Luck Takes a Lot of Hard Work

I then stood up and looked her in the eye, "And it was not for you, risking your meager savings, none of this would have happened either." We drank, then we hugged, then we toasted Uncle Ben, then we began the antipasto course.

We slowly finished three courses while we listened to the Four Seasons by Vivaldi. Now at the point of the final course, we had some cheeses and fruit. Then we retired to the living room while drinking a digestive. Digestives are really an acquired taste for me, like learning to like radicchio, a bitter lettuce. Something about learning to adjust to appreciate things that have a bitterness. It makes the sweet so much sweeter. Life is bitter and sweet too.

"Auntie Sophie, I still can't get over that you sold Uncle Ben's car to fund the 6 month lease. I know that the car meant much to you and it was a lot of money."

"Elisabetta, I did not drive it very much. It was more expensive to insure and license it. Besides, I only had to take another $5,000 to cover the condo rental cost. You've learned so much about Westerfield. I knew that you'd get him and this was the only way to do it." She sipped her bitters and sparkling water and looked out the window. "Besides, Beniamino had saved up and paid cash for that SUV 10 months before he died. With the shortage of cars now, I got what he paid for it. Especially with its low miles. No, it was the right choice. Uber and the bus have done me well."

"I remember telling you that this was more money than you could afford. If it didn't work out, I'd get the money back to you sooner or later. This was a budget breaking investment for you."

"And I remember telling you it may come to nothing, but what is life but a gamble. This was the only way that you could physically get close to him. I had $45,000 in a safe deposit box. Remember me telling you 'Let's do it and don't argue with me Elisabetta. Then we visited Joan and you sent in the offer'."

That was some afternoon. Joan Simmons, a known local real estate agent, electronically presented the son with an all cash upfront rental offer for a client, with a cc to the Condo Management firm. The offer included paying rent directly to the Condo Management to cover the late assessments. The son must have been on line as he answered yes within the hour. The payments were to be made the next business day.

Joan's husband was in hospice and my Aunt had been volunteering to be with hospice families. Auntie Sophie knew from overhearing the Social Worker that Joan was overwhelmed from her husband's decline and her own significant health issues. Joan would soon be a candidate for hospice herself. Her business had been on autopilot for months.

During our visit with Joan, Auntie Sophia let me into Joan's home office and her unprotected computer. A full price $36,000 rental offer was sent to the out-of-the-country son. The offer was accepted quickly.

The next morning, money from the safety deposit box was quickly deposited into Joan's corporate account by an old man with a significant limp. He only asked for a receipt. A few hours later at Joan's house, I transferred the $36,000 to the Condo management company electronically. The condo's arrears were near settled. The condo management company and the son did not think about it anymore.

"Auntie Sophia, Carmax was quick to buy the SUV and most of the cash in your safety deposit box will be returned. You were only $5,000 short at that time."

Fueled by Campari with acqua frizzante (a slightly bitter Italian liquore mixed with sparkling water) we rested from the meal. After a few minutes, we would have biscotti to be dunked in some decaf espresso. "Auntie Sophia?" I pulled out a packet from inside my coat, "This is for you." Her eyes went wide at the stack of bills in the envelope. "This is yours."

She couldn't believe the amount of money that she held in her hands. "You can't deposit it in the bank but the safety deposit box is OK. You can only spend it a little at a time. Remember, money wise, you need to remain invisible."

She held $150,000 in medium sized bills. This was her part of Westerfield's pirate plunder. Stealing from a pirate was to be a concept to discuss at parties with philosophy, legal, psychology and religious majors. I really don't have a dogmatic answer on it. I just cared about my Auntie and Uncle and the harm that was done to them. She did not know that I held more for her, just in case she would ever need it. I kept nothing for myself. All my costs were covered by my side jobs. I smiled at her like a Cheshire cat. Auntie had more sense to ask me any questions on how I got it.

I remember that once we got a lease on the condo, I had to figure out what to do. As a renter, I had to look real and in some ways, be traceable. I figured that I had a week to get everything right. The 'cover story' I worked from was that I moved from St Petersburg Florida to be near an unnamed niece. Moving in after that first week, I had several 'nice looking' antique-like (if you did not look very closely) pieces of old living room furniture from my storage locker. I had spent several days at the storage facility cleaning them up.

