Chapter 4: Sins of the Mother

Vivian didn’t have to feign delight in spending time with her grandchildren. With the security of her continued line, she felt even more formidable as the head of her powerful and expansive family. She basked in her fulfillment and superiority, validated by her wealth and influence.

Her phone vibrated on the dinette beside her. She sat in the kitchen with her husband, daughter, and Clara, who fed Martin Jr. while his mother breastfed his sister. Malcolm relaxed nearby and gave her a side look as she glanced at the message.

We must speak.

Alone.

The sender’s information was blocked, but there was little doubt about who it was. Her discreet reaction was telling and not lost on her husband. She would be damned if she’d let the young upstart dictate how she would conduct herself or receive visitors.

As Martin became adept in his new vocation, he slowly separated himself from the field that got him there. His immediate and extended family remained ignorant of his new position, and he made no effort to enlighten them. They accepted that he did computer ‘stuff’ and drew their own conclusions. Like most of the ‘Ninety-Nine’ (99% of humanity), they possessed rudimentary knowledge of the powerful devices in their pockets. They were content to be ‘connected’ and cosmopolitan with social media distractions, games, share-the-tab, and Uber eats. They felt secure with their secrets tucked behind PINs and biorecognition locks. Martin was not among the Ninety-Nine. Of the remaining 1%, he stood apart by several decimal points.

He was a cybermeister, and to those around him, he played off his role as an independent IT security specialist with a small consulting business. In truth, he worked with a broad range of clients, including his former sector, defense contractors, government oversight, foreign interests, and individual power brokers behind major social media and cyber marketplace platforms.

Advances in information technology led to further breakthroughs in electronics and computer systems. Martin had other devices at his disposal besides access to vast electronic information. If he were so inclined, he could cause great harm to the enterprises relying on global information, cyberspace, and electronic media. He wasn’t and wouldn’t have attained cybermeister status if he had proven otherwise.

Still, it wasn’t lost on him that he had the means to hack an ATM, crash a network, tag a virus, and fry every infected system back to its source. He could sit in a café, sipping his cinnamon latte, clone nearby devices, bypass multilayer encryptions, firewalls, screen locks, and biometric passkeys. He could learn the customer’s darkest secrets and ruin their financial security before his coffee cooled. With another device and an earbud, he could identify every video camera—hidden or visible—and its function: traffic cams, speed traps, ATMs, or surveillance. The three lower units at the intersection, discreetly above the streetlights, had facial recognition accessible by Homeland Security.

Martin wasn’t surprised to find Brennen Holdings, LLC, was just one of many shell companies. Nor was it a shock to learn that not all their business concerns were above board. He skimmed their shipping activities and noted that their attempts to hide their true worth and source were rudimentary at best but might avoid detection. They misreported tariffs, port fees, and revenues (not to mention the actual cargo) to other interests beyond the US. He didn’t care about their involvement in drugs, firearms, or smuggling untaxed cigarettes and alcohol. He was indifferent to empty freighters detouring to Haiti with stolen goods, as long as they stuck with endangered species and stayed out of human trafficking. To him, the black market was an extension of the dark web.

The family’s immediate secrets were another matter, and he scrutinized their history and genealogy with great interest. Even the household staff merited tighter scrutiny. He framed his search parameters based on several encounters during his infrequent visits. The antiquated structure had been in the family for centuries, and he was sure the walls would speak to him if he dug deep enough.

One burning mystery was his wife’s lineage. During their first visits, he concluded that genetics was top-most on her mother’s agenda regarding her heirs. This was hinted at when he asked Siobhán why she never pursued a permanent relationship with her old boyfriend—her one true love—before Martin. She scoffed, “His genes would never cut the mustard with Vivian.” He was used to her referring to her mother by her given name to slight her.

“What is it about my genetic make-up that is acceptable?”

She regarded him humorously, the gold flecks swimming in her bright green eyes. “Are you kidding? Your IQ alone makes you perfect, in her mind, not to mention your parents’ intellectual merits.”

“That doesn’t mean our children will be similarly gifted—”

“Don’t tell her that.”

This seemed innocent until he recalled a casual byplay overheard on a separate occasion during afternoon tea. A servant paused to freshen his wife’s tea. “Today is your father’s birthday, madame,” she had murmured. He learned the woman’s name was Clara Vanderbilt and that she had been in the household long before Siobhán’s birth. What he found curious was his wife’s uncharacteristic frown and her faltering façade as she glanced toward her mother, seated nearby. He pondered the exchange, recalling that her real father had been ‘absent since her birth.’

When he traced Clara Vanderbilt’s lineage, he discovered she was the only ‘bastard’ child of Emilia Stone and Edgar Von Vanderbilt, a redoubtable figure in Danish aristocracy who held the archaic title of Baron. To avoid scandal, she was sent to be reared as a chambermaid for a close colleague: Victor Brennen, Siobhán’s maternal grandfather.

The dark history began unraveling when he discovered Clara became pregnant at fourteen and gave birth to a boy named Clevis Stone. There were no records of the birth except a few mentions in correspondence between the Lord of the household and his estranged wife Meredith, trapped in an arranged marriage and raising a willful daughter of her own named Vivian. A ship’s log entry by a freight captain’s hand mentioned taking on an ill-mannered cook’s hand, age 12, with ‘fiery locks and a smoldering gaze.’ The same entry went on to mention ‘Victor’s troubled get.’

Digital footprints were easy to follow, and breadcrumbs easier to piece together. Vivian Brennen was 13 when Clevis was born. She was fond of him, and they became inseparable. She was 25 when the lad was taken from the manor in the middle of the night. That same year, Vivian became pregnant with her only daughter. Martin checked her birth certificate in the Commonwealth digital archives, and the father’s name was erased. Zooming in, he saw faint outlines of two uppercase letters: CS.

“Whatever you find so pressing, you may discuss it freely here,” Vivian informed him with a cool tone that brooked no argument.

Once again, Martin stood in the old library facing the crimson-haired matriarch. Familiar faces filled the room, seated comfortably and regarding him with neutral expressions. This time, he faced them with equanimity. “If that is your preference.”

“It is.”

His lips curved upward in a bemused smirk. “Very well then. I come to advise you of deficiencies in your efforts to obfuscate some of your dodgier endeavors.”

He imagined a vacuum in the room from the collective intake of breath. Several present looked guarded over his remarks.

Vivian seemed calm, but her misgivings of his prior observations made her sensitive to the implications of his comment. What does he think he knows? “Please elaborate.”

“You know protecting financial interests is my job,” he began, ignoring everyone except her. “Part of that task involves threat assessment and making intuitive leaps. I examined your business and the 14 shell companies under you. You’re concealing glaring inconsistencies from your competitors and the government.” He sensed the growing unease of the people around him. “Many of these deceptive measures are sub-par at best and at worst are likely to fail, exposing your illicit activities.”

As he spoke, Vivian rose slowly from her seat and stood stiffly with her arms crossed.

“I’m here to offer advice and alternate solutions to serve you better and protect your interests.” He described several ways they were at risk. “ ... the methods you use to launder and move your money to your offshore entities are vulnerable. You’ve been fortunate to escape targeted scrutiny. I uncovered many of your hidden assets and could have easily unburdened you of a significant portion.”