Luck Takes a Lot of Hard Work

It took several weeks of detailed plans working out the interlacing details. The first hit had to be my only hit that cascaded in multiple ways. At that first hit I had to disappear into the ether. There could be no second strike. I was back to The Sting with Redford and Newman.

I continued forming, adjusting and reforming plans, and then filed them into my library of possibilities. Strengths, weaknesses, flaws, requirements, projected success percentages and more were worked out. What looked the most promising was loading his luggage with his own drugs and cash. The webcams showed me Westerfield's hiding places for his cash and drugs as well as how often he actually physically checked on his 'pirate booty'. He also had accounts in the Cayman Islands. These I felt would be better to be exposed to the Feds then for me to attempt to empty. That possibly could be done but was above my pay grade. I now needed to come up with a way that the police or the feds, in a very public way, would be first on the scene.

Westerfield was traveling more for work. TSA was the second best choice after the US or a foreign Customs Service. Guns and bombs needed to be seen in the ex-rays scanning. I could not risk it being a local cop. It would make it possible that 'adjustments' could be extended if the wrong cop was there.

Although I knew that I could get a street gun, I did not like that risk. From reading the papers, I could go to the gun shows in Wisconsin or Indiana with wad of cash and a straw buyer. That has been happening more and more and I did not want to be on the wrong side of a possible ATF/FBI sting.

Browsing, I found out that there were 3-D printer programs for hand guns. There were also assorted suppliers for the printer and the printer cartridges at the flea markets and 3-D Printer user groups. Used equipment was much more reasonable than new. It took me a month to print the handgun. To get the ammunition, I went to a gun range with my FOID (State Firearms Owner ID card) and rented a handgun of the same caliber ammunition as the 3D gun. I just made it a point of not shooting all of it. I did make sure that the gun I printed was going to not be functional due to a misformed part. The gun just needed to exist and be loaded.

I also picked up another burner phone and downloaded instructions on how to use it as a detonator. Once again, there were no explosives but it would show that it could be used as such. I needed to show intent.

During this time, Westfield bought a new suitcase for his travels. I purchased two just like it from two different stores at opposite ends of the metro area. If I damaged one or needed another part, it had to be quickly available. Because of expected retail security cameras, I was two different people. On the wealthy western suburbs, I was a middle aged man from the Indian sub-continent. At the well off North Shore, I was an older grandmother with an Eastern European accent. It took over a week to create a decent false bottom in one of them. I mocked up for size the cocaine and stacks of his American dollars, British pounds, Euros and Mexican pesos that he hid around his condo. I was able to use the actual burner phone 'detonator' in my test setup. I needed to ensure that it would all properly fit into the false bottom. The actual loading would have to wait until the plan was ready to go.

Using his own computer, I had previously accessed his accounts with his written usernames and passwords notes without him being aware of it. I did it on a day that he left his phone in the condo. Ain't the 'find my phone' app wonderful?

My goal was to hijack his accounts to my control. All his sign in procedures required a pin number sent to his phone. I changed that to an email to his mail accounts, now it was to my look alike mail accounts. This was the set up I needed to drain his tax deferred and brokerage accounts so he would be liable for the taxes and early withdrawal penalties.

One of the things I found out was that his current employer routinely bailed out some higher level management, but only management that brought in money. Their lawyers on retainer made problems go away. Payoffs were always cheaper than the bad publicity or losing that revenue stream. So what if somebody got some on the side in order for them to keep their jobs? If he was bringing in a couple of million in revenue, what is $50,000 and a non-disclosure agreement in the grand scheme of things?

One of my goals was to try to damage his relationship with his current employer. Sexual harassment was part of the old boy club, but directly ripping off the company resulted in termini nation. You could fuck the serfs but you could not steal from the manor house.

Westerfield entered his own expense reports and the money was deposited in accounts he entered. I was thinking that this could be used to embezzle funds from his employer.

