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vdistinctive


What, was "Rudy" on cable last night?

. . . Yes.


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Eliot Spencer vdistinctive
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An office tower in Chicago, Illinois, Friday afternoon, FT
Eliot adjusted the cuffs of his suit and made one last swipe of his hand over his pulled back hair to make sure everything was in order. His character had to be sleazy, but in that creepy rich guy classy way. All aging college frat boy instead of used car salesman, like Nate tended to play. He gave his reflection a quick once over in the glass window in the mark's office door, then plastered on a confident grin and entered, making a beeline for the bored looking receptionist.

"Hey," he said, distractedly flirtatious. "Galen Tyrol, here to see Deon Walker."


Receptionist
The receptionist blinked, confused. "Do you have an--" she started, pulling up her schedule on the computer. She'd looked at it just this morning and she could have sworn that Mr. Walker didn't have any meetings scheduled until this afternoon. And this guy hardly looked like Mr. Walker's usual clientele.

Except, there was the name Galen Tyrol, 10:30 am. on the schedule, plain as day. "Oh, I, of course, Mr. Tyrol. Please, take a seat, Mr. Walker will be down shortly. May I take your card, please?"

Hardison
"You in," Hardison breathed in Eliot's ear. "Even if she checks the records, the computer will say your meetin's been on the schedule since Monday."

Eliot
"Of course," Eliot said, both to Hardison and the receptionist. He flicked a small black business card from his pocket. It listed both his alias and the name of a very, very high end investment firm -- and a phone number that looked legit but didn't call anywhere near the actual firm. "Thank you --" Eliot flicked his eyes to her name plate. "Karen."

Parker
Parker snickered very softly and whispered to Hardison, "I'm going to tell him who Tyrol is when he gets back."

You share your life, your share the geekery with someone.

To Eliot, she quietly commented, "Standing by if he wants to call."

Hardison
Hardison leaned over to kiss her cheek. "I love that you know that," he said. Never mind that he'd been the one to sit her down and make her watch the show. She'd remembered.

Eliot
Eliot cleared his throat to remind them that he could hear them and picked up a magazine to flip through.

Golf Digest. "That guy ain't even holding a golf club," he muttered.

Karen
Unlike the two lovebirds, Karen was not having a great day.

"Yes, Mr. Walker, I'm sorry, I don't know how I overlooked it, but he's waiting here in the lobby for you, sir." Karen's expression was one of a woman getting severely chewed out by her employer over the phone. "Yessir, his card says he works for--" She didn't even get to say the full name of the firm before she was getting yelled at over the phone. "Of course, Mr. Walker. I'll call them right away. Err, should I send him up?" Wince. "Of course, sir, not until I call, yessir. Sorry, Mr. Walker, it will never happen again..."

And as soon as she hung up the line with Mr. Walker's personal office, she was immediately calling the number provided on the card.

Parker
"Rogers, Buchanan and Tyrol's brokerage floor, how can I help you?" Parker said first, sounding incredibly efficient and on point.

Karen
"Umm, yes, hello?" Karen hadn't been expecting such a brusque response to her call. "Oh, umm, I thought this was a number for a larger firm?"

She was very proud of herself for not saying what firm it was! They would have to provide her that information!

Parker
"I beg your pardon?" Parker said, sounding insulted and slightly irritated. "Ma'am, which of our partners or associates are you trying to reach? You're calling during prime trading hours. Do you have a phone or web appointment?"

Karen
"I--uhh, no?" This was not Karen's day. "I mean--" She cleared her throat and attempted to sound professional. "I have a gentleman here who says he's with your firm and I just wanted some verification?"

That wasn't supposed to be a question. Ah well.

Parker
Parker gave the phone a look, and shook her head. No, really, girl. Really.

"Verification of employment can be furnished if you have a copy of his card or legal identification," Parker said officiously. "Which one of our agents are you attempting to validate?"

... like parking. Did she mean validate or identify?

