Once upon a time, Naomi noticed someone posting as her on the Internet. Ordinarily identity theft would be a problem; however, identity theft proved a disaster in Naomi’s case. Her catering supply business ran into danger. While the Internet offered new business pipelines, her catering supply business pipelined into the area catering—parties, dining, receptions for bored brokers and bankers. When High Frequency Trading HFT had been moved from Wall Street and installed in the Middle West United States, Naomi’s catering business moved along with High Frequency Trading. High Frequency Trading profit jumped. Naomi’s business profit jumped. Unfortunately, impersonation and hacking jumped with it.

Thoroughbred though she was, Naomi wanted impersonation stopped. As soon as she noticed the identity theft, she started having nightmares about lakes. Figuratively underwater bubbled into her waking hours: soon her business would be underwater. One day she woke up and decided she and her identify theft could generate business for law enforcement. High Frequency Trading. Catering. Law Enforcement. Who knew? She was worried about diverted web traffic. After a day, Naomi hired a retired law enforcement agent who now worked as a private investigator and went by the screen name Beauty Pageant Queen.

Naomi glanced around her first bored brokers and bankers party of the season. Less bored, thanks, to Naomi. Carrying her clipboard and checking all was well, Naomi was at a reception when she felt her tablet ping. “Rodolfo,” she said, “cover for me.” She turned quickly and headed to the female logo on the restroom door. She stopped. Someone had removed the logos. She considered going to Family Restroom, for ultimate privacy since no families with children were attending this reception, but she headed into what she recalled was the ladies room. Frowning, she couldn’t wait but speeded into the closest stall on the end. She was savvy enough to listen for other patrons. If she had to, she could leave in two steps on the tile, make a sharp turn around the corner, open the door, and make the hallway. She would remember to ask about the missing logos and punched a reminder into her tablet.

Two trainees from the world’s smallest ISP confronted each other. Although further down the row, they were in separate restroom stalls, their conversation connected them through the ether.

“You’re a liar.  You have a chance at my husband.”

About me

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