Googling the help files for his firm's Accounts Payable's electronic transfers module was worth the extensive learning curve. I also had help from my IT friends. After all, I told them I was applying for a temp Accounts Payable entry level position. A job would drive me to drink. All I needed to do was to make it appear that he tried to steal. The 'theft' did not need to be successful.

In of the things that I found out about Westerfield was that he liked to fuck around, and may have gotten somebody or two pregnant in college. He boasted several times to his buddies that he was only not careful when he was out of state and he could get the co-ed drunk or drugged. In some of my trips to his condo, I exchanged his used water glasses for clean ones. I was hoping to collect enough of his saliva for a test. After that I became more aware of his bathroom hygiene. He tended to be messy and a few times his spiting, he missed the sink bowl and got the countertop. Being careful, I used a small amount of bottled water and a sterile razor blade on the sink to possibly harvest enough DNA to submit for the spit sample for the DNA mail-in tests.

The mail services to the condo building had a letter box for each unit. It was in a side room off the main lobby. This setup was common in the 1920's. Oversized letters and all other packages were placed on the floor by the mail boxes. Ordering things for Westerfield with his own credit card or PayPal account and picking them up before he ever came home was no problem. I ordered DNA kits from 2 different 'Look at your family history' mass market commercial firms that I saw on TV. If only one worked, this would guarantee his DNA would be in the public domain. My friend Lilly found out that she had a half sister that was 6 months older then she was. Her father had been dead for 5 years so she could never get that story.

I planned to mail the DNA samples on D-day, whenever that day was. I knew that it would take those firms' weeks to process and I still was not sure that it would even work. If it did, Westerfield may find that he has a couple of more mouths to feed or maybe a statutory rape conviction in his future.

My plans were as ready as I could ever be and I spent my time reviewing, adjusting, playing 'what if' and second guessing everything I came up with. I also practiced dry runs for every part. Anything that I was supposed to do, I performed it several times, testing improvements each time before making the decision which method I would use.

My decision was made when I found out a week in advance that he was going to travel to Seattle in 6 days, next Thursday. He was going to fly out of Midway airport. It was now or never and D-Day was now Thursday.

On Monday, I scouted where I could be to give Westerfield his package at Midway Airport. Where ever it was, I needed a quick exit with the ability to quickly change clothing. The best place was before the bridge by the transit station, but he never took the Orange line from downtown. The worst spot was running him down was at the departure gates. Fortunately, I was able to overhear him complain about the departure car ramp being backed up so he tended to use the bridge from the parking lot. The find-my-phone app and a luggage tag backup were going to have to guide me. I practiced for two hours until I was sure that whatever way he chose, I had a plan for escape. This was the most dangerous part of the sting. I borrowed a car to exit the airport quickly. Leaving where I would give Westerfield his tablet, I would enter a heavily used bathroom, change all my clothes and stuff them into a gym bag that I had folded in my clothing. I would exchange wigs and change and makeup within 3 minutes. I would go from being overweight bike courier to a harried thin college student. Few men monitor who goes into a stall in the men's room and who comes out. On D-day, there would be different temp plates on another car, just like the jewelry store burglars have been doing nationwide.

On Tuesday before D-day, I loaded his new false bottom suitcase with the gun, ammunition, cash and burner phone wired to his coke encased in an aluminum foil cube. The burner phone was charged and the sound turned completely down and the vibration disconnected. Those instructions came with the wiring diagrams. The false bottom of the suitcase was then sealed. I had replaced his real cash in the condo with bundled 'look alike' computer printed bills. Only the top and bottom pieces were actual real money. I went through several boxes of toner to make it look like it somewhat real. None of the interior bills would have fooled an underage McDonalds cashier with a hangover on Sunday morning. I was counting on his normal attention span and carelessness. He rarely even looked at what he hid at the condo, but I had to be sure that something was there in case he did. The wires to the phone were just an add on to create some excitement at the TSA scanning. To make the plan work, he could never pass the TSA screeners.