Karen
I have his card!" Karen said, glad that there was something concrete she could reference. "Umm, Mr. Galen Tyrol? Err...do you need me to describe his card for you?"

LOOK SHE DIDN'T KNOW HOW THESE THINGS WORKED, SHE JUST HAD HER ASSOCIATE'S DEGREE IN BUSINESS!

Parker
Right, that was just...

"Mr. Tyrol is one of our senior partners," Parker said, her voice warming up a little. "A credit to the business." She cleared her throat, going back to officious, but with an edge of 'crush'. "He is currently out of the office investigating new opportunities." With a little pity she added, "No, I have a copy of our cards right here, Miss...?"

Karen
Sophie would be so proud of her!

"Karen. Karen Dwight." Karen said, pausing a moment to check Mr. Tyrol out. He was definitely swoon-worthy. "I represent one of the, err, new opportunities that I think Mr. Tyrol is investigating? I just want to make sure that the gentleman here with his card is, err--that is, could you just let me know who Mr. Tyrol has an appointment with today?"

Parker
"We don't give out details of future clients, or investment opportunities." Parker paused. "However... if he's there, you'll recognize him by dark hair, blue eyes, a very nice suit, sunglasses. And a drawl." Dreeeamy. She cleared her throat again. "Ms. Dwight, is it? I appreciate your thoroughness in confirming the identity of our representative. His business card should have the phone number you called, and our website." She gave a telling pause and added, "Do say hello to Mr. Walker for us."

Karen
Karen couldn't help herself. She giggled. Looks like even snobby receptionists on Wall Street weren't immune to the charm of a handsome man. "That's him," she said. "His eyes are very blue aren't they?"

She gave him a little wave, and then blushed, returning to her call.

"I mean, I think that's everything I needed to know. Thank you so much, ma'am, you've been a great help."

Parker
"You're very welcome, Ms. Dwight. Please stay in touch, no matter how this particular opportunity turns out," Parker said, hoping the girl would start updating her resume immediately. "In fact?" Hmm. "Please keep that card. There may be an opening at our firm, soon. Especially if Mr. Walker's opportunities open up the way we predict they will."

Hardison could probably find her something way better pretty easily.


***



Heyes
Once Karen had spoken to 'the receptionist' and been assured that Mr. Tyrol was indeed a partner in good standing at Silverman Baghs, she'd given one more quick call up to assure Mr. Walker that everything seemed to be on the up and up and that she'd make some coffee right away to bring in to them.

Less than a minute later, a short, heavily-muscled man walked into the lobby area. He was in a cheap suit, with shoes that had probably never seen a polish in their life and a tie that was clearly a clip-on. The shiny fabric couldn't hide the bulging muscles beneath--or the outline of a gun tucked under his arm, if you knew what to look for. "Mr. Tyrol," he rumbled. "Thank you for waiting. I'm one of Mr. Walker's associates, Mr. Heyes. If you would follow me?"

Eliot
Oh yeah, this guy had 'hired muscle' written all over him. All spit, too, no polish. No armed forces for him -- not a gang enforcer, either, or he'd still be at it. Probably grew up on the edge of Gangland and got into shit as a kid, thought he was all tough.

Eliot smiled coolly, letting just a bit of the judgement show through on his face. It'd look like he was looking down on the shoes and cheap suit, rather than the lack of formal training. "Of course, Mr. Heyes. Thank you."

Deon Walker
Heyes noted the judgement and a muscle ticked in his jaw, but he let it go, escorting Eliot down the hall to a wooden door. He knocked, waited for the "Enter," and opened it, gesturing Eliot through.

However short Heyes might have fell of the standards of Silverman Baghs, Deon Walker did not. Handsome, tall, and dressed in an expensive wool suit with a discreet pinstripe. His smile was open and practiced, exuding charm and that nebulous trust me that the more adept grifters and conmen were wont to develop. Somewhere in Europe, Sophie Devereaux was nodding to herself.

