The Truth About Aldo Berg

M4LEvvICH here. I usually don't out private e-mails like this, but in this case, I think it's called for. Mail correspondence between Aldo Berg (Arturo's former art dealer) and Vera Federström. Very, very interesting.

My Dear Aldo,

I am very disappointed that you still are ignoring my letters. Your secretary claims that you are on a “business trip” — but that is something I have a very hard time to believe.

I know you are in Copenhagen. I am not the kind of woman one can hide from just by turning off the phone and refusing to answer e-mails. I know you are avoiding me.

You will ignore me no more, Aldo. I really advise you not to.

We made a business deal, and a very beneficial one for you at that, if only you had not been stupid enough to invest the money you borrowed so foolishy. Giving me assurances that you have already emptied your bank account is not the same as honoring our agreement. Let me make myself perfectly clear on this matter: I am not a social security system, nor am I a regular bank. I could not care less about how broke you are, nor about the personal troubles you are in. All of this information that you are sending me bores me immensely and I should probably charge you for the time it takes me to read your drivel. The only thing I care about, my dear Aldo, is getting back the money you owe me. It is all really very simple. Since the payment was not made on time, the original deal is broken. The deal has now changed, and my interest rates will rise with every hour you make me wait. I have other deals that require that this affair runs smoothly and on time, and I will not risk my own relationship with Kallengar Holdings because you cannot deliver the art work you promised me. I do not really care how you make this happen. Make it happen.

If you have not replied to this e-mail within 24 hours, I will have Blotchin will contact you again. He sends his regards.

Vera Federström

My translation, the original text in Swedish is here:

Min bästa Aldo

Jag är mycket besviken över att du fortfarande ignorerar mina brev. Din sekreterare påstår att du är borta på en affärsresa, men det är någonting som jag har mycket svårt att tro.

Jag är inte den sortens kvinna som man kan gömma sig för genom att stänga av telefonen och vägra svara på e-mails. Jag vet att du befinner dig i Köpenhamn. Jag vet att du undviker mig.

Du kommer inte att kunna undvika mig särskilt länge, Aldo. Jag skulle å det starkaste råda dig att upphöra med detta omedelbart.

Vi gjorde en affärsuppgörelse, och en för din räkning mycket fördelaktig en dessutom, om du bara inte varit dum nog att investera pengarna du lånade på ett så oklokt sätt. Att ge mig försäkringar om att du redan har tömt ditt eget bankkonto är inte detsamma som att hedra vårat avtal. Låt mig vara tydlig på den här punkten: Jag är inte en bidragsgivare, och jag är heller inte en vanlig bank. Jag är fullständigt ointresserad av att läsa om hur utblottad du är, eller vilka personliga kriser du går igenom just nu. All denna för mig meningslösa information som du skickar mig tråkar ut mig fruktansvärt, och jag borde antagligen ta betalt för tiden det tar mig att läsa ditt dravel. Det enda jag är intresserad av, min bäste Aldo, är att få tillbaka pengarna som du är skyldig mig. Det hela är väldigt enkelt. Eftersom betalningen inte gjordes i tid, är vårat första avtal brutet. Avtalet har nuförändrats, och räntan på det kommer att stiga för varje timme som du låter mig vänta. Jag har andra avtal som är beroende av att den här affären sköts snyggt och i tid, och jag kommer inte att riskera min egen relation med Kallengar Holdings för att du inte kan leverera konsten du lovade mig. Jag bryr mig inte om hur du löser det här problemet. Lös det.

Om du inte har svarat på det här mailet på 24 timmar, så kommer jag att låta Blotchin kontakta dig igen.
Han hälsar.

Vera Federström

Very interesting, no? Please comment what to make out of this.
/// M4L3vvvICH

The Conscience of a Hacker


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The following was written shortly after my arrest...

The Conscience of a Hacker

by

+++The Mentor+++

Written on January 8, 1986
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Another one got caught today, it's all over the papers. "Teenager Arrested in Computer Crime Scandal", "Hacker Arrested after Bank Tampering"...

Damn kids. They're all alike.

But did you, in your three-piece psychology and 1950's technobrain, ever take a look behind the eyes of the hacker? Did you ever wonder what made him tick, what forces shaped him, what may have molded him?

I am a hacker, enter my world...

Mine is a world that begins with school... I'm smarter than most of the other kids, this crap they teach us bores me...

Damn underachiever. They're all alike.

I'm in junior high or high school. I've listened to teachers explain for the fifteenth time how to reduce a fraction. I understand it. "No, Ms. Smith, I didn't show my work. I did it in my head..."

Damn kid. Probably copied it. They're all alike.

I made a discovery today. I found a computer. Wait a second, this is cool. It does what I want it to. If it makes a mistake, it's because I screwed it up. Not because it doesn't like me...
Or feels threatened by me...
Or thinks I'm a smart ass...
Or doesn't like teaching and shouldn't be here...

Damn kid. All he does is play games. They're all alike.

And then it happened... a door opened to a world... rushing through the phone line like heroin through an addict's veins, an electronic pulse is sent out, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetencies is sought... a board is found.

"This is it... this is where I belong..."

I know everyone here... even if I've never met them, never talked to them, may never hear from them again... I know you all...

Damn kid. Tying up the phone line again. They're all alike...

You bet your ass we're all alike... we've been spoon-fed baby food at school when we hungered for steak... the bits of meat that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless. We've been dominated by sadists, or ignored by the apathetic. The few that had something to teach found us willing pupils, but those few are like drops of water in the desert.

This is our world now... the world of the electron and the switch, the beauty of the baud. We make use of a service already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn't run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us criminals. We explore... and you call us criminals. We seek after knowledge... and you call us criminals. We exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias... and you call us criminals. You build atomic bombs, you wage wars, you murder, cheat, and lie to us and try to make us believe it's for our own good, yet we're the criminals.

Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. My crime is that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like. My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me for.

I am a hacker, and this is my manifesto. You may stop this individual, but you can't stop us all... after all, we're all alike.

+++The Mentor+++
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ThANK you Mentor! Your words will always be in my heart for as long as I am free. Yours, M4L3vvvICH.