Chapter 15 Chapter 15 Outcasts

Time to deal with Charles Steinborg III.Those enemies were all outsiders, but Charles had been her lover and the father of her unborn child.But he had abandoned them all. Ernestine and Ally see Tracy off at the New Orleans airport. "I'll miss you," said Ernestine. "You've put a stop to our city, and they deserve you to be mayor of the people." "What do you want to do in Philadelphia?" Allie asked. She only said half of what she intended. "Go back to work at my old bank." Ernestine and Allie glanced at each other. "Did they—er—know that you were going back?"

"I don't know. But the vice-president likes me. No problem. It's not easy to find good computer operators these days." "Good luck to you. Write to us, hear? Take care, girl." Thirty minutes later Tracy was on a plane to Philadelphia. She checked into the Hilton Hotel and ironed her only good clothes in the hot tub.At eleven o'clock the next morning she went into the bank and found Clarence Desmond's secretary. "Hi, May." The woman stared at Tracy blankly, as if seeing a ghost. "Tracey!" Her eyes didn't know where to turn. "I... how are you?"

"It's all right. Is Mr. Desmond in?" "I... don't know. I'll go and have a look, please wait." She stood up and walked into the vice president's office in a panic. After a while she came out and said, "You can go in." As Tracy walked towards the inner door, May slipped away quietly sideways. What's wrong with her, Tracy wondered. Clarence Desmond stood at his desk. "Hi, Mr. Desmond, I'm back." Tracy said with a smile. "What are you doing back?" His tone was quite cold.It was as cold as ice. Tracy didn't expect him to act like this, but then she said, "You said I'm the best computer operator you've ever met, so I think..."

"Do you think I will restore you to your old duties?" "Yes, sir. I haven't forgotten my technique. I can still..." "Miss Whitney," he stopped calling her Tracey this time, "I'm sorry, but your request cannot be fulfilled. I think you must understand that our customers don't want to sit down with someone for robbery at gunpoint, murder with a gun." Dealing with people who have been in prison. That doesn't fit our bank's image of decency. I don't think any bank will hire someone with your background. I suggest you find a job that is more suitable for you according to your situation. I I hope you understand that I have no ill intentions towards you personally."

When Tracy heard this, she was shocked at first, and then a pang of anger ignited in her chest.He described her as an outcast from society, a leper whom no one wanted to touch.We don't want you to quit your job here, you are one of our most valuable employees. "Is there anything else you want to say, Miss Whitney?" It was the eviction order. She still has a lot to say, but she knows it's useless to say it. "No more. You've said everything you need to say." Tracy turned and walked out of the office, flushed.All the bank clerks seemed to stare at her.May had already spread the word: the criminal was back.Tracy walked out of the bank with her head held high, feeling overwhelmed.I can't let them treat me like this. Self-esteem is my only wealth, and no one can take it away.

Tracy stayed in the room all day, feeling very sad.How could she be so naive as to think they would welcome her with open arms?She is already notorious. "You're the headliner in the Philadelphia Daily." Well, Philadelphia, I don't care about this place, Tracy thought.She still has work to do.Once done, she will leave immediately.She was going to New York, where no one knew her.After making a decision, she felt a little relieved. Tracy went to Café Royal for dinner that night.The daytime meeting with Clarence Desmond is frustrating, and she needs to relax her nerves in soft lighting, elegant surroundings and leisurely music.She ordered a vodka cocktail.When the waiter brought the wine, Tracy looked up and her heart stopped suddenly.In a box at the other end of the hall sat Charles and his wife.They didn't see her.Tracy's first thought was to get up and leave.She did not intend to meet Charles yet, until after her plans had been carried out.

"Would you like to order now?" asked the head waiter. "I'll wait a little longer, thanks." I had to decide whether to go or stay. She looked in Charles' direction, and something startling happened: he seemed to her a stranger.She saw a middle-aged man with a long disheveled face, his head was bald, his back was hunched, and his face was full of emptiness and boredom.She couldn't believe that she loved this man, slept with him, and planned to spend the rest of her life with him.Tracy looked at his wife.The look on her face was as tired as Charles's.They look like two misfits chained by fate and unable to break free.They sat there, neither talking.Tracy could imagine the tedious, interminable years they would still have together.no love.no fun.This is Charles' punishment, Tracy thought.She felt suddenly relieved, and at last the dark and heavy chains of feeling that had held her were broken.