The storage locker was 35 miles away. Stopping at a Home depot near a working class community on an early Sunday morning, three young males were hired for cash by a short older Mexican woman. Their job that day was to load the truck and then unload and set up the furniture at the Gold Coast condo. The truck was 'borrowed' from a church parling lot with plates switched for the day from a similar parked truck that was across the city. I later returned the original truck with its normal plates and a full tank of gas. The inside cab was wiped clean. It was a Chicago Bear's home game day and no one was on the road during the game. It made no sense for regular people to hit the gridlock traffic around the Gold Coast before or after the game on a Bear's home day game. I got the furniture moved in during the game.

My bedroom in the rented condo only had a blow-up mattress on the floor with several folding tables and chairs. These tables were for several computers in different states of assembly, another for my makeup and the largest for my desk where I researched and documented/mapped Westerfield and his cronies. There was also a clothes rack and shelves that held my wigs and disguises. The door to the kitchen was always closed. Anyone seeing past the condo entrance door would only see the furnished living room.

I ordered on-line groceries suitable for an older man to be delivered for the first few weeks from a local non-chain grocery store. Because of the personalized service, 'Old Mr. Harrison' paid in cash. As part of the lease, all utilities were paid for by the owner. Water, cable and internet service were handled by the condo association. It took a week after the move-in for 'Old Mr. Harrison' to settle down. Soon he was known as the old quiet guy with a walker that rarely left his unit. He became known and then became invisible, like most old people.

My next task was to find a way into Westerfield's condo or find a way to sneak a sensor through the walls. By the second week, 'Old Mr. Harrison' saw Westerfield's weekly maid Lula and struck up a short conversation with her. The following week, I became Cara, an elderly Irish contracted 'helper' for 'old Mr. Harrison'. To Lula I was just another woman barely making enough to cover the costs of living for me and my grandkids back home. Over the course of three weeks I bonded with Lula. I found out that her 3 kids were with her in-laws in southern rural Mexico. Her husband had died from some type of sickness and her going North as a domestic was the only way she could support them that did not include anything illegal. She did not want to be a drug mule or have to sell her body.

With the use of a recorded mp3 playing on a better sounding computer speaker, Lula would hear 'old Mr. Harrison' snore while she quietly visited with me after cleaning Westerfield's condo. Along with other things, I found out that there was no apparent security alarm and 'probably' no interior cameras.

'Probably' was not good enough but that was a question I immediately continued researching answers to.

On the fourth week I asked in my thick Irish brogue if she would go to the corner drugstore to pick up some Depends for 'old Mr. Harrison', as he just ran out. When Lula found out it was going to include a $20 tip, she left immediately. I had previously covered Lula's purse with a couch pillow and she left it behind. Pulling out my camera, I took series of photos of Westerfield's key with all sorts of measurements. Then I made two sealing wax impressions of it. I also copied all her IDs. I think that the IDs were 'borrowed' as they really did not fit her all that well. I've known several cases of 2 'illegal's' working under one legal ID. People do what they have to do to get on by. If I had to feed my family, I'd do much worse. In 15 minutes, Lula returned with the Depends. Now with her additional $20, she left humming a religious tune that I remembered from attending a Spanish language Mass while in high school.

The key blanks were common to all the condo units and I had already purchased six blanks. I first tried to make a copy of my own key for the experience. It was tougher than I expected and I learned much. With trial and error and several different metal files, the 2 sacrificed blanks helped me to finally fashion a working key to my condo. I tried to make Westerfield's but my first attempt did not work.

The next week, there was another 'Depends' emergency. While Lula was gone, I was able to compare my key versions with the original. It took a few more 'slight adjustments' and the key to his door worked. I was able to unlock the door but did not go in. Then I immediately relocked it. The concern now was if he had his condo bugged. Lula was happy again for the additional $20 for 15 minutes of 'work'.

