About That Night
Page 58
That settled, Kyle turned his focus to work and contemplated the significance of today’s journey. Specifically, that this would be the first time he’d returned to Champaign since the day his mother died. He hadn’t intentionally avoided the place; things had just worked out that way. For several months after her accident, he’d been overseeing matters for his father and simply hadn’t had the chance. Things had been so busy, in fact, that Dex had even packed up Kyle’s things and driven his car up to Chicago.
Eventually, the situation with his father had improved, but by that point Kyle had begun blazing a trail up the corporate ladder at Rhodes Corporation. Shortly thereafter, Dex had moved to Chicago to open his first bar in Wrigleyville, and the two of them, and the rest of their guy friends, fell into a lifestyle of working hard during the week and having a good time on the weekends—clubs, women, beach volleyball, and boat parties on the lake during the summer months, football in Lincoln Park and pickup basketball games at East Bank Club when the weather turned cooler.
Not a bad life. Far from it. Although perhaps a life that had begun to feel a bit superficial as Kyle had settled into his thirties.
And now here he was. Thirty-three years old with a prison record—but also with a chance to make a fresh start. Rhodes Network Consulting LLC was his opportunity to show everyone what he was capable of other than being the Twitter Terrorist. He’d had a great career at Rhodes Corporation, while it had lasted, and he had no regrets about working for his father. But now it was time to take the plunge and build something he could call his own.
And pray like hell that he didn’t fall flat on his face while doing it.
As part of his business strategy, Kyle had e-mailed Professor Roc Sharma, his former PhD advisor and the head of UIUC’s Department of Computer Sciences, and had asked if they could meet. Sharma had indicated that he was available today, but he hadn’t said much more.
After Kyle had dropped out of the PhD program following his mother’s car accident, Sharma had been understanding and sympathetic. They’d exchanged e-mails periodically over the years and had remained on friendly terms. They had not, however, had any communication since he’d been convicted in federal court on several counts of cyber-crime.
Safe to say that was a big no-no in the eyes of the Department of Computer Sciences.
Kyle had no idea what to expect when he walked into his former mentor’s office. He was encouraged, at least, by the fact that Sharma had taken the time to respond. Then again, the professor had always been known for his long-winded lectures—perhaps he simply couldn’t resist the opportunity to deliver one personally to the Twitter Terrorist.
Thus, with no small amount of uncertainty, Kyle turned off the highway and drove to the northeast side of campus. The Department of Computer Sciences was in Urbana, an impressive minicampus befitting its status as one of the top computer science programs in the country.
He parked at the main building on Goodwin Avenue and climbed out of the Mercedes. Before him stood an impressive, ultramodern 225,000-square-foot structure made of glass, copper, and steel. The computer science building had won awards from both the Illinois Engineering Council and the American Institute of Architects for its skillful use of natural light, open spaces, red iron interior, and internal terraces—all of which had been made possible by a $65 million grant from the man whose name had been etched proudly over the main entrance.
GREY RHODES CENTER
for computer science
Kyle walked through those doors, passing directly underneath the words. Inside, he knew exactly where he was going; he’d spent many an hour in this building during his six years of undergrad and graduate school. Sharma’s office was on the third floor, along with the rest of the faculty offices.
Because it was the last week before finals, the building was hopping. He walked up the main staircase, an open structure made of glass, steel, and brick. Students passed him in the opposite direction, and he wondered how long it would take before someone recognized him.
All of about ten seconds.
A student, about twenty years old and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that read “I’m not anti-social, I’m just not user-friendly,” was the first to ID him. Spotting Kyle while heading down the stairs, he stopped dead in his tracks on the landing.
“Oh my God, it’s you,” he whispered in a reverent tone. He grabbed the shirt of the student behind him. “Look.”
The second guy peered down at Kyle, and his face broke out in a grin. “Ho-ly shit. The Twitter Terrorist, in the flesh.”
Kyle gave them a curt nod. “Hello.” He passed them on the stairs and kept on going.
“Hey, wait!”
The two students did an about-face and followed him. Kyle could already hear the murmurs starting as more and more people noticed him.
Great.
His two “fans” caught up with him, flanking him on each side. “Dude, we studied you in my Computer Security II class,” the second guy said enthusiastically.
“Your attack on Twitter was insane,” the T-shirt guy chimed in. “They said it was the most sophisticated hijacking they’d ever experienced. Even the FBI couldn’t stop it.”
“So what’s your secret?” the second student asked. “Smurf attack? Ping of death? SYN flood?”
“Lots of single-malt Scotch,” Kyle said dryly.
The T-shirt guy laughed. “So cool. You are a legend.”
