Sometimes I wondered why I had such a huge house. I’d lived alone my entire life aside from the orphanage where a dozen boys were practically stacked up on top of each other in one barracks style room. As weird as it sounds, I liked living with so many kids and never running out of friends to play with.
When I’d become a billionaire, I felt obligated to buy a shamelessly lavish house. Before then, my living conditions were modest. So when Pictogram blew up, my seven-bedroom seven-bathroom house in the Los Altos Hills was my first extravagant purchase, even though I’d be the only person living there.
Yep, I rattled around like loose teeth, all alone in this monstrosity.
But that was the billionaire way of doing things, and who am I to say no to it?
I renovated the place completely – adding a lighted tennis court, swimming pool, six-car garage, a theater, a gym, and a sauna. But my favorite place in the entire house was my office.
I spent most of my time when at home in my office. Huge floor to ceiling windows overlooked my pool and garden. The landscape architect had done a remarkable job with the outdoor space in the backyard. The deck and patio were masterfully designed to be a complete outdoor entertainment area with a fiberglass swimming pool with a waterslide, a covered outdoor kitchen, a fire pit, and a dining area.
Back when I first got this pad, I’d thrown many wild parties, but as I got older, those kinds of parties didn’t entice me anymore. Naked pool party orgies with the most beautiful women had been my thing, but I was bored with it now.
The women were boring too.
Because believe it or not, having sex with beautiful but boring women lost its charm. A woman could be gorgeous, but if I didn’t have anything in common with her, the relationship fell flat. The models and actresses I’d gone out with in the past knew absolutely nothing about computers, software, hardware, or internet entrepreneurship. Some barely knew basic computer terminology like what a browser was.
Seriously?
To be honest, I don’t think some of them knew what a mouse was, other than a rodent.
It was incredibly difficult to have a relationship with someone that I couldn’t talk to about my day to day life. The press loved to paint me as this womanizing playboy, and yes, I’d run through a fair share of beauties in my youth, but lately, my failed relationships weren’t because of a constant search for a new woman.
It was because I couldn’t find the right woman for me.
The media had a difficult time forgetting. I’d changed my ways, but no one bought it. Theodore Wainwright was still and always would be, a playboy to them.
The disconnect between how the public saw me and how I saw myself prompted me to examine my past. Was it a midlife crisis? Maybe. But some of my self-doubt happened because my birth parents were still a mystery to me. So, I constantly asked myself, Who am I really?
I knew who I had become – an internet mogul, a tech giant, a powerful son of a bitch.
But what was my history? My biological history? Where did I come from?
It shouldn’t have mattered. After all, I had everything. Literally, I could possess any physical object short of the moon. But somehow, there was a gaping hole inside, filled with questions.
So I did what any billionaire did. I hired a private investigator to answer them. Even though he was the best PI in the Bay Area, I doubted he’d come up with anything. My birth records were sealed.
Stupid bureaucracy. But money could fix it all.
In my office, I held a large manila envelope that was labeled, “Theo Wainwright - Birth Parents.” I tossed the envelope onto my desk and just stared at it in disbelief. Everything I’d always wondered about was right there in that envelope.
So close.
And yet my heart hammered hard.
In the orphanage, I’d wondered who my real parents were, but I was an adult now. Not just fully grown, but a tech mogul and a billionaire. Shouldn’t this identity crisis have been over by now? Did it even matter anymore?
Deep down inside, I knew what I was afraid of: learning why my parents had given me up. Whatever their reasons, they’d rejected me as a baby. Forty-five years ago, they’d looked down at me and decided to give me up. I didn’t even know who my parents were, but that fact hurt me. It still hurt me all these years.
Spinning around in my chair, I looked out the window and stared at the sky. It was still early. The sun had just begun to show herself. Turning back around to face the envelope, I tucked it into a desk drawer. I wasn’t ready to face the truth. Would I ever be?
Shuffling papers around on my desk, I stood up, looking for my phone. Yesterday, I’d received an email from some asshole named Anonimo. This hacker wannabe urged me to change Pictogram’s user privacy policies or else I’d pay.
Mr. Wainwright,
Pictogram’s privacy policies violate the trust and loyalty of its users.
Do you know what it feels like to be violated?
Change your company’s policies or else you will pay.
-Anonimo
I’d laughed out loud reading the email. Pay what? I was a billionaire. Untouchable. Powerful. Brilliant. From my phone, I quickly wrote an email back: Try and get me to pay, asshole.
