Hustle

Chapter 2

That Jared’s love for antiques had started at a young age was true. He had always been fascinated with how people did things in the past, how they made discoveries, and what made them unique. Hand-crafted objects had a special way of invoking emotion in people they came in contact with. The creeping automation of almost every process today had stripped away the human emotion, not to mention the incredible value workmanship adds to something.

He carefully unwrapped the bronze gilded chalice he had picked up from Ekrem’s and inspected it closely. A small, raised, metal braid adorned the lower stem, while symmetrical repousse vegetal designs covered the cup. There were areas where the bronze seemed to have chipped off, causing some of the original metal to peek through. Ekrem had mentioned the piece had roots going back to the Romans, but Jared couldn’t help but wonder if the interlaced design looked more Celtic than Roman. Wiping the inside of the antique clean with muslin cloth, he placed it next to the other antiques he had collected from the old man’s shop over the course of the last few months.

The clock showed 6:00PM but if you were to look outside, it was a completely different story. The sun glared through the lone window in his studio apartment near the Hagia Sofia in downtown Istanbul, like it was noon. The city was alive with the hum of everyday life, glowing faces enjoying the sun, families heading for a picnic along the Bosphorus, young couples holding hands, people getting back to the jogging routine they had abandoned in the winter months. The key to faking an identity was to get lost in the busiest part of the cities, where everything and everyone looks the same.

A similar plan had worked for him in Finland four years ago where he relieved one of the wealthiest men of his most prized painting. In fact, that had almost been too easy. If someone had told him at 16 that he’d be a multi-millionaire before he hit 30, he would’ve never believed them. Now, he was about a month away from the big 3-0 and he’d managed to travel the world, amass a large amount of assets carefully sorted in banks all over the world, and check almost everything off the bucket list he made at the age of 10. All that without ever getting caught. A criminal record didn’t help if you wanted to travel the world.

Jared’s career as a con artist had started in middle school when he had tricked one of his friends to give him his savings to bet on a horse race. He had seen his uncle bet on horse races all the time, mostly because he was too much of a headache for his sickly aunt to stay at home. His Uncle, having discovered a keen observer in his nephew, had taught him how to spot a winning horse, race trends, and the art of betting. Jared had known which horse was going to win and had placed a bet on it, but he hadn’t let that on to his friend, who accompanied him to the racetrack to keep an eye on his “investment”. Leading him to believe that he had bet on the losing horse, Jared had apologised profusely to his friend and promised to pay him back his money in full. He fulfilled his promise slowly over the course of the next month, claiming it was from his allowance. The money, of course, came from the winning bet he had made with the original investment. The win had quadrupled the money, which earned him more than enough to pay back his unsuspecting financier.

Horse racing had gotten boring after a while, as had the cheap thrill of gambling and Jared had moved on to bigger fish. It was as much about the challenge as it was about the money for him. He could’ve made a living by investing in a number of firms, buying casinos, or trading stock. But that was all too easy; the systems were too easy to fool. People, however, were a lot harder. Gaining their trust just long enough to be able to con them out of their money required quick wittedness, charm, and a believable past. Some marks were easier than others, some required more time, some required more investments. Some of them were worth it, others not so much. On more than one occasion, Jared had had to abort a con. Not because he couldn’t make it happen, but because he didn’t feel it was worth his time. And time, as every con artist knows, is more valuable than any sum of money a game could get you.

“Hoş geldiniz”, Jared spoke into the mic attached to his computer.

“Hoş bulduk”, the computer responded, indicating his pronunciation was correct.

He had picked up Turkish in a matter of days. After having learned, re-learned, practiced, taught and translated over 17 different languages, it was just part of his routine. He liked to ensure his accent was on track to ensure people didn’t get suspicious of him.

Over the years, Jared had learned, developed, and mastered techniques to make his new identity as realistic as possible. Naturally born with fair hair and eyes, he often masked them with cosmetics. He almost never looked like his real self anymore; he liked to tell himself he’d revert back to his original person once he’d left his con artist career behind. Maybe buy a small island and spend his last few years pondering over the mysteries of the universe.

Jared had designed Serkan, his latest alter ego, as a brunette with warm, brown, trusting eyes. His naturally pale, freckled skin was perfect for blending in with a group of Turks, but he went a step further and bronzed it a little to prove he tanned in the sun. The trick was to make sure he got steadily darker throughout the summer and paler in the winter months. Every day was a new challenge, connected to events in the past, present, and the carefully strategized future he had planned for Serkan.