On Wednesday before D-day, 'Westerfield' entered loads of phony invoices into his firm's Accounts Payable system. That batch was scheduled to be processed on Friday while he was in Seattle. The payments were directed to accounts that he had control over. Using Westerfield's login to his company's computer system cemented his finger prints on the theft. Wendesday night was when he tended to spend the evening with a wife of one of his co-workers. I figured that she would have much more to lose if she testified in his behalf.

Also on Wednesday, I transferred his money from his Tax deferred accounts to his taxable bank account, triggering his penalty and tax liability. The transaction dates would be on Thursday. I also cashed out his appreciated stocks. That realized his gains for his short term stocks. Short term gains are taxed at his highest tax rate. I did this all using Westerfield's own computers. It made for great traceability and lack of deniability.

I scheduled for Thursday mid-morning to send emails to the TSA and SEC tip lines. The financial evidence was also sent to the local DA as well as the DHS, FBI and SEC. I included Westfield's travel schedule which showed him going to Mexico and then into Africa. That he was to leave the country Friday was highlighted. That info was sent from a lightly protected server somewhere in the Chicago metro area. The access address was copied from a drunken student programmer at a party. The IRS is so undermanned that their tip line would not produce any results for many months.

"Earth to Liz, earth to Liz." A shake to my shoulder brought me around again. I looked up and smiled. The next half hour with Mark was warm and smooth. I was really getting to know him as a person, not just as the bar keep. Watching him work, I knew when he was friendly to the customers. He was much more then friendly to me. This evening, we exchanged phone numbers and emails.

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It was after one of my many auditions that I sat in my kitchen nursing a cup of tea and relaxing. It's been weeks since I set up Westerfield. That final day was hectic. I had been tracking him by the find-my-phone app on his own phone for several days. The burner phone in his luggage was the other tracking device. I inactivated his own phone after he arrived at his office. That is when I cancelled his service. After he left for work, I went back into his condo, removed the fake stacks of bills, the cameras and bugs and anything else that I had planted. Lula was the next thing I needed to take care of.

After I changed into my next disguise as a rather rough Hispanic male, I waited at the elevator for her to arrive. She was always prompt at 9 AM. She got a little warning from me to go back home to be with her kids. Her package of 50,000 pesos and $120,000 in greenbacks ensured her return home immediately. She knew that her silence was more than appreciated. She also knew that she was given a gift. As Cara, the Irish helper, our previous conversations had included stories of people that interfered with the cartels and now she probably thought that she just met one. I am sure that she would now have a much better life. She and her husband had wanted to buy a store in their home town. Now she could with money to spare and have a good life with her children.

By 3 PM I realized that Westerfield was not leaving protective custody at the airport. By 6 PM, an elderly woman with a moving truck and helpers emptied the contents of the leased condo and moved 'Old Mr. Harrison' out. The older woman directing the move let it slip to the neighbors that 'Old Mr. Harrison' had a series of mini-strokes (TIAs) last week, was stabilized, and was now being shuttled back to Florida to be with another niece. A cleaning crew of 5 took 2 hours to perform an in-depth cleaning of the unit. All traces of the past 5 months were removed. The key was left in an envelope with Condo management. The furniture was dropped off on a charity's un-monitored loading dock after 9 PM. It was 50 miles away in a working class suburb. In this case, the leased truck's original license plates were reattached and the truck's painted on ID markings were uncovered before the truck was returned.

It was past 3 AM on Friday when I was finally able to get back to my apartment. All my disguises where soaked in fry-oils and deposited deep in several full dumpsters along the way home all over the city and suburbs. All my computers were dismembered and parts tossed into several different apartment dumpsters and garbage cans over the city and suburbs. I had become real good at totally destroying electronic records and their traces. The disposal locations were determined by when the refuse company was due to collect the trash.

It was time to rest but I needed to remain aware.

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"What do you mean that I have to give you a DNA sample?"