Tracy gestured to the head waiter: "I'll order now." It's over.The past has been buried for the last time. It wasn't until she got back to the hotel that night that Tracy remembered that she still had some money in the bank's employee fund, which should be returned to her.Tracy sat down and did the math, and the total came to $1,375.65. She wrote a letter to Clarence Desmond and got a reply from May two days later. Tracy could hardly believe the letter was real.They blatantly robbed her of her money, and they used the bank's code of conduct as a cover!Never let them scam me like this, she swore to herself.I will never be so easily deceived again.

Tracy was standing outside her familiar door of the Trust Bank of Philadelphia.She wore a very long black wig, her skin was painted quite dark with oil paint, and she had a bright red scar on her chin.If anything happened, they would remember this scar on her chin.Despite the make-up, Tracy still felt naked because she had worked at the bank for five years and it was full of acquaintances.She had to be extra careful not to be recognized. She took a bottle cap from her handbag, put it in her shoe, and limped into the bank gate.The bank was packed with customers because she had chosen this peak hour.She arched her legs and walked to a counter.The man sitting inside had just finished making a phone call, and turned to her and asked, "What's the matter?"

He was Jon G. Rydon, a conservative in the bank.He hated Jews, blacks, Puerto Ricans, not necessarily in that order, of course.Tracy disliked him when she worked at the bank.Now he didn't recognize her at all. "Hello, sir. I'd like to open a checking account," Tracy said.She speaks with a Mexican accent.During the months in the cell, her cellmate, Polita, spoke in this way. Creden had a disdainful look on his face. "what is it call?" "Leda Gonzalez." "How much money do you save?" "Eleven dollars." "Are you paying by check or cash?" he asked wryly.

