Bitcoin Bandits Page 3

  Thomas raised an eyebrow at the man.

  “Bitcoin’s cool,” the man said, reaching over, grabbing a drink in a coffee cup with a black lid and took a sip. “I prefer Litecoin, though.”

  “Why’s that, if you don’t mind my asking?” Thomas took a sip and leaned back. He noticed a man at the end of the bar seemed intent on listening to their conversation now.

  “Well, it’s cheaper for one. I like owning whole investments, not fractions. Bitcoin’s worth its value, but it's expensive to buy a whole one. Shit, I believe someday it’ll be a hundred times its value.” The bartender's eyes went wide. “But when that happens, Litecoin may be worth a thousand times its value.”

  “One-hundred thousand percent return?” the stranger at the end of the bar said. “Good luck with that.” He turned back to his newspaper.

  The bartender shrugged. “Litecoin’s been almost one dollar I think, and it’s been up to almost three hundred at one point. There’s tons of people who got rich off it, and I plan to be one of them.”

  “Why would you want to invest in something like that?” the stranger said.

  “Why wouldn’t you?” The bartender laughed. “It's risky sure, but I love it.”

  “Gambling is what it is,” the stranger said. “Anonymous gambling.”

  “I guess you could call it that.” The bartender took another sip of coffee. “But if you ask me the risk to reward is so much greater. You just gotta keep it safe is all. That’s the hard part.”

  “Litecoin. . .” Thomas said under his breath.

  “If you’re interested, I’ll get you a referral link,” the bartender said.

  Thomas waved it off with a smile. “I’m an old stock dog.”

  Ten minutes passed, as the bartender had put on some music and turned down the commercials to the game. The first song was Gigantic by the Pixies, which Thomas recognized, but the next songs were newer, and he didn’t know them.

  “Mind if I ask you another question?” Thomas asked the bartender, and the man nodded, pouring more soda water into his glass with the gun. “You said you own other cryptocurrencies. Why do you own them if you believe in Litecoin so much?”

  “More risk, more reward,” he said flatly.

  “So, they’re like your small caps, aggressive, or penny stocks?”

  The bartender nodded. “One of my favorites grew over one million percent before. I wasn’t in it yet, but again, someone made a shit ton off that one.”

  “What’s the name of that one?” Thomas asked.

  “Verge,” the man said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Thomas laughed with his hands on his pant legs. “One million percent in a year? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Hey, man, it’s just math.” The bartender shrugged. “Look, if you’re really interested, and you understand stocks, go through the market caps of these stocks. Verge was something tiny, like point, zero, zero, zero, zero, one of a cent. Then it went to twenty-five cents. Here, the bartender took a bar-napkin and scribbled on it, sliding it over to Thomas after. It was a website. Check it out, it's all there.”

  “Thanks, I will,” Thomas said, sliding it into his pocket.

  “Don’t buy any of that shit.” The stranger ruffled his newspaper. “It's all a scam.”

  Thomas chuckled. “Hard to argue with one million percent gains, you have any idea how much a five-hundred-dollar investment would turn into with that? You wouldn’t risk that much?”

  “No way,” the man said, still staring at his paper.

  The iPhone buzzed on the bar, and Thomas picked it up. The text was anonymous, as they always were on those government phones before you enter your passcode. He did and saw it was from Wyatt.

  It read:

  We need you back in.

  Now we’ve got a body.

  It’s the guy I mentioned.

  Joon Chang-Min.

  Chapter Five

  Still clutching onto his bag, Thomas found himself back inside Wyatt’s office. The only difference now was the sun hung a little lower in the sky beyond his desk, and the feeling that a case he hadn’t even started yet had become one of murder.

  Wyatt had a heavier look on his face; his bushy eyebrows frowned and the wrinkles on his forehead grew deeper. As Thomas entered, Wyatt looked up at him and cast a manila envelope on the desk, showing the picture he’d been glaring at.