Anonimo,
Go fuck yourself.
Theodore Wainwright
Founder and CEO of Pictogram
Sent from my iPhone
Perfect. That’d light a fire under their ass.
As a kid with nothing better to do with my time, I would hack into various organizations and play pranks for fun. Like the time, I’d broken into The Oakland Gazette’s website and scrambled all the news stories so images and stories didn’t match. I did stupid things like that out of boredom and mainly to see if I could do it.
Whoever Anonimo was clearly didn’t know who he was dealing with. In my mind, I imagined some bored pimply face kid sending me emails just to fuck with me.
From what I gathered about my users and I liked to think I knew my users well, they posted on Pictogram with the hope of rising to stardom. People were dying to become the next Picto-famous star. A few of my users had spun their Picto-fame into reality shows, movie roles, and ad campaigns for internationally recognized brands. Whoever this kid was probably had a sad Pictogram account with five followers.
I almost felt sorry for him, but the kid needed to learn not to fuck with the big boys. I was Theodore Wainwright who built an empire with my own two hands and a laptop. If anything, my terse and direct email response was helping this kid out. He needed to direct his hacking skills to something more useful.
To get my mind off that ridiculous boob, I’d scrolled through Pictogram right before falling asleep. One of Pictogram’s trending photos of a remarkably beautiful girl stood out to me. Her striking face was the last thing in my mind before falling asleep. I had to see it again to make sure it hadn’t been a dream.
Sticking my hands in between the couch cushions, I looked for my phone. Then I remembered waking up in the middle of the night for a late night snack. My phone was probably in the kitchen, so I hurried downstairs.
The current Picto-famous girl was drop dead gorgeous. I’d dated supermodels and actresses before so I was well accustomed to seeing pretty faces on an everyday basis, but this girl?
I couldn’t put my finger on one particular thing that made me drawn to her. She was more than just pretty. She was fucking sexy with this coy but fierce expression on her face. Her eyes seemed to say: Fuck you and fuck me at the same time.
In just a plain black bra, she was curvy in all the right ways I loved. It was honestly tiresome fucking rail thin girls. Nothing jiggled and shook in the sexy ways that turned me on. But a girl with hills and valleys? I’d take a female with a nice round ass that bounced when I fucked her over a skinny no ass girl any day.
And shit, those lips. She had these full beautiful kissable looking lips. Those were the kind of lips I’d want wrapped around my cock.
The photo turned me on. My dick grew hard just looking at the girl even though she wasn’t even fully naked. Grabbing lube from my bedside table, I squirted a huge dollop right on my hard dick. In bed, I closed my eyes and imagined what her big tits looked like without her bra on and imagined her plump nipples hardening in my mouth as I sucked them.
Looking at my phone screen again and staring at her face, I stroked my stiff cock with a tight fist. Her full sensual lips were irresistible. I thought about sticking my heavy dick into her open mouth. I imagined her moaning while slipping the head of my cock through those voluptuous lips. Coming hard into a Kleenex, images of her swarmed in my head. Sleep took over my satisfied body right after.
And after who knows how long, I was jolted awake.
Scrambling into the kitchen, I saw my phone on the kitchen table. There were a number of missed calls and text messages. Ignoring them all, I opened up Pictogram. I had to see that girl’s photo again. My dick was already getting hard.
Instead of the usual trending Pictogram feed, I saw naked photos of me having sex with dozens of women in orgies. My heart rocketed in my chest as I scrolled down. There were hundreds of photos. What the fuck was going on?
It’s not that it wasn’t me.
Because that was me, all right, with the heavily muscled chest, sculpted abs, and powerful thighs. Girls were screaming all over the place, creaming and drooling. And you know why?
Because of my cock. The heavy shaft was massive and thick, totally visible in each and every picture. Females had their eyes squeezed shut, face buried in the pillows trying to handle that length. Other girls with their cheeks bulging like chipmunks, barely able to breathe trying to swallow me whole.
Oh yeah, my past sex life was out for the world to see now.
Fuck.
Anger boiled in my veins. Someone had hacked into Pictogram. This was obviously a privacy breach. It couldn’t be that hacker kid, could it? I checked my email. And sure enough, Anonimo had sent me another email.
Mr. Wainwright,
I hope you enjoyed the latest trending photos on your precious Pictogram. I know I did.
