"Blood Money" (closed)

Alice2015

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"Blood Money"

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Olivia Keen strode into the lobby of the Davenport Capital building with an air of comfort and confidence, the heels of her knee high leather boots clicking conspicuously across the stone tiled floor. The uniformed man behind the Security Desk rose from his seat as if it was protocol for greeting a guest, but in all honesty, he was simply wanting a better and more lasting view of the stranger's long, slim legs.

And take in the view he did. Despite being a little lady, there was a lot about Olivia in which men -- and even women -- took great interest. She was just days short of her 32nd birthday, but the youthfulness of her face and tightness of her body left most people guessing her true age -- particularly when she dress the part, as she did now -- at being a full decade or more younger.

She stood 5 foot 6 inches tall, though her current pair of boots pushed her faux-height to over 6 feet. Her 33-22-33 inch figure barely reached 120 pounds; her B-cups, particular displayed as they were now, often caught more attention and appreciation than much more bosomy women.

"I'd like to see Jackson Davenport…" Olivia said once she'd reached the security desk, playfully adding with emphasis, "the third."

"Do you have an appointment, Miss...?" the guard asked with a friendly tone, barely able to keep his eyes off Olivia's minimal yet still enticing curves.

"No," she answered simply. She handed the man a folded slip of paper, telling him, "Please … have this delivered to her office. He'll want to see me."

She turned and walked casually away, looking back to find the man's gaze on her tight ass so well highlighted by the second-skin, faux-leather jumpsuit. She smiled as the Guard realized he'd been caught ogling, informing him, "I'll just be waiting over here."

The man took another moment to appreciate the view as the light beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass put Olivia's delicious shape in silhouette. Finally, he unfolded the note to check it's contents. It made no sense to him: long strings of numbers, maybe account numbers?

"Cooper, come to the desk, please," the Guard spoke into his radio.

A second uniformed man arrived, took the note, and headed for the private elevator that accessed Mister Davenport's floor. Many floors yet only a few seconds later, he stepped out and crossed the foyer to the desk of Gwendolyn Davis, yet another beauty who caused men of all types and ages to trip over their tongues and stroke their cocks when they found a private moment.

"From the guest in the lobby," he told the Executive Assistant.

"No name?" Gwen asked as she unfolded the note and reviewed it. When the Guard shook his head, she inquired with a bit of disappointment, "Nothing?"

After the man only shrugged and explained that he hadn't been manning the desk, Gwen looked at the note's contents more closely. She recognized the numbers as international banking account numbers, but she didn't specifically know them to be any of the accounts with which she personally dealt.

Gwen had been with Trey Davenport or at least his office for over a decade now. She'd started as just another corporate Secretary, to use an antiquated term; after very quickly making herself known to Trey, though, she became one of his four personal assistants and then shortly thereafter his Executive Assistant.

She knew a great deal about the workings of the Corporation, a multi-billion dollar hedge fund that had its fingers in more areas that even Trey's EA could keep straight. But Gwen never kidded herself into thinking that she knew everything about the company, about Trey, about the clients...

...or about their legitimacy in the international banking arena.

Gwen had no reason to believe that Trey -- or Davenport Capital as a whole -- was involved in anything shady. And, truth be told, she'd rather not know if he or it was. But when some mysterious, sexy woman -- yeah, Gwen had checked the feed from the lobby security cameras already -- marches into your boss's building and hands over a list of account numbers before demanding an unscheduled meeting … well … it made one curious, didn't it?

"Thank you," was all Gwen said to the Guard before giving him that familiar expression that said You can leave now. She added, "I'll get this to Mister Davenport."

"Would you like me to tell the visitor that--"

"You'll tell her nothing," Gwen cut in as she stood. She couldn't help but notice how quickly the Guard's eyes fell to her figure, equally fine but fully than the woman downstairs. She said with an authoritative tone, "Go back to your tour of the building. I'll take care of this … and deal with our visitor."

She waited for the man to leave, this time using the stairwell so he could access each of the floors as his security sweep demanded. She went to Trey's door, knocked, and waited three seconds; her boss would either invite her in, tell her to wait, or -- if he was busy with a call -- simply not answer, at which point she would crack the door and look for permission to enter.

Striding up to his deck, Gwen offered out the note, explained its source, then asked, "Shall I remain, or...?"

She suspected that this was a private thing -- for the meantime, anyway -- and that she would be politely asked to go back to her desk or have the visitor sent up or sent away. What ever was asked of her, Gwen would do. For ten years, whatever Jackson Davenport III asked of her, Gwen had done.
 
