance Sindi displayed and promoted. Janet was always commenting, with a touch of jealousy, on the name brand clothes Sindi wore, or how lucky she was.

For Wyatt, well, he liked her videos despite those things.

Janet and Sindi had more in common than he did with either woman. So the breakup with Janet had been one of life’s inevitabilities. It was no one’s fault, and it was a long time coming. He accepted that. When he told Janet that he’d turned down the job offer from the Treasury Department, she exploded. She couldn’t believe it.

You turned down a plum job like that?

He had. He didn’t see it as a plum job at all. Who wanted to spend their lives reviewing technical regulations concerning cryptocurrency for the Federal Reserve?

Janet thought he should, and his refusal had pushed their relationship right off the cliff.

You don’t have any interest in succeeding, she said as if that was somehow a vile failing worthy of some great torment. You aren’t even trying to get ahead in the world.

Why bother? he’d asked. That seemed to end any hope of further discussion. She thought he was putting her down when he was just asking.

The thing was, when you got down to basics, Janet was right about him. He didn’t really want to get ahead any more than he wanted to fall behind. In fact, those concepts seldom occurred to him, so he hadn’t seen his life in those terms until she exploded at him. Her accusation dazed him at first, and he’d been defensive. It was, however, both accurate and true. Every syllable of it. He’d seldom done anything to get ahead. The things he did were to enjoy life and part of that meant protecting his privacy. The job he’d been offered involved (among many other tasks) doing things that would eliminate privacy, especially that of financial transactions. Worse, a federal job meant agreeing to extensive background checks and authorizing the government to pry into his life. Not that he had much to hide—Wyatt considered himself a pretty boring guy. He was a programmer, after all. A nerd.

More to the point, without ever giving it a great deal of thought, Wyatt found himself drifting toward considering himself a libertarian. But he wasn’t that political, so maybe he was more of a nerd with a serious anti-authority ax to grind. Whatever it was, regulating things that couldn’t and shouldn’t (in his opinion) be regulated was not his idea of fun. Neither was a government job. And if it wasn’t fun, why do it?

Janet didn’t think jobs should be fun. Or careers. They were serious shit, dude. The fight made that rift between them all too apparent. Luckily, the end came fast. Now both Janet and the job offer were history.

He thought it ironic that what had brought him (and Janet) to this fork in his life had all been because of a stupid little white paper he’d written and published online. It wasn’t a particularly insightful paper, just one that addressed a way to solve a problem that people like Wyatt, financial techs, or fintechs, as they were being called, dealt with. No big deal. He’d come up with a clever (not at all brilliant) little piece of code he called the benign regulator. In his mind, it solved all sorts of small headaches.

From the little they told him, the Treasury Department seemed to want to militarize it. Actually, they wanted him to do it for them. At least that’s how it seemed to him. That’s how he’d seen the job offer and that’s why he walked away.

He had no intention of doing that, even if it was possible. No matter what it cost. Almost immediately, he was asked to pay the price for his ethics or politics or whatever it was—Janet left.

He turned his attention back to the video. She was done doing a slow motion panorama of the pool and Sindi herself came back into view. She flashed her wonderful smile and it went to his core. It seemed to be just for him. That was mind-game bullshit.. Sindi was an accomplished on-camera personality, but there was no doubt that even knowing it was bullshit, her smile turned him on. She was a hot little piece. Of course, since Janet moved out...well, Wyatt was feeling pretty randy.

That Sindi was perky and incredibly sexy was part of her draw—that’s what got her the huge following, which is what got her free rooms at these lavish places. But he knew there was something to her appeal, more to the attraction of watching her videos. Sometimes he wondered if he watched them in the hope that he’d figure out just what it was.

On his screen, Sindi raised a tall glass with an umbrella in it and saluted her audience. She saluted him. Folks, this is my view from a comfortable seat at the Island Trader Bar on the pool terrace. I’m at the Dar es Salaam Serena Hotel and this is what I see every single afternoon. I’m sitting here with a delicious mojito, fresh from this elegant bar. The camera panned to a scrumptious looking meal. What you see here are some Tanzanian dishes from the hotel’s fabulous Jahazi Seafood Restaurant. I’m lunching on nyama choma, which is a barbecued meat, along with wali wa nazi, a coconut rice. They also have mishkake, which is barbecued beef kabobs. For dinner tonight I’m tempted to try their duckling Dar es Salaam—it’s a Tanzanian delicacy made from duckling cooked with tomatoes, red peppers, and onions. She took a sip of her drink. Now that’s my idea of sampling a culture.

She tasted her meal, taking delicate bites, and then smiled. I’m definitely enjoying the food here, as well as the atmosphere. And if you think the hotel is nothing but a nice pool, good drinks, and great food, wait until I post my next video. I’m going to show you the crazy-assed room I’ve got here with a view of the city.

Wyatt was certain he would like to see her room—if she was in it. If they were alone in it. He sighed and forced his mind off of the idea of undressing the woman and grabbing that cute ass. He’d never get to work on time if he let his mind wander down that trail. He switched off the computer and shook his head. Something about that woman awakened a number of longings in him, and some of them had little or nothing to do with sex. Not that he knew what they were exactly. That was the trouble with longings. It was hard to pin down what the longing was for—precisely.

Taking the dishes into the kitchen, he put them in the dishwasher, then poured a second cup of coffee to sip while he got dressed. Not that it was a big deal, this dressing business—it didn’t take much to put on jeans, a sweatshirt, socks, and shoes. The problem was that once he was dressed, it was time to go to the office.