It would be in your favor to change your company’s privacy policies. Selling your users’ images for a quick buck is dirty. Just like all your photographs.
Don’t feel like heeding this warning?
Then there will be more to come.
Stay tuned.
-Anonimo
My teeth clenched as I read the email over three more times. Who the fuck did this hacker think he was?
Opening the missed text messages, my blood pressure shot up from rage. This Anonimo asshole had texted me. He somehow got my private cell phone number. WTF?
You are a dirty CEO. Clean up your act. Or else…
Just then, my phone dinged with another incoming email. Immediately, I checked it only to find another message from Anonimo.
Theo, Theo, Theo:
I told you to listen. This is what happens when you don’t listen.
A GIF of me with devil horns spun around on my screen and then exploded into a shower of gold coins.
I roared in anger. Not only had this little piece of shit posted naked photos of me, but he had completely interrupted my jack off date with the new Picto-famous girl. What the fuck? Who the fuck did this Anonimo think he was?
Climbing back upstairs to my office, I felt enraged, pumped up for a hacker fight. It had been a long time since unleashing my coding genius, but Anonimo was about to get a taste of his own medicine.
Sitting down at my desk, I looked at the time – nearly six in the morning. Penny had to be awake. I dialed her number.
My faithful secretary answered the phone with a groggy voice. “Theo?”
“Yo, did I wake you?” I grimaced.
But fortunately, she was used to shit like this.
Penny yawned. “No, no, no. It’s fine. I was just getting up. What’s up?”
Pacing around my office, I came to a quick stop.
“I won’t be coming into the office today.”
Penny’s voice sounded worried.
“You won’t? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Everything’s fine. I just have a personal project going on.” I turned on my Mac, readying myself for a showdown.
And ever ready to be Miss Super-Secretary, Penny replied, “Is there anything I can help you with? Do you need an extra hand? I can be over in a flash.”
I know she has designs to move up in the company, but the task before me was too important, so I was brusque in my reply.
“Naw, no thanks. I’m good. Just cancel all my appointments today. Thanks again.”
And with that, I ended the call. More people needed to be notified, and next on the list was Brandon, my CTO. Brandon answered with caution in his voice.
“Theo.”
“Brandon,” I replied calmly.
“I take it you’ve seen the Pictogram feed?” Brandon asked with a touch of fear in his voice.
I laughed. “Correct.”
“We’re taking care of the breach right now,” Brandon apologized quickly. “We’re on it.”
“How long until it’s done?” I asked.
Brandon swallowed. “We’ve been working on it for the last two hours. I’ve called in all the tech leads. Whoever did this is a genius,” he grumbled. “Makes my job hard, but a bona fide fucking genius, Theo.”
One brow rose. “Oh really? A genius,” I said sarcastically.
But Brandon didn’t hear the tone and sighed like a fawning fan. “You should see what’s been done. It’s a work of beauty, Theo.”
Yeah, whatever. I was about to tear this fucker to pieces and then throw him to the sharks.
Because fuck you, shitface. How dare you hack into Pictogram? This shit’s my baby, and you don’t fuck with that.
“Just get the site running normally,” I commanded. “Find the breach and fix it.”
“Will do,” said Brandon. “On it, boss.”
I hung up on him. I had my own work to do.
Jumping onto my Mac, I worked on finding the original location of where the emails were being sent. The hacker had been smart to cloak his location but not smart enough. It took me half an hour, but I found where Anonimo was hiding.
Bingo!
To my surprise, our anonymous hacker was located in a dorm on my old campus, Berkeley. Was he fucking serious? Some geeky student was sending me threatening emails?
Please.
Because it was too easy now.
I know Berkeley like the back of my hand.
And there was nothing like a confrontation.
You know these hacker losers, so bold online, but complete wimps in real life.
And the devil in me spoke then.
Bring a knife. Bring a rope. Don’t let them get away with it.
Because this fucker needed to be taught a lesson. Who cares if I hacked his hack? He’d just be back to doing the same old shit in two seconds flat.
An evil plan formed in my mind.
It was wrong, sure.
Criminal even.
But again, I’m a billionaire, and we get away with everything, from securities fraud to kidnapping. Shit, that stuff is just the tip of the iceberg. I could tell you stories that would make your jaw drop with disbelief.
But that’s for later.
Because sliding a knife into a bag, I stood.
Anonimo had just fucked up my life. And unfortunately, he was going to pay.