  “Get a load of this.” He spun his chair toward the large window with the cityscape of D.C. in the background. A large bird flew past at a frightening speed. It was so large, and with such a long wingspan, it must have been a hawk, Thomas thought.

  Thomas grabbed the envelope and glanced at the color picture with the white bleed around it. It was of a young Korean man sitting up, with his head leaning back on an expensive, blue-leather office chair like some sort of professional video-gamer would use, and his hands lay loosely over a blood covered shirt many times larger than a person his size would wear. Joon’s eyes were opened wide, showing the true anguish of his last living moments behind his thick glasses.

  “Terrible.” Thomas put the picture on the back side of the envelope, stuck his hand inside, and looked to Wyatt for confirmation to proceed.

  Wyatt nodded. “Go ahead.”

  Thomas sat, crossed his legs and pulled the contents from the packet. It was roughly twenty pages, most of them more photos from the crime scene, including the trail of blood that led from the computer desk to the outside door, patio, and then back to the desk.

  “Fucker tortured him with a knife.” Wyatt rubbed the sides of his head. “What kind of man uses a knife like that? Couldn’t he have just put a gun to the side of the programmer’s head like a normal psychopath?”

  “I see your dark sense of humor hasn’t changed,” Thomas said, scratching the back of his hand. “This is pretty sick stuff, though. Someone’s either out to get information or cover something up. But why kill someone in such a way to cover their trail? It doesn’t make it look any less suspicious. The person who did this. . . enjoyed it.”

  “You don’t need to go to the crime scene unless you decide. . .” Wyatt ran his hand down his tie, with his knee bobbing up and down.

  “I’m no homicide investigator,” Thomas said, laying the photos, papers and envelope flat on the desk, “I investigate money trails, money fraud, things like that. You may not even need me for this.”

  “They’ve got the local P.D. on the case out there,” Wyatt said. “Surely they have their best detectives on it. I don’t need you looking into the murder of this programmer, but like you said, it's absolutely involved in what you’ll be looking into. All I’m saying is—you don’t have to go to the scene, but you may want to be in contact with the detectives out there, in case they find a link.”

  “Just as long as they know I’m looking for funds, not bones.”

  “I don’t think they’d appreciate an American detective working on the case of a murdered South Korean in their own capital city. This story’s about more than money. I have a feeling this won’t be the only body they find with the way this poor soul got it in the end.”

  “Well,” Thomas said, “I may stop by the scene, just in case there’s something I need to check out. But I’ll be starting on the basics first, then I’ll need to go to the BitX headquarters, for sure. There’s got to be a trail of where the money went. Nothing’s untraceable, you just have to know where to look.”

  “You’ll be meeting up with an expert out there that we’ll set you up with. We’re just looking for a reliable one; one that’s not deeply in the pocket of the government out there.”

  Thomas laughed. “I was about to ask you if I need to worry about corruption out there, but then I remembered where I am right now. The capital of corruption.”

  Wyatt frowned and laughed himself with a clap of his hands. “I’m not going to be the one to refute that. Not after the cases we’ve been through together in this city.”

  “Where there’s enough greed to show a person’
s true colors, I hate to say it, but I rarely find anyone who’ll do what is right over what lines their own pockets,” Thomas said.

  “I hear Bernie Sanders is pretty upstanding.” Wyatt smirked. “Whether you’re on the right or the left, not many can argue with that. Except he has a beach house.”

  “Yeah,” Thomas said. “He may be the only honest one in Washington, even if he’s a little kooky.”

  “Remember,” Wyatt said, “when you’re out there to be careful. It looks like there’s more than guys in suits moving money around on this one. Just find the money and come home.”

  Thomas stood, and his chair let out a gentle creek. Wyatt stood and shook Thomas’ hand with a firm grip.

  “Be in touch,” Wyatt said, “safe travels.”

  Thomas nodded with a quick smile. “See you.”

  Thomas made his way down to the ground floor; a thought came to him. A thought too pervasive to brush off, even if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. He missed her too much.