Jackson (Trey) Davenport had reallized that there was a problem before anyone else told him
anything. His grandfather had been a pioneer, one of the originators of foreign exchange (FX) and currency hedging. As the industrial age of WWI and II established the United States as the economic power of the world, companies in the United States increasingly turned to international markets to purchase supplies and as critical markets for the good and services they produced. However, these international opportunities brought a new spectrum
of issues, and that was the up and down movement in the value of the foreign currencies used to make or purcase US goods versus the value of the US dollar. The US stock market expected a predictability of earnings, and the market for currency futures and futures options was born.

As the markets matured, those new currency related securities became sources of soeculation on their own, and during his fathers time, Davenport became the world’s top firm in currency speculation and arbitrage. Trey had helped developed many, and had approved all strategies used by the firm. Now, because of their clients, they had unique insight of certain currency fluctuations before the common man. If this were the stock market it might be called insider training, but in currency trading, the rules were far less well established, and Davenport pushed that legal envelope every day.

However, as of about a month and a half ago Kremlin Capital began posting reurns in their fund that were 2-3 points higher than Davenport, and in currency where millions were made on fractions of a single percentage point, this was enormous, and had never happened before. However, these were financial markets and anyone could get lucky for a short while. No, what bothered was Kremlin, a firm who glaringly copied and tried to steal Davenport’s ideas, was beating them following Davenport’s strategies exactly, just execution faster, just prior to Davenport executing the same trades at lower returns.

Day after day he had watched the same thing happen, and now some of his clients, both the good guys and the bad were calling the new CEO asking, “what the fuck is going on!”, putting it nicely. This morning, the ruggedly handsome CEO had awoken at 5 AM in his own bed, completely sober and alone. He knew something was wrong, so wrong he didn’t even want to fuck, and he lived to fuck! He had gone down to the pier, wet suit on, and dove in to the cold crisp ocean waters. He loved swimming at this hours. He was a strong powerful man, and there were sharks ofen in the waters, but they were full, and he was a strong, smoothe swummer. He felt like a kindred spirit, a great hedge fund operator was a financial shark, preying off the weaknesses and poor decisions of others. He swam his two miles, the cold water streaming off his back, he swam with his brothers and came out relaxed, refreshed, and ready to be a hunter again.

That sensation was short lived, he had been at his desk just 15 minutes, barely enough time for Gwen to give im his coffee, black, and piping hot, and for him to check on the early markets in NY and Chicago. He had watched his assistant come in, the sense of the ultimate hunter still coursing through his veims, hardening his substantial cock in the process. Gwen still enjoyed how her boss’s eyes consumed her. She was in a pencil skirt, and a plunging silk blouse, with just the right reveal, walking the fine line between professional and slutty. She dressed aleays in the ways he lked. He had told her long ago, he thought best aroused, hard, and for years she had kept him that way. He smiled as he watched her, licked his perfect lips. Why exactly he had imposed this moratorium on fucking his gorgeous assistant he wasn’t sure. He enjoyed her, always had, but in a streak of decency he had decided she deserved more and he owed her more than using her like that. Having said that, she had never complained, and he had a sense she missed it often just like he did. Maybe today, if things returned to normal, the sun rose in the east, set in the west, and Davenport kicked the market’s ever loving ass, they could celebrate. He knew if she had plans, she would cancel, and they could celebrate old times, carnal pleasures extraordinaire. Maybe even bring a mutually enjoyable friend to play with them!

It was with that pleasant thought on his mind, Gwen knocked and walked back in, but this time she held something in her hand. As she handed it to him, he knew instinctively, it was bad, he and Gwen would not be celebrating tonight. [“Shall I remain, or...?”[/I] “STAY” Trey barked and his fingers flew over the keyboard...she must have seen the color drain from his face. He didn’t know the exact number, but there should have been 10 digits to the left of the decimal point in these accounts combined, and there were zero. Davenport had $3 billion under management. A billion dollars didn’t just disappear! Trey turned to his most trusted soldier for over 10 years with a look of fear she had never seen before. Calming himself he stared into her eyes, “Gwen, where is she, I need to see her immediately”. As she walked out, he turned to look out his window, feeling a bit like Nero, watching Rome burn.
 
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The security Olivia faced after being asked to come upstairs to Trey's floor was extensive but not expected. Two uniformed Security Guards rode the private elevator with her; two more men -- more Bodyguard than Security -- met Olivia as soon as she stepped out on the Executive Offices floor; and after a scanning of her with a wand proved worthless because of all the metal in her buttons, zippers, belt, and boots, she got a rather intrusive pat down.

"This is usually preceded by dinner and drinks," she said as the Bodyguard's hands caressed up the insides of her thighs, then over the rounds of her buttocks. When the man finished and backed away, Olivia winked and taunted, "Maybe I'll do you next time...?"

