The Universe of Discretion: Assets - the Movie

I learned pretty early on that stealing from an institution was way harder than stealing from a person. Plus, pulling off a good heist usually meant working with a crew, and I definitely preferred flying solo.

But even the best solo acts can save a ton of time by using a broker. At first, I tried prepping my own marks, but I always ended up spending more than I actually earned.

Rex was the best broker in town, and as long as he got his cut, he didn’t care that I specifically targeted gay men.

“What have you got for me, boss?” I asked, sliding into the booth.

Rex only saw people by appointment, and he always insisted on meeting in “The Room.”

“Don’t call me that! I’m nobody’s boss,” he snapped.

Timmy had taught me early on that if you didn’t call Rex “boss,” you’d end up with jobs from the bottom of the pile. Rex thumbed through his files and pulled out three, setting the rest aside before ordering a cappuccino.

“Fifty-two, New York, seventy thousand,” he said casually, tossing the file in front of me. Rex didn’t believe in digital anything.

I opened the file and made a face. Seventy thousand? I wasn’t exactly a small-time hustler anymore—was this even worth the prep?

“Forty-six, LA, one hundred twenty thousand.” Damn, this guy looked exactly like my Uncle Norbert—definitely a hard pass!

“Seventy-four, Miami, three hundred thousand.” Did he seriously expect me to rob someone’s grandpa?

“And…?” I asked, drumming my fingers impatiently on the table. “Don’t you have anything more…substantial?”

He stared at me for what felt like forever, and I started to panic. Then he tossed another file in front of me and said, “You aren’t ready for substantial!”

“Who’s this?” I breathed.

“The more relevant question is, do you have what it takes to get to his money?” Rex asked, sipping his coffee.

I gave him a confused look.

“You consider yourself a veteran, yet you fish in a stream, oblivious to the ocean beside you.”

Rex turned the file back toward himself and flipped through the pages. “This mark will require weeks of prep and significant starting capital.”

He turned the file back to me, open to a page describing the potential score. The amount of money involved was staggering.

“You’ll need deep access into his personal space—probably even his bed!” Rex didn’t flinch, but he was clearly trying to scare me off.

I was still processing the possibilities when he snapped the file shut. “As I said, you aren’t ready for substantial.”

“I’ll take it!” I said enthusiastically. If I pulled this off, I’d never have to work again!

The key to getting close to rich people was looking wealthy yourself. Rex had been right about needing starting capital, so I was glad I’d kept a nest egg.

After creating a believable background story, I spent a lot of time studying my mark’s hangouts and interests. If I wanted to get close to him, I needed to speak his “language.”

Rex had arranged a rental Porsche and put me in touch with a “dresser.” Was this how it felt to look like a million bucks? I could definitely get used to this…really quickly!

The first thing my mentor taught me was that the easiest way to catch someone’s attention was by flaunting your best assets. Since everyone in this private club was already worth a fortune, money alone wasn’t going to impress anyone.

Instead, I was betting that a month’s worth of intense gym training would do the trick. My target could usually be found lounging by the club’s rooftop pool.

I’d have to be subtly flirtatious, since he didn’t like others knowing he also fucked guys. Rex’s research showed that previous lovers had always been introduced as business associates.

And there he was…my walking piggy bank! He had a lean, tanned body beneath his open bathrobe.

His eyes were hidden behind designer sunglasses as he studied his phone intently. This was also the first time I saw the torque around his neck—it was supposedly impossible to access his bank accounts without it.

I suddenly felt nervous. Would I really have to sleep with this guy to get his money?

There was a word for that, and I wasn’t sure I liked thinking about myself that way. But my doubts disappeared quickly when I remembered the number of zeros written in his file.

My plan was simple—stay cool and distant. I’d pretend to be just another new club member, stopping by for a quick swim before heading off to work.

I’d tease him just enough to make sure he made the first move. The backstory I’d created for myself made it clear I wasn’t nearly as wealthy as he was. He needed to feel like he was in control if I was going to pull this off.

I dropped my things onto a deck chair near him and slowly walked toward the edge of the pool. Then, I strategically turned my backside toward him and bent over to test the water temperature.

Once I was in the pool, I didn’t even glance his way as I started my carefully practiced breaststroke. After six laps, I climbed out dramatically using the metal stairs, letting out a satisfied sigh.

I had no idea if he’d even noticed me. I dried myself off slowly, flexing my muscles way more than anyone normally would.

Right on cue, I glanced at my smartwatch and pretended to be shocked by the time. It actually fucking worked!

He lowered his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and looked straight into my eyes. Suddenly, I felt my nipples harden and my dick press against the tight fabric of my swim trunks.

“Do I know you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Did that line seriously work for him?

“Hmmm,” he said thoughtfully. “So, I haven’t seen you here before?”

“Just joined. I needed a sanctuary until I wrap up my business in this city,” I answered, glancing at my watch again.

He opened his mouth to ask another question, but I quickly cut him off. “Sorry, I have a meeting to catch and I desperately need a cold shower.”

“I’ll see you around then, Mr.—?” He held out his hand for me to shake.

I took it firmly and said, “Austin.”

“Like the car, actually. You know, Austin Martin,” I said with a knowing grin.

“I think you mean an Aston Martin,” he replied quietly. His expression fell, and I immediately started to panic.

“I always use that one to filter out the boring ones!” He looked me up and down before responding. “Aren’t you late for your meeting?”

“Thanks for the reminder, Mr.—?” I needed him to volunteer his name.

“Scott. Scott Harding,” he said, clearly expecting some kind of reaction.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Harding,” I said, giving him a playful salute instead of shaking his hand again.

He seemed surprised that I didn’t recognize his name. As I walked toward the elevator, he called after me, “Please, call me Scott!”