Page 25 of The Perfect Poise

“Sure,” Beth volunteered. “Marcus Blackwell, fifty-three years old. Chairman, CEO, and founder of Blackwell Enterprises International Group, or BEING. Estimated net worth is $144 billion.”

“Jeez,” Jessie couldn’t help but mutter under her breath.

“Everyone knows the guy as this self-made billionaire, which is kind of true,” Beth continued, “but his competitors might take issue with that.”

“Because he ripped them off?” Ryan recalled.

“That’s their claim,” Beth said. “He made his first billion off a social media site called People Pages, which was accused of simply copying Facebook. By the time that lawsuit went to court, he’d already created Peopster, which, despite its name, was a Twitter knock-off and not a porn site. The there was PeopTube—also not a porn site but one that operated suspiciously like YouTube.”

“Wow, it’s like he’s not even trying to hide it,” Jessie marveled.

“Right,” Beth said. “And those are just the biggies. He has almost a dozen other platforms, sites, and apps that mimic more well-known ones. He’s been able to fend off serious legal consequences for years through appeals and delays. Occasionally, he settles with the smaller companies but never with the big ones."

“I can’t believe he hasn’t been nailed for any of this yet,” Ryan said as they reached the entrance to the parking garage.

“According to what I’ve read,” Beth said, “it’s been hard to hold him accountable partly because these sites are just slightly different enough from the originals to muddy the waters. Plus, many people, including some jury members, seem to find the way he flaunts these obvious knock-off sites to be charming. Some court watchers also think his celebrity status, or more accurately, his infamy, has helped him. The fights, the car crashes, dating famous women like Isabella Moreno, have made him seem like a lovable rogue to some people.”

“Yeah, well, we’re about to find out how loveable he really is,” Ryan said. “We’re almost to the parking garage and will likely lose you down there, so we’ll end it here. Is the squad car almost here?”

“I just got an alert that your backup officers are waiting for you on the lobby level,” Jamil replied.

“Great,” Ryan said. “Let them know we’ll be joining them momentarily. And please text us if you learn anything pressing while we’re up there.”

“Will do,” Beth promised.

Ryan pulled into the garage, which immediately dropped precipitously downward. To Jessie, it felt like they were entering the belly of the beast.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"I won't say it again," Ryan said firmly. "Unlock access to the top floor, or we will help you unlock it.”

Jessie watched nervously to see how this would play out. They were standing at the bank of elevators on the lobby level of the north tower, where they’d been engaged in acrimonious negotiations with the tower’s security for five minutes now.

When they’d first arrived, they were greeted by the security guard manning the reception desk, an amiable heavyset gentleman named Gary with a shock of curly red hair and freckles who struck Jessie as the incarnation of an adult, male Little Orphan Annie. He initially had no problem sending them up, along with the two uniformed LAPD officers that stood beside them.

It was only when Gary called up to inform the folks at BEING that they’d have law enforcement visitors that he got pushback. Jessie could hear a voice on the line insist that they not be allowed up. Clearly startled by the response, Gary called his supervisor for help. He got a lot more than he expected. Within sixty seconds, the supervisor and three other security guards arrived.

The supervisor, a middle-aged guy with thinning gray hair who didn’t have a nametag like Gary’s, informed them that this was private property and that they’d need a search warrant to access the premises.

“We’re not trying to search the place,” Ryan said slowly, trying to keep things civil. “We just need to interview someone in relation to an investigation we’re conducting.”

“Nonetheless,” the security chief replied, “we’ve been instructed not to permit you access to a private workplace.”

It went back and forth like that for a few minutes. Ryan made his case, and the security chief repeated the same objections. Finally, Ryan sighed heavily and turned to Jessie.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.

She was sure that he was.

“Exigent circumstances?” she guessed.

He nodded and turned back to the increasingly agitated security chief.

“What’s your name, sir?” Ryan asked.

“Clingan,” the man replied.

“Is that a first name or a last name?”

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