It was two days after my key worked, Joan Simmons passed away in her sleep. I was sorry to see her pass but it did close a door that I was concerned about.

From my research, I knew that I needed specialized equipment in order to scan the place for electronics. Being recorded sneaking in his apartment could be deadly. If I obtained a scanner, I needed to use it while appearing to be the maid. In the past several weeks, I had been looking for that piece of hardware to check for any bugs and cameras.

I met a few of my computer science acquaintances at a bar and the scanning subject 'somehow' came up. The best story I came up with was that I was afraid of being filmed while hooking up with this one guy. That's when my friend Jerry said he had one. Giving him my best sad puppy dog eyes, he agreed to loan it to me and show me how to use it. All it was going to cost me was to be his arm candy at a Saturday night wedding in Des Moines Iowa two weeks later. Jerry played for the 'other team' and was not ready to be 'out' with his extended family. He told me that between the politics, the religious zealotry and the bigotry of a select few members of his extended family, it just was not worth being open with who he was. His partner Rico was second generation from the Philippines and really did not want to go. Jerry's nuclear birth family knew who he was and they were fine with it. It actually was a fun two days at the wedding. Jerry's extended family appeared to be taken in by our performance. His mother thanked me. She really was a warm hearted woman that loved her son.

Once I got the scanner from Jerry after the wedding, I practiced with it at several different places where I knew there were exposed, not so hidden and very hidden electronics. Only when I was comfortable with it and its capabilities, I began scanning the hallways and stairs in the condo building over the course of two days. When those areas came up 'clean', I decided to enter Westerfield's unit 90 minutes before Lula was to arrive. I was dressed as Lula and disguised the scanner head with a dust mop while scanning. When the scan came up negative, I took pictures of every inch of the condo in 25 minutes. I quietly returned to my bedroom to review my investigative plans for Westerfield's condo.

Outside of a keyed door, Westerfield was unprotected and I had the key.

Doofus - level 4 out of 10.

Hearing the plates being placed in the sink by Auntie Sophie brought me back to the present. Dinner was over and I told her that I would go with her to the bank to deposit most of the cash into the safe deposit box on Tuesday afternoon. The cash from the 'sale' of the SUV would go into her checking account. The $30,000 from the car sale needed to be transparent.

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Jail - Ron Westerfield

As the week went by, even with the video of the bike messenger, no one believed or cared about my story. My seized tablet contained copies of my working records and emails for the three buy-outs. All this information was also on a jump drive I never saw before that they found hidden in my desk. These were records that I deleted and repeatedly triple wiped from my drives. My tablet was never on the internet. The messenger company does not exist. The pictures using facial recognition of that bearded 5'5" man all come up with 2 dead orphan brothers that were 5' 10" and 6' 1" tall. Both were Special Forces and both died early in the Vietnam war in the early 60's.

My lawyer told me that they are talking about a plea deal if I turn in my handler for the 3 buy outs. With my luck, he's living well in a second world country right now. And he probably has a new name and maybe a newer face.

He's trying to get me out on bail but I'm listed as a flight risk.

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"Hey Liz, are you going to nurse that beer until the end of time?"

"Hey, who made you the sipping beer police Mark? Can't a woman just sit here?" I smiled as he moved closer to me still smiling.

"Maybe I can start charging rent on that bar stool. What do you think?" What a smart-ass he was. "You know, this is the second time in a week that you're here. Still celebrating?"

"Yes, yes I am. And thank you for not getting me a blond IPA. I was going to have to hurt you if one showed up." Smiling, I reached over to tickle his side. He must have jumped a foot in the air then attempted to get further away from my reach.

"WHOA there partner, dems fightin' fingers. In this here town you need to check dem fingers in with the marshal. If he ain't around, at least hold them on your side of the bar, ma'am." There was a smile on his face. I could feel one on mine too. I missed flirting these past two years. The bar was slow and we visited for the next hour.

We started to make a habit of it over the next few weeks between my auditions and my waitressing jobs. Those small acting jobs gave me the 'cover' to have more short stouts with Mark.