"Mr. Westerfield, this warrent states that you are to provide a DNA sample. Please cooperate."

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Five months after D-day, I sat with Auntie Sophie eating a takeout UNO's deep dish pizza. We were celebrating again. It turned out that Ron Westerfield was not quick enough to turn states evidence. The first to make a deal immediately was a lower level IT employee that consistently was overworked, underpaid and verbally abused by the managers of the buy-out firm. He consistently had his budget cut to feed their profit margins.

Don't mess with peons.

The IT guy had great documentation with an independently verified chain of custody for the firm's working documents. The young prosecutors did not need to put out much work to prepare the case for the court. A half-dozen of the co-conspirators from the firm were arrested and charged as well as insiders like Westerfield. Due to the possibility of leaving the country, their passports were surrendered as part of their bail. The prosecutors did not have to cut any deals to get more evidence. Deals were only made to lessen the amount of court time needed for conviction. It was a young prosecutor's dream case. The local papers had days of copy. It was nice reading it in the papers.

All of Westerfield's visible financial accounts had been seized as well as his off shore accounts that were documented in his tablet. He could not prove where the money came from and the Feds felt it was drug or money laundering. He appeared to be doing some of that as well as some serious tax fraud. Out of the million plus dollars and foreign currency that Westerfield thought he had in his condo, somehow $450,000 was not accounted for in the police searches. His maid 'disappeared' immediately after his arrest, supposing back to Venezuela.

At one of Westerfield's hearings, he was taken into custody and charged with rape from when he was in college. His DNA sample obtained from the now public databases was a match to a sample taken from a drugged and raped college student. The warrant for his DNA sample was obtained for the current rape charges. Bail was set at $500,000 which was difficult for him to raise. His previous funds were frozen by several different judges. Thankfully, his condo was still a non-attached asset.

Auntie and I still kept a very low profile, but my relation with Mark was starting to take off.

It was a two months after D-day that he asked if I could help him on a stake out. We needed to follow a possibly errant husband to a nice restaurant. Mark asked if we could enjoy the meal while he 'worked'.

What? Me refuse a nice dinner with him while we played spy? I went dressed to the nines and it was wonderful. We were seated close enough to see things, but not hear them speaking clearly. Mark wanted to take a picture of the husband's wandering hands on his date's inner thigh, but could not figure out how to do it without getting some unwanted attention.

This was like falling off a log for me.

After looking around, I whispered for him if that was his personal phone with internet connection. After getting a yes, I read him the riot act about putting his own information out there. His info would be imbedded in the pictures. I pulled my latest burner phone with a camera not as good as his and told him to use this. He gave me a puzzled yes and waited. Being a slightly bit loud I said "Oh yes, you must take my picture now. I want to remember this moment forever" as I fluttered my eyelashes toward him. Cheesy, but it made our actions appears normal. Then I started to pose. Mark immediately got it and pulled out my phone and started with several single shots and then switched to movie mode where he concentrated on his target and the lady friend. Then he switched to video mode showing the entire scene to finally focusing on his hand caressing her thong. I found out later they were so into each other that they did not realize that his hands between her legs were quite visible under her short skirt. After dinner, we looked at the pics and talked about what was good, bad and what could be better. This turned out to be the first of many stake-outs. Unfortunately, good spys need to blend into the background. There were no more fancy dinners, but we started celebrating at home after the jobs.

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Two years later, Auntie and I were eating takeout pizza in my apartment when she smiled and stood up. "Let's toast to the asshole, now that he's now broke and actually serving time." I clinked my wine glass with Auntie Sophie's when she said "Che peccato". It means 'what a pity'. We chuckled then the doorbell rang. On cue, Mark showed up and I buzzed him in.

He kissed Auntie on the cheek and then me in a long sensuous kiss. After all, our partnership as an investigative LLC corporation was going well. Our marriage was also red hot.

I'm lucky.

Luck takes a lot of hard work.