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Giuseppe assigned Bob to conduct a thorough security sweep in the conference room, given the high-stakes nature of our situation. Bob was meticulously searching for any surveillance devices or bugs that could compromise the confidentiality of our communications.
But in our case, the threat was part of our strategy. We were not merely potential victims of a breach—we were active participants in our own subterfuge. A breach was not just a security failure but a calculated opportunity. We intended to feed the enemy exactly what we wanted them to know. It was a dance on the knife’s edge, a game of smoke and mirrors, where every move counted.
Bob's task was double-edged. His job was to identify the bugs, not just for the purpose of removal, but for us to manipulate their presence to our advantage. Each listening device was a potential mouthpiece, a channel through which we could control the narrative, shape the enemy's perception, and steer the course of this clandestine war.
The tension in the room was palpable as we waited for Bob to complete his sweep. The anticipation was not laced with fear but rather a sense of tactical excitement. We were not just passive players reacting to an external threat; we were strategists, turning the tables on our adversaries.
The door to the meeting space creaked open, revealing Bob, our able-bodied security professional. A grin replaced his usual serious expression as he announced, "I've located three bugs. They're hidden within the conference room."
A ripple of excitement passed through us, and knowing smiles appeared on our faces. "Get in touch with Giuseppe," I instructed Bob, "and inform him about what we've found. Also, remind him about our upcoming video conference with Joe Vandenburg, the lead attorney on the Golden Key Project patent case."
Mitch added, "Giuseppe met Vandenburg at my wedding. He'll appreciate the connection."
Bob nodded, leaving the bugs in place as planned. His face was a mask of professionalism, belying the thrill of the game we were all playing. Our trap was set, and now it was time to bait our unsuspecting prey.
He relayed the information to Giuseppe as we all huddled under the awning of the front porch. The rain in San Diego was a rare spectacle, droplets pattering against the roof and the pavement in a rhythmic pattern. We were all outside, not to watch the rare occurrence of a storm but to make sure Bob's conversation with Giuseppe was not picked up by the bugs still in the conference room.
His voice was a soft baritone, almost lost amidst the rain, yet we managed to catch the crucial bits. "Yes, Giuseppe... three of them... yes, still in place... Video conference with Vandenburg, yes."
Giuseppe put Bob on hold, and the conversation paused as he presumably reached out to Vandenburg. The silence was filled with the symphony of the rain and our anxious breaths. Each of us was immersed in our thoughts, contemplating the next steps.
After a moment, his earpiece buzzed back to life. "Giuseppe... yes, we're ready... Understood," he affirmed, ending the conversation. He turned to us, a hard, resolute look in his eyes. Now, we were waiting on Giuseppe's instructions and Vandenburg's report. The game had begun.
The storm started to ease, the harsh downpour fading into a drizzle. We began to shake off the tension, letting the conversation drift to lighter topics, like our postponed golf game and the upcoming weekend plans.
Just as Ryder described a particularly challenging hole at Coronado Pines, the hushed buzz of Bob's earpiece sliced through our chatter. The conversation ground to a halt as Bob pressed a hand to his ear, his face growing serious. "Giuseppe," he said, the name floating in the air, followed by a pause as he listened intently.
"Understood. New witness, you say... Yes, will relay." He ended the call, turning to us with a new intensity in his gaze.
"Giuseppe has spoken to Vandenburg," he informed us, his voice cutting through the lingering murmur of the rain. "Vandenburg is ready to report a new witness has come forward but a deposition has yet to be scheduled. However, for the sake of anyone who might be listening, he will not mention the deposition during the actual video conference.”
A new ripple of excitement ran through us. This was a game-changer. It was clear that Vandenburg was in on our ruse and was ready to play along. We all nodded, sharing a look of understanding.
With the rain now little more than a gentle patter, we made our way back inside, gearing up for the video conference. Finally, the pieces were falling into place, and we were ready to make our next move.
Before we filed back into the conference room, Bob double-checked the covert devices. He took out a small device from his pocket, a frequency scanner, and held it in the air, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The scanner blinked a few times, indicating the bugs were still active. Bob nodded in satisfaction, tucking the scanner back into his pocket.
"Good to go," he announced, stepping aside to let us back into the room.
Chase had already booted up the video conferencing equipment. The room hummed with the familiar sound of the system coming to life. The large screen at the front of the room flickered on, casting a blue glow across the polished conference table. Chase dialed in the details, and within moments, the face of Joe Vandenburg, our lead attorney, filled the screen.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Vandenburg began, his voice crisp and clear through the speakers. His usual stern countenance was replaced with an unusual glint in his eyes. "I have good news."
We leaned in, our collective breaths held in anticipation.
"A new witness has come forward in the case,” he announced. His voice was rich with satisfaction, a stark contrast to the seriousness of the matter. "This individual claims to have concrete evidence that Valley Technology had stolen the plans for the Golden Key Project from Rosedale. As we are aware, they've sold it to the state of California, just as Rosedale intended to do."
We shared satisfied glances. The strategic game had begun, and we were performing our roles with precision. But we were acutely aware that this was merely the beginning. The subsequent maneuvers would be crucial in pressuring our suspect—hopefully on the edge of revealing themselves—to step forward and negotiate.
Just as we were absorbing Vandenburg's news, my phone buzzed with a new message. I glanced at it quickly, noting it was a notification from the Signal app:
You have a message from Courtney Thompson.
Not wanting to interrupt the flow of the meeting, I chose to check the message later.
As the video call ended, my phone vibrated again, displaying the same message. My heart rate spiked. It was unlike Courtney to send two messages quickly, especially when she knew it was still office hours.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," I said, standing abruptly. The scrape of my chair against the polished floor echoed in the now quiet room. "We need to step outside."