"Cash." She carefully fished out a worn, crumpled ten-dollar bill from her handbag and handed it over.Creden handed her a form. "Fill in—" Tracy didn't want to leave her handwriting.She frowned and said, "I'm sorry, sir. I hurt my hand in an accident. Could you fill it in for me, please?" Creden snorted angrily.These stupid stowaways! "Your name is Lida Gonzalez, isn't it?" "yes." "address?" She gave the hotel's address and phone number. "What's your mother's maiden name?" "Gonzalez. My mom married her own uncle." "Your date of birth?" "December 20, 1958." "place of birth?" "Mexico City." "Sign here." "I've got to use my left hand," Tracy said.She picked up a pen and awkwardly signed an illegible name.Jon G. Raiden filled out a deposit slip for her. "I'll give you a temporary checkbook first. The official printed checkbook will be mailed in three to four weeks." "Very well. Thank you, sir." "Ok." He watched her leaving back.Smelly Mexican! There are a variety of illegal methods that can be used to gain access to a computer system, and Tracy is an expert at them.She helped the Philadelphia Trust Bank set up a theft prevention system, and now she was trying to get around its obstacles. The first step is to find a computer store, and she will use the computer terminals in the store to connect to the bank's computers.The computer store, just a few streets from the bank, was almost empty. A clerk came eagerly to Tracy. "What are you buying, miss?" "Not buying it now. I'll take a look first." The clerk spotted a teenager playing a video game, apologized, and hurried away from her. Tracy walked over to a desktop computer connected to a telephone.It wasn't difficult to get into that computer system, but she couldn't do anything without knowing the access code.Access codes change daily.Tracey had been in the meeting to determine the base password. "The code must be changed frequently," said Clarence Desmond, "so that it is not easily seen, but not so complicated that it is remembered by those authorized to use it." Finally, it was decided to use the names of the four seasons and the date of the day to form a password. Tracy flipped the switch on the computer terminal and typed the code name for the Trust Bank of Philadelphia.She heard a screech and plugged the phone into the modem at the computer terminal.A line of words was displayed on the small screen: Please enter the access code. Today is the 10th. Tracy hits: FALL (autumn) 10 Passwords do not match.The words on the screen disappeared. They changed their passwords?Out of the corner of her eye, Tracy saw the clerk walking toward her again.She walked to the other computer, glanced at it casually, and strolled down the aisle again.The clerk stopped in his tracks.She was just looking around, he thought.Seeing a well-dressed couple coming to the door, the clerk hurried over to say hello.Tracy went back to her desktop computer. She pondered the train of thought of Clarence Desmond.He was a stickler for habit, and Tracy was sure he wouldn't make drastic changes to the code.Maybe he kept the basic combination of seasons and dates, but what did he change?Reverse the numbers?That's too complicated, maybe he just changes the next season. Tracy tried again. Please enter the access code. WINTER (Winter) 10 Passwords do not match.The words on the screen disappeared again. Tracy thought disappointedly: This is not going to work.Try again. Please enter the access code. SPRINC (spring) 10 The words on the screen disappeared for a while, and another sentence appeared: Please continue. It can be seen that Desmond did change the season.She hurriedly typed: domestic exchange. The bank's remittance service list is immediately displayed on the screen: Tracy chooses option "B".The screen went blank, and soon a few more lines appeared: She typed: Delegated from the General Fund to Leda Gonzalez.She hesitated before typing out the amount.So tempting, she thought.Now that it has been connected to the computer system, no matter how much money she plays, the tame computer will pay the same amount.She can scoop it up for millions.But Tracy is no thief.All she has to do is get back the money to which she is entitled. Tracy dialed: 1,375,65, then added Lida Gonzalez's account number. Displayed on the screen: exchange completed.Need other services? No. Service ends.thanks. The money will be transferred automatically by the Clearinghouse Interbank Exchange System, which tracks the $220 billion that moves between banks every day. The clerk frowned and walked towards Tracy again.Tracy quickly pressed a button, and the words on the screen disappeared. "Are you going to buy this computer, miss?" "No thanks," Tracy said apologetically, "I don't understand this kind of stuff." She called the bank's treasurer from a secluded grocery store. "Hi, my name is Lida Gonzalez. I would like to transfer my checking account to the First Hanoi Bank Headquarters in New York City." "Please tell me your account number, Miss Gonzalez." Tracy told her. An hour later Tracy checked out of the Hilton and set off for New York. Leda Gonzalez went to get the money as soon as the First Hanover Bank of New York opened at ten o'clock the next morning.She wants to withdraw all the money in the checking account. "How much is it all?" she asked. The cashier checked. "One thousand two hundred and seventy-five dollars and sixty-five dollars." "right." "Will you issue a guaranteed check, Miss