That damn office. He was dying in that fucking hole.

It was time to go to work. Hoenig expected him to finish his project today. But then, Claude Hoenig wanted everything immediately. Wyatt sighed, knowing the scowl his news would earn him. Today he would have to disappoint Claude. That was never fun, so he promised himself he’d do it right away, before the office settled into its routine.

Sure he would.

Chapter 3

A Pliable Allegiance

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It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.

— William Blake

English poet, painter, and printmaker in the eighteen hundreds

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Terrace Bar

The Dolder Grand Hotel

Zurich, Switzerland

At three in the afternoon, Greenwich Mean Time (GMT), which has been improved in some mystical way to Coordinated Universal Time (UTC), Peggy Anne Dory was smiling with pleasure. She felt like a million bucks. On top of the world. It was a damn good feeling, and she fully intended to wallow in it. It had been a long time coming and was worth savoring.

She sat on the lounge terrace of the bar at the Dolder Grand Hotel, looking out over Zurich, Switzerland, in amazement. She was absorbing a variety of firsts. It was her first trip to Europe. It was her first time in a five-star hotel and for the first time in her life, she felt that she was on the cusp of getting her due.

And she was waiting. Normally she hated waiting, but no... she was waiting for a meeting that would change her life.

The sight from the terrace pleased her, but not as much as the old-world elegance of the hotel. Not as much as the fact that she was here, staying in a goddamn hotel suite and traveling in the firstest of first class. I could get used to this, she said. You sure could, she agreed with herself. I would thoroughly enjoy being among the muckiest of mucky mucks.

Sinking back in the plush leather seat of the booth, Peggy was pleased with the knowledge that this was the beginning. She was finally finding the fucking beginning of Peggy Anne Dory’s rise to prominence. If she played her cards right, she’d be able to enjoy this kind of luxury more often. Hell, she’d make it the norm. The trick, the thing she had to do was, as always, decide on the best way to play the cards she’d been dealt. She’d finally found her way to the table, which was more than most people managed to do. Now she needed to step up her game.

And enjoy the process.

She watched the slim waiter who had taken her order walk smoothly to her table and carefully place the drink she’d ordered on a napkin in front of her—just so. The man had surprisingly rough hands for a waiter. Strong hands. She looked up at him, checking him out. He was in his twenties and not bad at all.

"Hier sind sie, Fräulein, he said, then he caught himself and spoke again, this time in flawless, slightly accented English. Here you are, miss. I hope you enjoy our saffron mojito... it’s a signature drink of the hotel." She smiled at him, rather liking his thin face and even the scar on his cheek, near his ear. It made him look sexy.

Thank you, she said, Franz. His name was on a name tag. I believe in trying new things. She let the words carry whatever meaning he wanted to read into them, and she pouted slightly as spoke. Then she took the straw between her fingers and poked it into the drink. He didn’t rush off, but watched her, his eyes on her lips. She realized she had licked them. Do you like them? These mojitos.

He smiled but said nothing. She looked into his eyes, letting him know she expected an answer. He blinked. You see, I prefer Schnapps, or bourbon, myself. I’m not a cocktail drinker.

I do see. You like a man’s drink. He smiled and nodded. So you haven’t tried them?

No.

This was good. He was strong, but she was in control. Peggy liked strong men and she liked dominating them even more. She found something delicious in controlling a macho guy, even if the actual sex was the same. This waiter was lean but powerful, and, she estimated, educated. He didn’t seem all that smart, but then if he was smart, he wouldn’t be a fucking waiter. If he was smart and ambitious, even working in a five-star hotel would seem dreary. That much she was certain of. So Franz had possibilities. What she did with those possibilities would depend on how her meeting went. She had no real idea of what these people expected. She didn’t even have a name. So she stayed fluid, prepared to keep her options open.

She held up a finger and he cocked his head. Certain he was watching her, she put her lips to the straw and took a long, sensual sip, then lifted her face, licking her lips. It’s good. Very flavorful. I find it a bit sweet, however.

Such is the nature of those drinks, he said. Can I bring you anything else?

Not now, she said, letting her blue eyes smile at him. If nothing else, she wanted to keep the man intrigued. Just in case. I’m meeting someone shortly. Perhaps later. He nodded and backed away, heading toward other customers who had drifted in. She watched his ass as he walked away, delighted that the hotel had their waiters wear such tight pants.

If she hadn’t been waiting for someone important...well, under the circumstances she would wait and see how things went. She was committed to making this meeting work, but if things didn’t go well, or the man was unappealing...well, she was prepared to pursue her options. She could definitely see hanging around the bar for a while. Say, until the waiter got off duty.

She glanced at her phone, which sat next to her on the table. It was still a few minutes before they’d agreed to meet—she was impatient. The stakes were high.

Moments later the man she was waiting for walked into the bar. She’d never met him, but he looked exactly like the photo he’d sent—a short, dapper man in a goatee. He saw her and walked confidently, importantly, toward her table. Her sharp eyes took in the expensive suit and silk tie, the Italian leather shoes. They looked natural on him, not affected. Combined with his walk, these were good signs. Power and affluence were important to her, to the outcome of this meeting.

Ms. Dory, he said as he slipped into the curved booth opposite her. She caught his gaze taking her in quickly, analyzing, measuring her just as carefully as she had measured him. Unconsciously, she pulled her shoulders back, emphasizing her ample breasts. In her