His off was less impressive; small, with a window that looked directly into an office building next door. His computer was several years old, the paintings on the walls were prints, not real. The furniture was serviceable, though a little out of date and with the slightest hint of wear on them. In short, Walker dressed like Wall Street, while his surroundings were decidedly Flatbush.

"Mr. Tyrol," Deon Walker said, standing up and extending his hand, letting Eliot come to him in a subtle powerplay. "It's a pleasure to meet you." His shake was firm and confident. "Please, sit down. My receptionist will be up shortly with coffee."

Eliot
Eliot paused just long enough for Walker to know he'd noticed the power play, then came over to shake his hand. "Karen. She seems like a sweet girl. Very easy on the eyes. Must be nice coming in to that every morning."

He felt a little dirty. That girl down there was barely older than some of his students.

Deon
"Isn't she?" Deon laughed and took his seat again. "Little absent-minded though. I have no idea how she managed to be caught unprepared for your visit, Mr. Tyrol. I apologize that you had to wait." He leaned back in his chair and gave Eliot a smile, one that would be charming if it wasn't so calculating. "Though it did give me some time to look into you. You're not usually the kind of prospective client I see coming through my doors. In fact, with the firm on your card, I doubt you're a client at all."

Eliot
And here I thought that was another power-play on your part," Eliot said. "A little non-traditional, but then, I've heard that's kind of your game, anyway." He snapped and pointed at Deon to emphasize the point. "In fact I've been hearing a lot about you lately, Deon. Can I call you Deon?" He spread his hands, smiling faintly back, and continued without waiting for an answer. "I'm here to get a look at your operation here, get a feel for how you're working."

Deon
Deon laughed again. "If it were a power-play, do you really think I'd admit it before you did?" he asked genially. "Please, Galen, feel free. I'm a lot more interested in finding out just what you've heard than standing on ceremony. I'm surprised someone from Wall Street's Big Seven has heard of my company--" just the slightest emphasis there, a hint of correction "--and how non-traditional it is."

Eliot
"You make waves the way you've been doing and you're surprised we'd heard about it?" Eliot shook his head. "Alright, you got me. I didn't know a damn thing about you until one of my staffers brought you to my attention. I've been liking what I've seen, though. That move you pulled with those pensions, for instance. Not what I'd call graceful, but it's damn gutsy. Guts like that could get you far in this business."

Deon
"I'm sorry, I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," Deon said immediately. His posture remained relaxed, but his muscles has tensed. "Either you've mistaken me for someone else or this is some kind of joke. Either way, I'm far too busy to deal with it. Heyes?"

The large man stepped forward, preparing to escort Eliot from the office. And probably do a lot worse once they were away from prying eyes.

Eliot
Eliot rolled his eyes over to Heyes, but didn't get up. Or look even remotely threatened. "I'm not a cop," he said, still smiling. "And I've got no reason to share what I've heard with any. Unless maybe you decide you'd rather shack up with some of my competitors." He leaned forward, making firm eye contact with Walker. "I'm here to offer you a job, Deon. Assuming you don't puss out on me."

Hardison
"Yo, Eliot, when we get outta here, I'mma take you out an' buy you the fanciest cookin' thngamajig you ain't already got," Hardison whispered over the comms.

He knew Eliot, okay? And knew very well how much this persona was grating on his nerves.

Heyes
"Uhh, Mr. Walker?" Heyes was very not used to people dismissing him. At least not like this.

Deon
Walker waved him back, at least for now. "You want to offer me a job," he repeated. "Based on some...rumors...you've heard about how I operate." He didn't move, but some of the tension seeped away. "I'm listening. Denying everything, of course, but listening."

Eliot
"Sure," Eliot said. "Let's call them 'rumors'. Don't know if you've noticed, Deon, but the investment game isn't exactly full of fine upstanding citizens. From what I've learned, you've got that -- killer instinct we at Silverman Baghs look for." The hitch was tiny, but Eliot still kicked himself mentally that it slipped through. If Sophie were here, she'd have this guy's check in her hands already. "Let's be clear now. I'm not offering you the position just yet. There's something of an audition period, first."