Gonzalez?" "No thanks," Tracy said, "I don't trust banks. I want cash." Tracy was paid a hundred dollars as a rule when she got out, and she made a little money watching over Amy, and even with the money she got from the bank, she was still financially insecure.She must find a job as soon as possible. She moved into a cheap hotel on Lexington Avenue and began applying to various New York banks for jobs in computer operations.But she found that the computer suddenly became her enemy.Tracy's private life is no secret anymore.Her resume is hidden in the computer database, and anyone who presses the correct key can know her clearly.As soon as her criminal record came up, her application was immediately rejected. No bank would hire someone with your background.Clarence Desmond was right. Tracy then applied to insurance companies and dozens of other computer-related businesses.They all answered in the negative. Good, Tracy thought, I can always find something else to do.She bought a copy of The New York Times and started looking for job advertisements. An export company wants to hire a secretary. As soon as Tracy walked into the company, the HR manager said, "Hey, I saw you on TV. You saved a kid in prison, didn't you?" Tracy turned and fled. The next day she worked as a salesperson in the children's department of Saks Fifth Avenue.The salary was much lower than what she had been getting, but at least she was able to support herself. On the second day of work, a hysterical customer recognized Tracy and ran up to the sales manager on that floor to argue that she wouldn't buy from a murderess woman who had drowned a child.Tracy didn't even have a chance to defend herself.She was fired immediately. Tracy felt that the man she had gotten revenge on with the unauthorized withdrawal method had concluded her.She became a criminal in the eyes of the public and an outcast of society.The wrong she suffered had a corrosive quality.She didn't know how to live, and felt hopeless for the first time.That night she counted the money left in her wallet and found the note Betty Francisquez had left her in jail.Conrad Morgan, jeweler, 640 Fifth Avenue, New York City, is very interested in the rehabilitation of prisoners and is willing to help those who have served in prison. Conrad Morgan Jewelers is an elegant shop with a liveried doorman at the door and an armed guard at the door.The shop itself is tastefully decorated without any frills, but the jewelry is stunning and expensive. Tracy said to the receptionist in the store, "I want to see Mr. Conrad Morgan." "Have you made an appointment?" "No. A mutual friend suggested that I come and see him." "you are?……" "Tracey Whitney." "please wait a moment." The receptionist picked up the phone, said something in a voice too soft for Tracy to hear, and put it down. "Mr. Morgan is very busy at the moment. He said please come back at six o'clock." "Okay, thanks," Tracy said. She came out of the store and stood on the sidewalk, undecided.It was a wrong step to come to New York.Conrad Morgan might not be able to help her at all.Why should he help a stranger who has never met before? "Maybe he'll teach me a lesson and give me some money. I don't want to be lectured or handed out. I've been through a lot and I'm going to get through it on my own. Conra What the hell is De Morgan? I'm never looking for him again." Tracy wandered the streets, past the gorgeous grand salons on Fifth Avenue, the guarded apartment complexes on Park Avenue, and the crowded shops between Lexington and Third Streets.She wandered aimlessly through the streets of New York, turning a blind eye to everything, depressed and depressed. At six o'clock she walked back to Fifth Avenue without realizing it, and arrived in front of Conrad Morgan Jewelers.The gatekeeper was gone and the door was locked.Tracy thumped the door a few times in protest, and turned to leave.Strangely, the door opened suddenly. A man with the demeanor of an elder stood at the door and looked at her.The man was bald, with gray hair disheveled above his ears, and bright blue eyes in a cheerful, ruddy face.He is really like a land god who guards the treasure. "You are Miss Whitney?" "yes……" "I'm Conrad Morgan. Come in, please?" Tracy walked into the empty store. "I've been waiting for you," said Conrad Morgan. "Come to my office and talk." He led her through the shop to a locked door.He opened the door with the key.His office is elegantly furnished, more like an apartment than a work place.There was no writing-desk in the room, but a few couches, chairs, and tables, all neatly arranged.There are many famous paintings of ancient masters hanging on the wall. "Would you like something to drink?" Conrad Morgan asked. "Whiskey, brandy, or sherry?" "No drink, thank you." Tracy suddenly tensed up.She no longer expected help from this man, and at the same time desperately hoped that he could do her a favor. "Betty Franciscus suggested I see you, Mr. Morgan. She said you—you helped people who... had trouble." She couldn't say jail time. Conrad Morgan clasped his hands together.Tracy noticed how beautifully manicured his nails were. "Poor Betty. What a girl. She's so unlucky." "unlucky?" "Yeah, she was caught." "I do not understand." "Very simple, Miss Whitney. Betty was working for me. I took good care of her. Then the poor kid fell in love with a driver from New Orleans and left without saying goodbye. And then...they caught her Here she