The man lived a life of luxury.
He was the head of a multi-million-pound company and was making money hand over fist. He wasn’t going to mow his own lawn.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ Etheridge offered, walking through the archway to the right and into the pristine kitchen Sam had seen through the window. ‘Beer? Gin?’
‘Water is fine,’ Sam responded as he followed.
‘You sure?’
Sam nodded. Etheridge reached out and tugged at a huge handle, the gigantic fridge opening and bathing him in a halogen glow. He pulled out a bottle of mineral water and a bottle of Peroni, pinging the lid off on the bottle opener affixed to the metal door. He handed the bottle to Sam.
‘Cheers.’
‘It’s bad luck to cheers with water.’ Etheridge smirked, taking a swig. ‘It’s good to see you, Sam.’
‘You too, Paul. You’ve got a lovely house.’
‘Meh, the wife loves it. It’s a little big for just the two of us but it’s unlikely we’ll have anyone else joining us anytime soon.’
Sam detected the noticeable disappointment in his friend’s voice and decided to side step that avenue of conversation. Some parts of a marriage are best kept behind closed doors.
‘Fucking awful what happened to Theo.’ Etheridge took another sip, leaning against the metal counter. ‘We missed you at the funeral.’
‘I was there,’ Sam said proudly.
‘Well you were always able to blend into the surroundings. It’s what made you so damn good.’ Etheridge finished the bottle and quickly replenished it with another. He looked embarrassed as he sipped it, worried that Sam would disapprove of a man who had everything clearly needing alcohol to get by. Sam didn’t pass any judgment.
Everyone had their demons.
He knew that more than anyone.
Before Sam could speak, the clicking of heels echoed through the house and Kayleigh stepped into the kitchen. Wearing a white blouse, designer black jeans, and heels, she marched into the conversation, her heavily made-up face scowling below an expensive haircut. Etheridge stepped forward to embrace her, receiving a cold glance and offering Sam another insight into a life that was only luxurious to the outside world.
‘Honey, this is my old friend, Sam.’
‘I know who he is,’ Kayleigh snapped, her stern words betraying her upper-class lifestyle. ‘He’s the one from the telly. The one the police are after.’
Etheridge looked at Sam apologetically but before he could respond, Sam spoke.
‘You’re right. I’m sorry to turn up here at your lovely home but I need Paul’s help.’
‘You need to leave,’ Kayleigh barked, before turning to her husband, a look of disdain wrestling her make-up for domination of her face. ‘Get him out of here or I’m calling the police.’
Both men watched her stomp back towards the archway, her outfit hugging her tremendous figure. Sam could see why she would make the perfect trophy wife for a middle-aged entrepreneur, but Sam didn’t put his stock in beauty only being skin deep. Terrible people tend to show themselves to be unattractive, regardless of how much they spend to look ‘pretty’. Etheridge’s shoulders slumped and he turned back to Sam.
‘What do you need?’
‘I should go,’ Sam offered, resealing his water bottle and placing it on the side.
‘Nonsense. This is my house.’ Etheridge stated, more for himself than Sam. ‘Besides, I owe you.’
‘That’s not why I came.’
‘I know.’ Etheridge finished his second beer. ‘But none of this would have been possible without you. I don’t give a shit what they say on the news. We’re brothers and it’s going to take more than you killing some drug dealers for me to turn you away.’
Sam smiled and patted Etheridge on the arm.
‘Thanks, Paul.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ Etheridge opened the fridge and retrieved another cold beer. ‘Besides, it might be fun.’
Two hours later and Etheridge was sat in his loft converted office, the entire floor adapted into a slick, all white room with a large desk, four monitors, and enough computer power to send a rocket into space. The barrel of Sam’s gun was pressed against the back of his head, a bruise forming from the pressure. Sam had kept his finger off the trigger but insisted on holding a gun to Etheridge’s head. When the police inevitably questioned him, he could at least say that he was forced at gun point. A forensic specialist would be able to corroborate it and Etheridge would have been acting to preserve his life. Sam’s arms ached, but it was a small price to pay to keep his friend out of the firing line, the irony not lost on either of them as he held the gun to Etheridge’s skull. The air conditioning units controlled the temperature, the large shelves of data intimidated Sam, the clear glass giving him a view of a world he would never understand. It had taken Etheridge half an hour to hack into the London Borough of Brent’s CCTV network, the man throwing out terms like ‘wormholes’ and ‘data access channels’ like they would mean something.
Sam trusted him.
Etheridge may have shown himself to be locked in a loveless marriage, but the one thing he knew was how to hack into a system. It was what he did for his country out in the war zones he was sent to.
It was how he had built his fortune when he returned.
As Sam watched, equal parts impressed and baffled, Etheridge navigated through a number of secluded files, using a separate program to generate a passcode that allowed him to circumvent their security protocols and access their files undetected. When Sam queried how Etheridge even knew to do that, the response came with a victorious grin.
‘Because I fucking built it for them.’
Soon they were looking at a video feed from the night