Parker
"Good. Good. Don't want him to think it's too easy..." Parker leaned in, listening hard. "You got this, Eliot."

Deon
"An 'audition period'," Deon repeated in a deadpan. "So you like what you've heard, but you're still not sure whether I should be playing with the big boys yet." He didn't like hearing that, no, but he relaxed still further. He wanted this offer to be legit, but he wouldn't trust it if it came too easily or without strings. Hearing that it wouldn't just be handed over to him helped him believe the offer was genuine.

"And just what, exactly, do you expect me to do for this audition? You have to understand, Galen, I don't shuck and jive. Not even for Silverman Baghs." Pushing now, trying to get Eliot off-balance.

Eliot
It'd take heavier than Deon Walker to get Eliot off-balance. He might not be Sophie Devereaux, but he wasn't exactly new to this, either.

"We're an investment firm, Deon. We want you to invest." Eliot leaned back again, folding his hands. "In the Navy Pier."

Deon
"The Navy Pier. I see." Deon said, in that way that meant that he didn't. "And what, exactly, would I get out of doing that? Other than showing you that I have funds to invest."

He smirked. "And besides, of course, the joys of revitalizing Chicago."

Eliot
"What's in it for you." Eliot shook his head and laughed. "It's an investment, Deon. You get money back. If something bigger than your penny-ante pension game is spooking you, just let me know and I'll head out right now. This is a multi-billion dollar opportunity, man. You buy in on this, you help direct where your funds are going, and we see just how much a return you manage to get yourself. And we'll see if you're Silverman Bahgs material."

Deon
"That frat-boy 'What are you scared' bullshit isn't going to work on me, Tyrol," Deon said pleasantly. "I didn't get where I am today by being stupid or easily goaded. First off, how long is this audition process? Are you looking to see how much I make back in, what? A month? Two?" He raised an eyebrow. "And how much of this is your cut?"

Eliot
"I make a modest percentage," Eliot said. "I'll be investing in you. It's only fair I get something back for the risk I'm taking." He pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and put a number on it, folding it and holding it out for Deon to take. "As for the timeframe: this is the Navy Pier, not a hipster bakery. We're not looking to lease a storefront on our off hours. Renovations are estimated at six months on the inside. If you're going to get impatient and bail, then you're not who we're looking for."

Deon
Walker took the paper from Eliot, opened it up, and looked at it briefly before tucking it away again, his expression unchanging even with the number of zeroes at the end of it.

"I suppose, since you came to someone with the particular skillset that you believe I have, you're not at all picky about the how I generate my returns, just that I generate them," he said. "All right, you have my interest, but I want two things of my own before I agree to anything."

And also to buy a little time, because while he had this much capital, thanks to the recent donations of several little old ladies and their pathetic pension funds, most of it was not liquid. "I want to see the contract I'm going to be offered when this is all over and I was some surety." He looked squarely in Eliot's eyes. "You say you know all about me? I want some proof about you. Show me you're dirty, Galen, or you're going to have to find somebody else to play with."

Eliot
"We can have a draft contract messengered to you in the morning," Eliot said. "As for the second thing -- you think I'm just going to hand you proof of fraud? We wouldn't give the federal government that when we tanked the economy." He shrugged. "I could show you some figures of how much we made on that deal, I suppose."

He was getting the biggest, shiniest goddamn kitchen gadget. Something that sliced, diced, juliened, and fucking took your dog for a walk while it was at it. He hadn't felt this dirty in -- well. A long damn time.

Deon
"Sure, let's see that," Deon said. "Because--as I'm sure you understand, Galen, but I'm not usually inclined to trust people who waltz into my office and promise me the moon."