  He said goodbye to the guards at the entrance—working the metal detectors—and made his way out the door and down the stairs. Pulling his personal cell phone from his pocket, he unlocked it and went to his favorites section, and this thumb pressed on the name at the top of the list, Sarah.

  Taking a deep breath, he put the phone up to the right side of his head, as people walked by in both directions on the sidewalk in the warm, afternoon air. As the phone rang, and the trees above rustled in the breeze, he thought of the things he wanted to say.

  Sarah, it's me. . . I’m leaving the country again. . . No. . .

  Hey kiddo, it's been a long time. . . No. . .

  I’m sorry for being gone so much. . . I’ve missed you. . . Not bad. . . but maybe not the best way to start the conversation, or maybe it would be. . .

  Then the phone clicked over to voicemail.

  ‘Hi, you’ve reached Sarah, leave a message if you want, or just text. Thanks. Bye.’

  Thomas began, “Uh, Sarah, hi. It's your dad. Just calling to say hi, I already said that. . . I’m just heading out for work and wanted to say I miss you. I think about you a lot.” He scratched his chin, looking down both directions of the street. “I hope life is treating you well. I’ll call you when I get back.” He sighed, and his shoulders relaxed. “Take care of yourself. I love you. OK, bye.”

  Thomas ended the call, and stared down at the phone screen, and the picture of his daughter taken years ago, a picture she’d sent him of her on one of her good days. It was a selfie she took of herself. Her red hair shimmered in the sunlight behind her, she had a wide smile across her face, and her eyes looked magical.

  But that was years ago, and that was on one of her good days. . .

  Chapter Six

  In a beige four-walled hotel room on the second floor of a Marriott Thomas sat on the double bed with his clothes still on, his shoes positioned by the door, and with his laptop lying next to him. Upon his lap was a tray of room service. He’d opted for breakfast.

  The window was cracked open a couple of inches, letting in the sounds of the city; the sound of car tires tearing around corners, the sound of whipping flags outside of his window, and people talking—most likely on their cells, he thought. He took a bite of his bagel sandwich. The eggs were scrambled and mushy, as if cooked in a microwave, but the bacon wasn’t overcooked. American cheese though. . . when are they going to stop with this shit? People would never eat this shit if it wasn’t designed to be patriotic.

  He wiped the grease off his right hand and grabbed the remote control for the TV. It turned on with a flicker of light that cast itself upon the room, and Fox News came on. Giant alligator appears on Florida Golf Course, was the tag-line beneath the far-too attractive blond woman mouthing words from a card she was reading from.

  His thumb itched to change the channel, but he had to admit to himself he wanted, no, needed to see this alligator. They dragged it on, but just as he finished his sandwich and moved onto the ovular hash brown, they finally showed it. It didn’t look real to him. The camera was low to the ground, and close to it with golfers far off behind.

  “Fake news.” He pressed down on the ‘guide’ button.

  He flipped to PBS, and let it play. It was an episode of Downton Abbey. He’d seen all the episodes, so he didn’t mind letting it play in the background while he watched the drapes of the window flap from the cool, summer breeze.

  Looking at his watch, it was 7:46. He decided he’d start researching at 8:00. He finished his greasy hash brown, wiped his hands, and took a drink of Diet Coke. Thomas only drank pop while traveling, and only this or Ginger Ale. He felt a buzzing in his pocket then. His hopes peaked as he thought it might be his private phone.

  Pulling out the government phone though, he unlocked it to find a text from Wyatt.

  It said: If you’re by a TV, turn to MSNBC, or go to their website.

  He laid the phone on the nightstand and found his way to the channel.

  There was a press conference happening—in South Korea.

  The man at the podium was immaculately dressed, in a pinstripe, navy suit. He was young for being such a professional looking man, perhaps only twenty-seven to thirty. His black hair was freshly cut and groomed back smoothly and was short on both sides. He wore thin-framed glasses, was thin but had a slightly pudgy face, and had a mole on his right cheek.

  The headline beneath him read: Li Wei, CEO of BitX addresses massive hack.