"This way, please," a very unimpressed Gwen said. She looked to the two Bodyguards to ensure they were going to follow, then turned and headed for the office doors at the end of the hall. "Mister Davenport is expecting--"

"Do I have you to thank for that?" Olivia cut in. When Gwen only peeked back over her shoulder, Olivia let the woman know she was well informed by adding, "How's your father, Gwendolyn? I heard it was a horrific car crash."

Gwen slowed to a stop, then turned to look Olivia in the eyes as she, too, came to a halt. After a moment of them simply staring one another down, Gwen turned and resumed the walk. She knocked at the door, then -- without waiting for Trey's response this time -- stepped into the opening, neither in nor out of the office.

"Mister Davenport..." Gwen said with a familiar tone of introduction. But she didn't go farther; she still didn't know the visitor's name. Instead, glancing to the two Bodyguards barely in his view beyond the door, she looked back to Trey and asked, "Would you prefer to take your meeting in private, sir, or...?"

"He's going to want to take this without unnecessary ears and eyes, Gwen," Olivia said. She walked past the EA so closely that their respective bosoms ever so gently brushed. Olivia smiled broadly, glanced to Gwen's delicious form, and said softly, "Next time maybe you should frisk me."

Olivia turned to look at Trey, not entering any farther until she was instructed to do so. The ball was in his court.
 
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Trey knew these next several minutes might be the most important of his life. The monies that were gone he well knew belonged to some of the most powerful and dangerous people in the world. Money from organized crime, the world's largest and most vicious drug cartels, rulers of nations who had no conscience for human rights, blood money and the money of blue bloods all mingled together and managed by his firm, none of which he could possibly let know this had happened. Not only his firm, but in all probability his life was on the line. No one could know.

His question was why was she here, was this corporate ransom? Why come here, she apparently already had the money, he sure as hell wasn't going to give her more! A million thoughts ran through his head while he waited, and he was staring at the door, when Gwen once again stuck her nose in.

"Oh let her in and please leave us alone Gwen, I am not to be disturbed, this women and I have some things we definitely need to discuss." In she walked, and he smirked. Was this outfit supposed to intimidate, or did it serve a purpose? She did look like a bad ass, a gorgeous, tight, really fucking hot bad ass, but Trey was not easily intimidated. If she was brilliant or tough, the clothes wouldn't make a difference, and if she wasn't it wouldn't make a difference either. However, if the goal was sexy, to make him want her, well then, mission accomplished.

He wasted no time, he needed answers. He walked over with the purpose and confidence that was instilled into his very core, every step conveying a man not to be trifled with. He reached out his hand, always the gentlemen, social graces embedded in his DNA, he looked dead into her eyes, "Where the fuck is my billion dollars?"
 
(OOC -- Note to readers: If you see the name "Alice" used to identify my character at any point, that's a mistake. My main character is "Olivia", but I use the name "Alice" in most of my other role plays. Often, I may accidentally slip back to "Alice". Ignore it and assume "Olivia".)

(OOC -- Another note, this one about Gwen: I am using Melodie Monrose for the image. The pic used below is not the best of her, but it the only one I could find of her in anything close to professional attire. Look her up on the internet if you want to see some better pics.)


Olivia looked back to the Executive Assistant as Trey said they were to be left alone and undisturbed. Gwendolyn was obviously not happy about this; the woman likely would have preferred that the four men still nearby in the foyer beat Olivia to a pulp, then tossed her off the roof which was, conveniently, just a single floor above them.

When she looked back to Trey, Olivia thought she saw him checking out her form, referred to as delicious by her own form of Executive Assistant earlier as they were going over the plan's little details. Olivia wouldn't have blamed the man for ogling her, of course; she wasn't the conceited, self-absorbed, narcissistic type, but she knew just how good she looked, particularly in an outfit like this … or even better, out of it.

Trey offered his hand when he stepped up to her, asking bluntly, "Where the fuck is my billion dollars?"

"It's in your bank still," Olivia said as she took his hand, holding it with the soft touch of a woman meeting a man with whom she wished to become intimate. She could actually see herself atop Trey, knees spread, hips shifting back and forth rapidly as he groaned and she cried out … but … the purpose of her grip at the moment was simply to try to make him imagine it. As they released hands, she clarified, "All those little ones and zeroes that, when put together, let everyone know who has what and how much. They're all still there. We just … rearranged them … knocked down the Jenga stack of money bundles. We can put it all back together for you..."

Olivia let the thought trail off as she turned away from Trey and began a very slow, ambling walk about the office, surveying his world as she continued, "My … organization … needs something from you … your attention first … and your assistance soon after."

Olivia looked back over her shoulder at him again, first to see his reaction to her explanation and second to see whether his gaze had dropped to her ass which, in these pants, looked as though she'd simply sat in a vat of black paint before letting it dry upon her tight hiney.