Hardison
"Got your back, man," Hardison whispered, already pulling up the proper documents on his laptop. "Silverman Baghs had their hands all over that mess. We got like a hundred an' twelve different files on them alone on the Black Book. That ain't even an exaggeration--an' it doesn't count their subsidiaries, either."

He found a file that looked good, changed a few quick details on it, and then sent it along. "On your phone, Eliot. You can even have him connect the phone to his computer so he can view it on his own screen. The doc will destroy itself as soon as the phone's removed."

Eliot
"I haven't promised you a damn thing, Deon. All I'm doing is pointing at the moon and saying 'go get it.'"

Eliot pulled out his phone and made a show of typing on it.

"I've contacted my assistant," he said afterwards. "He's forwarding those numbers now. If you like, we can set it up on your computer so you can see 'em in living color, so to speak."

In living color? Oh god Eliot was so old.

Deon
Yeah, Deon did raise a small eyebrow at that, but simply chalked it up to the personthat was 'Galen Tyrol'.

"No attractive assistant for you?" he asked. "Pity. I might have to put that into my contract when you offer it to me." Because rest assured Mr. New York Money, Deon Walker did not fail. "But yes, feel free to set it up. I find myself very intrigued by those numbers."

Hardison
"You need me to walk you through how to do this?" Hardison asked. With probably more amusement than Eliot might think is appropriate.

Eliot
Eliot was inches from pointing out that he never said his assistant wasn't attractive -- but they couldn't afford to alienate Deon now, when he was about to bite.

"Yeah, it's hard to argue with his competence, though." Which was a yes, Hardison, for the love of god talk him through this. "Don't worry, there'll be plenty of eye-candy for you, whichever way you happen to swing. This'll just take a second."

Hardison
"I will have you know I am very attractive," Hardison grumbled, sending written instructions to Eliot's phone to back up the verbal ones. "I'm hot as hell. They lucky I don't work in an office, ain't no one be able to get things done without folks swoonin' all over themselves for me. You seen my chest? It's amazing. Damn near perfect."

Okay now you were getting your instructions, Eliot. Hardison just had to make his feelings clear.

Parker
Parker gave him a 'really? now?' look, and then patted his shoulder. His firm, manly shoulder. "And you're going to be hot when you're old, too. In an administrative way." Through the comms she said, "You're doing great, Eliot. And you're making Hardison pout. Nice."

Eliot
Eliot's eyelid twitched. Otherwise, he didn't let his character slip at all.

Hardison was going to get an earful and a half when they were done with this, though.

He followed the instructions to a T, and soon enough, the file Hardison had dug up was up on Deon's screen.

"There we are. Sorry it took a moment. Usually one of the IT nerds handles the fiddly stuff."

Deon
Deon waved that away, leaning in close to look at the file. He snorted a bit while reading, amused, and once or twice looked impressed. Finally, he sat back and regarded Eliot with a look that was far friendlier than anything he'd worn today.

"I think I see why you were drawn to the way I do business," he said. "You know, Galen, I think we just might have a deal. When's the soonest you can get a copy of that contract over to me?"

Eliot
"Tomorrow morning, like I said," Eliot said. "Lawyers don't like to be rushed when they're covering your assets. Unless of course you'd rather we sent it over outside normal business hours -- then we could have it sent to your place, probably around midnight."

Which would be one way to making sure he wasn't burning the midnight oil in his office, during Parker's break in later.

Deon
"I've got some plans this evening," Deon said. "A few last minute things I've got to take care of, but that should be over by midnight. Yes, that will be fine."

A few loose ends to tie up to make sure there weren't any unpleasantries that might get in the way of Silverman Baghs giving him that contract. No matter how they really did business, a warrant out for his arrest for fraud would make that offer vanish into thin air, no matter how much money he made on Navy Pier.

He'd send Heyes and a few of the boys around to some of the more troublesome folks tonight, yes.

"As soon as I get a copy of that contract, I'll get the money together," he said. "And buy into Navy Pier."


[ooc: preplayed with the ever delightful age_of_the_geek and whoisalicewhite]

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