is." Tracy was confused. "She works as a salesperson with you?" Conrad Morgan leaned back, laughing until his tears flowed. "No, girl," he wiped away tears, "Betty obviously didn't make it clear to you." He leaned back in the chair, fingertips facing each other, forming a tower. "I run a very lucrative side business, Miss Whitney. I am happy to share the proceeds with my colleagues. I have had great success in employing - pardon me - ex-prisoners like you." Tracy looked into his face, even more confused about what he was talking about. "I'm in a unique position. I have some very wealthy customers who have become my friends and never hide anything from me." His fingers tapped lightly together. "I know when my customers are out. Things are tough these days and few people travel with jewelry, so they always keep it locked at home. I recommend proper security measures to them. I know what jewelry they have It's clear, because I bought it from me. They..." Tracy stood up. "Thank you, I should go, Mr. Morgan." "Leave now?" "Knowing that I didn't misunderstand what you said..." "Yes, that's what I meant." She felt her cheeks burning. "I'm not a criminal. I'm here looking for work." "I'm offering you a job, my dear. It'll net you twenty-five thousand dollars in just an hour or two," he smiled mischievously, "and no taxes." Tracy struggled to contain her irritation. "I'm not interested. Will you please let me out?" "Of course, as long as you really want to go." He stood up and walked her to the door. "You should understand, Miss Whitney, that if there is even the slightest chance that the man who does my work will be caught, I will never step in. I have to protect my reputation." "Don't worry, I won't go out and say anything." Tracy said coldly. He grinned. "Actually, girl, what can you say? I mean, who's going to believe you? I'm Conrad Morgan." Walking to the door of the store, Morgan said, "Let me know if you change your mind, okay? Call me after six o'clock in the evening. I'll be waiting for your call." "Use it small," Tracy said curtly.She walked into the gradually falling night.She was still shaking as she walked into her hotel room. She sent the only waiter in the hotel out for a sandwich and a cup of coffee.She doesn't want to see people.After meeting Conrad Morgan, she felt tainted.At the South Louisiana Women's Prison, she was surrounded by sad, flustered, and despondent prisoners.Morgan treated her as their equal.She is different from them.She was Tracy Whitney, a computer technician, and a decent, law-abiding citizen. But no one wanted to hire her. Tracy couldn't fall asleep all night, thinking about her future.She has no job and is running out of money.She made two decisions: move to a cheaper hotel tomorrow morning; she must find a job.Do whatever you want. Tracy found cheaper lodging on the Lower East Side, a studio apartment on the fourth floor of a dismal walk-up hotel.From Tracy's room, through the paper-thin walls, came the voices of the neighbors yelling at each other in foreign languages.The small shops on both sides of the street have dense iron bars on the doors and windows, and Tracy understands why.The neighborhood seemed to be full of drunks, whores, and wretches. On the way to the market, she encountered three attempts to seduce her—twice by a man and once by a woman. I can bear it.I won't be here long, Tracy reassured herself. She went to a small employment agency a few blocks from where she lived.The person in charge is Mrs. Murphy, a fat woman who looks like a housekeeper.She put down Tracy's resume and looked at her suspiciously. "I don't know why you came to me. Many companies will rush to hire someone like you." Tracy took a deep breath. "I have a problem," she said.Mrs. Murphy sat quietly listening to her explanation. After Tracy finished speaking, Mrs. Murphy said bluntly: "I advise you not to seek a career in operating computers." "Didn't you just say..." "Companies these days are most afraid of computer crime. They will never hire someone with a criminal record." "But I have to work. I..." "There are other jobs besides computers. Have you considered being a salesperson?" Tracy remembered the incident at the department store.She would never want to be insulted like that again. "Are there any other jobs?" The woman hesitated.The job that Mrs. Murphy had in mind obviously wronged Tracy Whitney too much. "Look," she said, "I know you're not used to this kind of work, but Jackson's is looking for a waitress. It's a hamburger place on the Upper East Side." "Being a waitress?" "Yes. I don't charge you for an introduction if you want to go. I just heard about it by chance." Tracy sat there thinking.She worked in a restaurant when she was in college, but it was for fun.Now it's about living on it. "I'll try it," she said. Jackson's was in disarray, with impatient diners clamoring, and cooks full of grievances and tantrums.The food is good and the price is fair, so the shop is always full of people.The waitresses were so nervous that they didn't even have time to catch their breath, and Tracy was paralyzed by the first day.But she finally made money. At noon the next day, Tracy was serving a table of salesmen. One of them reached under her skirt, and Tracy held a plate of chili sauce on his head.She lost the job. She went back to Mrs. Murphy and told her what had happened. "I have good news," said Mrs. Murphy. "The Wellington Arms Hotel wants a house