"My people thought taking your money would be a good way to get your attention," she continued, reaching a finger out to caress the smooth edges of some sort of Man of the Year-like statuette. She turned to face him directly again, letting her weight shift a bit to one leg in a bit of a pose. "Personally, I thought I would be enough to get your attention, but hey … some in the organization didn't have faith in my abilities, I guess."

Olivia smiled, then chuckled softly. She continued just as he was about to respond, "Anyway … you're going to get you money back soon enough … every bloody dollar..."

She meant for that description to reassure Trey that they knew whose money he was managing and how many of his clients had earned it. She continued, "...with interest. We wouldn't want any of your … less pleasant people to get angry at not seeing their nest eggs growing in size. Oh, and … to ensure that you don't get your head or hands cut off during the time in which you are assisting me and my people … if your clients check their accounts, it will appear as if their investments are still there, working hard, earning big bucks."

Olivia smirked devilishly as she reached up to take hold of the tab of the zipper that held her tight fitting suit to her body. She pulled it down slowly, just a bit more than an inch; hints of a lacy, black bra would present themselves to Trey if his gaze was set on the temptress's bosom. She released the tab, reached two fingers behind the label -- into that sexy bra -- and withdrew yet a second slip of paper with more numbers upon it.

"Visit this," she explained as she neared him, pointing a finger at a specific internet address on the business card sized paper; it would access a secured server so well hidden in the internet that it made accessing the Dark Web as easy as finding a Starbucks. She didn't return the zipper to its previous position, so her cleavage was even better displayed to the taller man as she neared to stop only inches from him. She continued to move the tip of her slim finger as she pointed to numbers, "Tap in this password … and do as the site requests. You'll be set up with a way to safely and securely communicate with my people … and with me..."

Olivia's smile widened as she gave his body and face both a quick, hungry once over survey before saying, "...when we aren't together, that is ... which … from now on … we often will be."

She gave Tray a feigned, pouty expression as she asked playfully, "Do you think you could stand to be seen with me in public on occasion?"
 
"It's in your bank still," She had to see the immediate sense of relief in his face, this was still important, scary as hell that she or whoever she was working for could do this, but he moved from DEFCON 5 to DEFCON 2 in his brain's alert system. She looked him in the eye, confidently, impressively as she extended her hand. Trey was a good lover, and incredible lover, if he did say so himself, because he understood and appreciated nuance. He took her hand and her grip could only be described as sensuous. Her fingertips light, but inviting, her partially displayed breasts heaving at just the perfect amount to send dual charges, to his brain where he envisioned her naked, tangled, thrusting with him buried deep inside her, the other charge directly to his cock, where it began to twitch, throb and harden to that very thought. As she released his hand, he smiled at her, she made amassing millions and turning it into billions, sound almost like child's play. It most assuredly was not. He wanted to interject, make a point, ask questions, but he let her go, she had a piece to say, a show to perform, and he was quite appreciating the actress, not to mention the costuming. She begins to walk around, a model walking her runway.

"My … organization … needs something from you … your attention first … and your assistance soon after." He still only listens, but his eyes do consume her, every bit of her sexy lithe frame, with particular attention on that ass, attention it dressed to impressed and so richly deserves. 'Her organization....what organizaton...how can he help...do they know, did they cause his real issue....or might they help solve it?' He watches her pose, chuckles at her self deprecating comment. She is hot, sizzling and she knows it, there are few men, and he certainly wan't one of them, that would refuse a private audience request with a woman like that. He eyed the zipper, YUM!. The challenge was getting to him, and their little ploy had shredded the many safeguards in place to prevent unknown access. In due time, he would give them a tip of the cap. They knew the make-up of his clients, likely not the specifics, as he barely knew them himself. He invested at a fund level, a fund filled with some very dirty money, but how much each individual customer had in any given fund, at least for him, was of much less importance. Every client dollar was important and he treated each one as sacred. The fact that they could see their money though, and assume it was still safely under his control was a huge relief. So now, he could focus on the woman, and her proposition, which as she moved closer appeared to be getting better and better.

Her show played on, delicate fingers, closely watched, sliding a zipper in his desired direction, his eyes traversing her delicious little body, eliciting q rapidly responding erection. She handed him the slip and he took it, quickly read it and held it in his fingers. He listened to her instructions. Good her people had seeming thought through the key things, and he was candidly intrigued of spending more time, and seeing more from her, but this first meeting, this likely indecent proposal, still needed to play out a bit.

If she expected him to move, with her this close though, she was mistaken. He had time to type and research, her presence on the other hand was perishable. Finally the actress delivered her final line, ready to drop the mike and go of stage to the thunderous applause of appreciative cocks everywhere. "Do you think you could stand to be seen with me in public on occasion?"
Now it was his turn. Her hand was still on her zipper, and he covered it with his, and used it to slide her zipper all the way down past her navel.
 
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