One day we were talking when a loud party came into the bar. I retreated into a back booth to give Mark the space he needed in order to do his job. My mind went back to the first time I walked into Westerfield's condo.

I was dressed like his maid Lula and took my dusting wand/scanner over every inch of the condo, all 1,200 square feet of space. When I was satisfied that there no monitoring electronics, I pulled out my very good digital camera to systematically record how he kept the place as well as looking for 'tells'. Was there a disturbed dust line? Did something look like it had been moved recently? Did the dirt, sun bleaching or paint shadows where ever they were make sense? The last time the condo was cleaned was a week ago and if anything was disturbed, I wanted to know about it now.

After Lula left when she finished cleaning, I returned to Westerfield's condo and retook all the pictures. I needed a before and after view. The record may also come in handy in the future. I thank god for my two large monitors. I was able to view both the before and after pictures side by side. I remember that I took two days to review his condo pictures and to be comfortable with what could be done with my two small disguised cameras. These were first secreted in a bookshelf and the top of his entertainment unit that covered his desk area and his desk top. It took several days to understand that I needed more wireless microphones and cameras over the condo. The next trip to a swap meet worked out well.

The first thing I found out was that Westerfield had no morals. He probably practiced on ripping off widows and orphans in his spare time for fun and practice.

The second thing was that he was technically inept but was very savvy in bureaucratic politics.

The third thing was that he kept all his accounts information including usernames, passwords and urls on little post-it-notes attached to the back side of his center desk drawer. Remove the drawer and the keys to his kingdom were waiting for me to see. The password to his desktop was "myCOMPUTER!" and his tablet was "myTABLET!". Reviewing the videos of him accessing his accounts, I realized that he did not even try to use some type of code. What he wrote was the real thing.

Doofus - level 8 out of 10.

Over the next several weeks, I saved the active videos and sound recordings to my large hard drives with backups to a cloud account. The account was registered to an 80 year old man in hospice that was in late stages dementia. Once again, I thanked Auntie for her help. As Westerfield never turned off his desktop, I set up that all file changes were sent to a cloud account when he was scheduled to be at work. I could have put a keyboard logger on his computers, but I did not want to run afoul of his automatic anti-virus programs. I reviewed his output daily. It became a near full time job to monitor what he was doing. There was no time to waitress or look for acting gigs. To take him down without mistakes was my full time job.

I had dinner once a week with my Auntie where I gave her no details on what was specifically happening, but a general knowledge of progress/no progress. She accepted this and always looked hopeful. She was my rock when I was discouraged. I always wondered if she knew just how important she was to me.

The more I monitored Westerfield and the better I knew him, the more repulsed I was. Several different individual revenge/retribution scenarios started to become fleshed out. Initially I thought that all I needed was to plant some things on him and my revenge would soon be over. My initial thoughts were to manufacture setups to take him down. I knew that kiddie porn would be a possibility, but there was no way I was going to be involved in that repulsive shit.

As the days went on, I got to the point that I realized that I did not need to create anything wrong that he could be hung with. He provided me with plenty of opportunities. Some were risky for me or did not have the pay off that Westerfield deserved.

One day I reviewed one of the video feeds and 'discovered' his half a kilo of cocaine hidden in a flour tin in the kitchen. I knew then that the coke had to a big part of his take down. Financial white collar crimes are way different from drug dealer crimes. Half a kilo of cocaine is way beyond the minimum needed for "intent to distribute".

I started to outline a series of actions that could be part of the take-down. The cocaine had to be part of it. There were other areas that I needed to target. Financially he had to be hurt real bad and jail time was a must. If I could critically damage his professional creditentials to be unemployable, so much the better. All in all, it all came back to it needed to be done without a trace.

Uncle Ben was an amateur historian. I remember that one day he told me about a 19th century German military strategist, Helmuth von something or other. I could never remember the guy's name, but I knew the quote. Helmuth said that "No battle plan survives contact with the enemy". After the start of a battle, all plans will or may have to be immediately adjusted or thrown out after five minutes. If I targeted Westerfield in several different areas at the same time, one of them would have to stick for success, or at least, become a major debilitating pain for him.