Double doubled doubled (part three)

Part three

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" I askedHoneycomb.  "What do you mean by youthought I'd think you a drama queen?"
"You know how things work in the metaverse, Mr Luck," shesaid to me.  "I start talking about mycustomers leaving due to an extortion racket and the next thing you know theblogosphere is lit up with talk of the paranoid rationalisations of a failingmanager.  Gossip is the true currency ofthe virtual world.
"This group is very secretive," she continued.  "It of course does not officially exist.  The guy who visited me was a one day oldnewbie and the very next day his account was deleted.  He told me I'd be visited on the third day ofevery month by another newbie – a different one every time – with thecharacters 4 and 7 somewhere in their name. I was to pay them without any conversation, and within five minutes ofthem entering the venue."

"I told him to fuck off," she replied after a pause,during which time Cassandra ran her fingers down the front of my shirt atDominoe's and Burnished just removed my shirt altogether.  "He was asking for 25% of my takings."
"Do you have a log of this conversation?" I asked.
"No," she replied. "The conversation was conducted entirely in voice.  He told me at first he'd broken both hiswrists in a fall in RL and couldn't type, and then asked if we could go into aprivate call so he could ask me something."
"Not so newbie that he didn't know how to operate voice,then," I commented.
"Exactly."
"So tell me, honey," I said, quickly switching viewers totype some repeated ms into both of my other windows, "what exactly do you wantfrom me out of all of this?"
"Proof that these people exist!" she exclaimed.  "Proof that they're ruining my business!  Then I can go to the authorities and not fearbeing laughed at for inventing conspiracy stories to hide poor managementskills.  This is my reputation in themetaverse, we're talking about, Mr Luck. I've invested too much in my identity here to see some wannabe mafiagroup destroy me."
"My fingers find the hook and clasp of your bra strap," Ityped into Burnished's box whilst Honeycomb wrote all that out.  To Cassandra, I typed, "My fingers gentlytrace the contour of your jaw."  A busynight for fingers.
"This is likely to be a long case," I toldHoneycomb.  "I should warn you, I don'tcome cheap.  It might be more costeffective to accept their terms.  I'mjust saying."
"Over a year?" she replied after a moment.  "Over ten years?  After they put their demand up to 50%?  In any case, I don't care.  If this brings those bastards down, it'll bemoney well spent."
But I wasn't paying attention to what she'd written.  Instead, I was preoccupied with whatCassandra had just written: "Go ahead and unhook my bra, baby."
Cassandra.  Not Burnished.  An accidental crosspost.  Cassandra and Burnished were the same person.
And that was mistake number two.
Part four will be published on Sunday...