  He was already speaking to the press, and into the dozen-or-so mics. Behind him was a vibrant-green park. Thomas thought that was unusual for such a press meeting. Normally you’d see a long-standing government building of some sort behind someone talking about ‘how they’re going to find the culprits of billions of dollars missing.’ Thomas always called it the Rumsfeld Conference, after days before 9/11, Donald Rumsfeld gave a presser about how trillions of dollars had mysteriously vanished, and they were going to find the thieves. Funny how they never did. . . and that was trillions of dollars. Who has the capacity to even steal that much money and get away with it? And that was all taxpayer money.

  Li Wei spoke eloquently, in a fairly-thick Korean accent, but all of his English was understandable. “We are doing all we can. . .” he said. “We are working with local authorities. . . The stolen funds are being investigated. . .”

  All the usual stuff. . .

  Thomas wasn’t as much listening to the man’s words as paying attention to the signals in his speech. His tone of voice, his posture, the way he spoke about funds. He could tell by the way he said funds, and Bitcoin, he loved money. That kind of love that was almost equivalent to a marriage, or a dog you’d had since she was a pup. This was Wei’s passion in life, and Thomas knew he was deeply troubled by this theft. His brown eyes were glossy, his voice faintly quivered, and there was a tone of anger in there. He was pissed. But who wouldn’t be? That’s a ton of money.

  Thomas thought of the questions he was going to ask the CEO when he’d be able to sit with him in the next couple of days, but then he looked down at his watch—8:06. He stood and went over to a blue armchair by the window after grabbing his laptop. He unfolded it and lay it on his lap.

  The sounds of car tires screeching around a corner came through the crack in the window, and a woman shouting for the car to slow down. He reached into his pocket and looked at the piece of the paper the bartender had written on earlier. Thomas went to the domain the man told him to. A simple market cap website that recorded volume for cryptocurrencies.

  Bitcoin was at the top of the list of many other coins. . . many other coins. On the first page of the site alone, there were one hundred different ones. He saw ones with names that sounded reasonable for these trendy new technologies; he saw Verge, one called Nano, another called NEO. But he saw others with stranger names.

  “Who puts their hard-earned money in something called Dogecoin?” he asked himself.

  He scrolled back up to the top of the site. The price of
Bitcoin, down six percent that day alone. In fact, every single one of the cryptos was in the red. Some down by forty percent in one day. Each of them took a dramatic downturn since the day of the hack.

  Next thing he noticed was the total market cap. There’s less than a trillion dollars total in this market. No wonder it fluctuates this much. But what can go down easily, can also go up. . .

  Thomas clicked on Bitcoin to delve deeper into the number 1 crypto. Scrolling down he found the chart that showed Bitcoin’s price fluctuation in its entirety since 2012. Thomas assumed that’s when it was created. The oldest price he found was to be around $100. He saw that at its peak, it had been to around $20,000.

  “Not bad for the ones who got in early. . .”

  But Bitcoin’s price had been falling/trending downward since the spike that caused its price to go into the 5-digit area. Thomas leaned into his computer.

  “Hmm, interesting,” he said, subtly biting his lip. “Looks like a pattern going on. The cycles look similar, a big double-bottom seems to be forming, and the RSI looks oversold.”

  “It appears it’s probably not a bad time to buy in,” he said, leaning back. “That’s if it wasn’t getting hacked.” He remembered his time back working with the SEC in 2008. He was one of the main investigators into the financial crisis caused by the banks. “There are crooks everywhere though.”

  He went to Google and typed in, ‘what is Bitcoin’. The first thing that came up was the dictionary’s definition of Bitcoin that came up, but what really grabbed his attention was over to the right side of the screen. It was the Wikipedia synopsis.

  It read:

  Bitcoin is a cryptocurrency, a form of electronic cash. It is a decentralized digital currency without a central bank or single administrator that can be sent from user-to-user on the peer-to-peer Bitcoin network without the need for intermediaries

  Thomas sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “No banks. . . interesting. . . But if it's decentralized, then who monitors it?”