assistant. I intend to recommend you." The Wellington Arms Hotel in Park Street is quite beautiful, and caters for the rich and famous.General Affairs interviewed Tracy and decided to hire her.The work there is not tiring, the colleagues are friendly and the working hours are not long. A week later, Tracy was called to the office of general affairs, and the assistant manager was present. "Have you inspected suite 827 today?" the clerk asked Tracy.Hollywood actress Jennifer Marlowe lived in that suite.Part of Tracy's job was to check each of the guest rooms to see if the maids had made them as the hotel required. "I checked, what's the matter?" she said. "When did you check the room?" "Two o'clock. Is something wrong?" The assistant manager spoke. "Miss Marlowe returned to her room at one o'clock to find a costly diamond ring missing." Tracy felt her whole body tense up. "Are you in the bedroom, Tracy?" "Go in. I checked every room." "Did you see any jewelry in the bedroom?" "Um... no. I don't think so." The assistant manager hurriedly asked: "Do you think so? Surely you didn't see it?" "I didn't go there to look for jewelry," Tracy said. "I just went to check that the bed and towels were made." "Miss Marlowe affirms that the ring was on the dresser when she left the apartment." "Then I don't know." "No one else can get into that suite. The maids have worked here for years." "I didn't take the ring." The assistant manager sighed. "We had to call the police to investigate." "I'm definitely not the one with the ring," cried Tracy. "Maybe Miss Marlowe misplaced it." "Based on your previous behavior..." the assistant manager said. Moved this one out again.Based on your previous behavior... "I have to ask you to go to the Sheriff's Office and wait for the police to investigate." Tracy felt herself blushing. "Yes, sir." A guard took her to the sheriff's office, and she felt as if she was back in prison.After the prisoner was released from prison, he still suffered repeated setbacks in life because of his experience in prison-she had read such reports before, but she never thought that this kind of thing would happen to her.People just put a label on her and measure her by what the label says.Just to make me what they think I am, Tracy thought bitterly. Thirty minutes later, the assistant manager walked into the sheriff's office smiling. "All right!" he said. "Miss Marlowe found the ring. She misplaced it herself. It was only a little misunderstanding." "Great," Tracy said. She came out of the sheriff's office and walked over to the Conrad Morgan jewelry. "It couldn't be easier," said Conrad Morgan. "One of my customers, Lois Bellamy, has gone to Europe. Her home is in Sea Cliff, Long Island. The servants are off on weekends, and the house is empty. A patrolman patrols every four hours. You just need to be in the house for a few minutes." They were sitting in Conrad Morgan's office. "I know the alarm system in the house, and I know the number of the hidden lock of the safe. All you have to do is go in, get the jewelry, and come out. You bring the jewelry, I take the gems out of the frame, and cut the big diamonds. Small, sell it again." "If it's so simple, why don't you do it yourself?" Tracy asked bluntly. His blue eyes sparkled: "Because I have to go to other places to do business. Whenever these little 'events' happen, I always go to other places to do business." "I understand." "You don't have to worry about stealing Mrs. Bellamy's jewelry. In fact, she is a very hateful woman. The insurance is twice the value of the jewelry itself. Of course, I valued it for her." Tracy sat there staring at Conrad Morgan, thinking: I'm afraid I'm crazy, to sit here and discuss with him seriously how to steal jewels. "I don't want to go back to prison, Mr. Morgan." "There's absolutely no danger in the matter. No one who works for me has ever been caught—while working for me. Uh... what do you think?" The answer is simple.Tracy was going to say no.This thing is ridiculous. "You said I could make twenty-five thousand dollars?" "Pay with one hand and deliver with one hand." It was a lot of money, enough to last until she found a way to earn a living.She thought of the little room in the shabby hotel, of the screaming tenants, of the loud customer (I don't want to buy from a murderous woman), and of the assistant manager of the hotel (we had to call the police to investigate). However, Tracy still couldn't make up her mind to agree to this matter. "I suggest doing it this Saturday night," said Conrad Morgan. "The servants leave the house at noon Saturday. I'll get you a driver's license and a credit card in a fake name. You rent a car in Manhattan and drive." To Long Island, get there at eleven o'clock. Get the jewels and drive back to New York, return the car...you can drive?" "meeting." "Excellent. There's a train for St. Louis at 7:40 in the morning. I'll book you a room. I'll meet you at the St. Louis station. Give me your jewellery, and I'll give you twenty-five thousand dollars." He made everything so simple. You should say no, then stand up and walk out the door.Where do you go when you go out? "I need a blonde wig," Tracy said slowly. After Tracy left, Conrad Morgan sat in his office without turning on the light.He thinks about her.A pretty woman.It's really beautiful.What a pity.Maybe he should have warned Tracy just now that he didn't know much about the special anti-burglar system in the house.