Time to set the record straight. Kyle turned around at the top of the stairs and faced them. “Okay, kids—listen up. Cyber-crime isn’t cool, it’s stupid. And you know what else isn’t cool? Being convicted by the U.S. Attorney’s Office and going to prison. Trust me, that will come back to bite you in the ass in ways you can’t even fathom.”
Eventually, the situation with his father had improved, but by that point Kyle had begun blazing a trail up the corporate ladder at Rhodes Corporation. Shortly thereafter, Dex had moved to Chicago to open his first bar in Wrigleyville, and the two of them, and the rest of their guy friends, fell into a lifestyle of working hard during the week and having a good time on the weekends—clubs, women, beach volleyball, and boat parties on the lake during the summer months, football in Lincoln Park and pickup basketball games at East Bank Club when the weather turned cooler.
Not a bad life. Far from it. Although perhaps a life that had begun to feel a bit superficial as Kyle had settled into his thirties.
And now here he was. Thirty-three years old with a prison record—but also with a chance to make a fresh start. Rhodes Network Consulting LLC was his opportunity to show everyone what he was capable of other than being the Twitter Terrorist. He’d had a great career at Rhodes Corporation, while it had lasted, and he had no regrets about working for his father. But now it was time to take the plunge and build something he could call his own.
And pray like hell that he didn’t fall flat on his face while doing it.
As part of his business strategy, Kyle had e-mailed Professor Roc Sharma, his former PhD advisor and the head of UIUC’s Department of Computer Sciences, and had asked if they could meet. Sharma had indicated that he was available today, but he hadn’t said much more.
After Kyle had dropped out of the PhD program following his mother’s car accident, Sharma had been understanding and sympathetic. They’d exchanged e-mails periodically over the years and had remained on friendly terms. They had not, however, had any communication since he’d been convicted in federal court on several counts of cyber-crime.
Safe to say that was a big no-no in the eyes of the Department of Computer Sciences.
Kyle had no idea what to expect when he walked into his former mentor’s office. He was encouraged, at least, by the fact that Sharma had taken the time to respond. Then again, the professor had always been known for his long-winded lectures—perhaps he simply couldn’t resist the opportunity to deliver one personally to the Twitter Terrorist.
Thus, with no small amount of uncertainty, Kyle turned off the highway and drove to the northeast side of campus. The Department of Computer Sciences was in Urbana, an impressive minicampus befitting its status as one of the top computer science programs in the country.
He parked at the main building on Goodwin Avenue and climbed out of the Mercedes. Before him stood an impressive, ultramodern 225,000-square-foot structure made of glass, copper, and steel. The computer science building had won awards from both the Illinois Engineering Council and the American Institute of Architects for its skillful use of natural light, open spaces, red iron interior, and internal terraces—all of which had been made possible by a $65 million grant from the man whose name had been etched proudly over the main entrance.
GREY RHODES CENTER
for computer science
Kyle walked through those doors, passing directly underneath the words. Inside, he knew exactly where he was going; he’d spent many an hour in this building during his six years of undergrad and graduate school. Sharma’s office was on the third floor, along with the rest of the faculty offices.
Because it was the last week before finals, the building was hopping. He walked up the main staircase, an open structure made of glass, steel, and brick. Students passed him in the opposite direction, and he wondered how long it would take before someone recognized him.
All of about ten seconds.
A student, about twenty years old and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that read “I’m not anti-social, I’m just not user-friendly,” was the first to ID him. Spotting Kyle while heading down the stairs, he stopped dead in his tracks on the landing.
“Oh my God, it’s you,” he whispered in a reverent tone. He grabbed the shirt of the student behind him. “Look.”
The second guy peered down at Kyle, and his face broke out in a grin. “Ho-ly shit. The Twitter Terrorist, in the flesh.”
Kyle gave them a curt nod. “Hello.” He passed them on the stairs and kept on going.
“Hey, wait!”
The two students did an about-face and followed him. Kyle could already hear the murmurs starting as more and more people noticed him.
Great.
His two “fans” caught up with him, flanking him on each side. “Dude, we studied you in my Computer Security II class,” the second guy said enthusiastically.
“Your attack on Twitter was insane,” the T-shirt guy chimed in. “They said it was the most sophisticated hijacking they’d ever experienced. Even the FBI couldn’t stop it.”
“So what’s your secret?” the second student asked. “Smurf attack? Ping of death? SYN flood?”
“Lots of single-malt Scotch,” Kyle said dryly.
The T-shirt guy laughed. “So cool. You are a legend.”
Time to set the record straight. Kyle turned around at the top of the stairs and faced them. “Okay, kids—listen up. Cyber-crime isn’t cool, it’s stupid. And you know what else isn’t cool? Being convicted by the U.S. Attorney’s Office and going to prison. Trust me, that will come back to bite you in the ass in ways you can’t even fathom.”
