The Prince of Pentium: A Life of a Hustler and a Computer Hacker

By Sherard H. Adams

Barely eighteen years old and a high school dropout, Prince Hakim Jenkins leads a gangster lifestyle and is headed for trouble on the streets of New York. Facing violent felony charges and forced to flee from the police, Prince finds his future calling in a most unusual place. Blessed with an unusual gift for working with computers, he turns his strength into a business.

Every hustler dreams of being rich, but Prince is not the average, everyday hustler. Hes a computer hackeran unauthorized user accessing data to steal or corrupt, doing whatever he needs to gain something from the unauthorized virtual break-in. Hes a hustler and gangsta who takes what he learned from the streets of New York, and mixes it with white-collar crime in the computer world, making him the Prince of Pentium.

Based on true events, The Prince of Pentium follows Jenkins through a period of ten years as hes transformed from a poor, low-class hustler into a genius hacking thug, engaging in high-tech, organized crime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Mar 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781426969720

Sherard H. Adams

Sherard H. Adams was once listed in USA Today and the New York Daily News as one of the top 100 computer hackers. He spent time in prison for opening hundreds of Microsoft Internet accounts. This is his debut novel.

Book preview

Contents

About The Author

New York Daily News

Author’s Note

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

The Prince Of Pentium Ii

Miami Stories

Photography & Book Cover Design by:

Meishan Guarri

Browardprint.com

954.272.2272

About the Author

Sherard Adams is the creator of The Prince of Pentium: A Life of a Hustler and a Computer Hacker, He has received critical acclaim in many urban areas across the world.

Written inside a federal prison, The Prince of Pentium is Adams’s first novel. A gangsta mix bred slash computer hacker, Adams writes street-pounding tales based on true events.

Adams, USA Today and New York Daily News Said to have opened Hundreds of Internet Accounts And To have made more money Then some Microsoft Corporative executives. Was Arreseted back in 2001 On White Colloar Federal Felony Charges. A 500 Count Indicment. Making Him One Of the Nations First Urban White Collar Criminal Minds to Scam Bill Gates And The Microsoft Corporation. Sherard Adams takes a thought-provoking leap by being the first black urban computer hacker to ever pen and publish a con-artist, hustler, computer-hacking urban saga. This is sure to be one of the most talked about urban books since Sister Souljah’s The Coldest Winter Ever.

In The Prince of Pentium, Adams captures one heroic, wise, ingenious thug who is transformed from a poor, low-class hustler into a high-tech, corporate, organized-crime baron. The book brings urban drama to another level. Set on the streets of Metropolitan New York, it is a heart-pounding journey of an authentic life story with troubling undertones. Adams dazzles the reader with sensory imagery that is fresh and timely, a work that is irresistibly compelling.

If you enjoy heart-pounding, real-life urban events, get ready for a story that follows Prince Jenkins, an average, all-American urban kid who rounds into a well-respected made man. Follow him as he journeys from the East, to the South, to the West Coast, and even abroad: the heartfelt story of a young man who took what he learned from the gutter of the streets and applied it to the white-collar world to make himself the Prince of Pentium.

With the whole world growing older, so is the game, and hustlers are generally interested in seeing lives that parallel their own—personal concerns or things that are a reflection of them or their thoughts. The Prince of Pentium is truly art imitating a hustler’s life. It’s a book dealing with a scarcely captured reader’s vision of topics like gangstas, hustlers, and corporate thugs warring against rich And large corporations.

Prince Jenkins—yeah, he’s still alive. If you write me, I might be able to get the letter to him.

DEDICATIONS,

First And formost I like to give thanks to God. For without him There is No me. And To my mother and farther, you both gave me the knowledge and wisdom to achieve in life. And to my loving grandmother for always having faith in me and pushing me so hard. And to the rest of my loving family close friends and project managers that have all made this Novel come to life. With out all of you this project would of laid on the back burner.

And To My Son And Daughter here I lay the footstones for your furture that is to come. Family values we must keep them close to our hearts . . .

Sherard H Adams

The Prince Of Pentium . . .

NEW YORK DAILY NEWS

[below caption in article]

http://articleshttp://articles.nydailynews.com/2001-03-23/local/18176552_1_gift-certificates-microsoft-executives-microsoft-internet.nydailynews.com/2001-03-23/local/18176552_1_gift-certificates-microsoft-executives-microsoft-internet

NASSAU COUPLE CHARGED IN NET SCAM

By Brian Harmon, Daily News staff writer

Friday, March 23, 2001, 2:20 AM

For months Camille Morgan and Sherard Adams had more Internet access than most Microsoft executives. Now it seems they may finally be forced to pay for it—with time behind bars.

Luck ran out Wednesday for the Nassau County couple, whose alleged credit scam involved signing up for more than 500 Microsoft accounts in exchange for $217,000 worth of gift certificates.

Up and down the East Coast, from South Carolina to Poughkeepsie, N.Y., the pair scammed Radio Shack and Best Buy stores out of $400 gift certificates, police said.

With the help of a Hempstead pawnbroker, Nassau police broke the case, which had gone largely unnoticed by its victims, on Wednesday.

Detectives said Morgan, 19, of 830 Herbert Court, Uniondale, and her fiancé, Adams, 22, of 133 Howard Ave., Roosevelt, agreed to Microsoft Internet access deals in exchange for $400 gift certificates.

Morgan and Adams sold the certificates, usually for about $200, Detective Lt. Ron Mueller said.

Both are charged with second-degree grand larceny and face 4 1/2 to 15 years in prison if convicted.

They did this all along the Eastern Seaboard, including several stores in Nassau, Mueller said.

The two would open checking accounts each with about $300, he said.

Then they would use debit cards from those accounts to sign contracts that required them to pay Microsoft $21.95 a month for Internet service.

In return, police said, the couple received the gift certificates.

Pawnbrokers are required to inform police regarding merchandise they acquire. Police grew suspicious when they noticed the number of gift certificates mounting at the Hempstead pawnbroker shop used by Adams and Morgan.

Schemes like this run lucky for awhile, Mueller said. But sooner or later, their luck runs out.

Mueller said companies often do not notice the losses created by such schemes.

"A lot of this stuff is written off as a cost for doing business,

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In 2008 Adams spent 6months in Special housing unit. AKA The Hole. For Access The Inmate Law Library. Gaining Access To The Female Prision Camp. Chating with them, And getting on you tube watching Action and Comendy. The Picture was Sketch of him While he was actually doing real hard Time In the Hole. His Cell Mate Did a fast quick sketch Of Adams looking deep into thought looking at the Deparment Of Justices Computer Network

image006.jpg

Author’s Note

Prince (from princeps—leader, initiator, primus, first and from capere—to take). 1: monarch, king; 2: a male member of a royal family; 3: a person of high standing (as in a class).

Pentium. A processor that computers use to process data at

different rates of speed

Loyalty is a dying breed. Most are either dead or in jail. Disloyalty is an overcrowding disease infecting the human population as we know it.

So I say this for all of the pawns, knights, rooks, bishops, queens, and kings that have been infected by disloyalty: The scripture reads that the lord says vengeance will be mine. It also says that he’ll come like a thief. So just remember, loyalty will be coming home, hunting you down in the streets…

Sherard Adams, Feburay 2012

Introduction

It was early January 1996. The crime rate was up throughout the whole state of New York. The police didn’t have enough manpower to crack down on drug dealers, crimes of violence—and most of all, white-collar crime. Yes, as they say, white-collar crime is the white man’s way to steal money while getting the least time in prison for it, if caught. You see, low-class areas all over the place have crime, usually committed drug crimes and crimes of violence. Small scams do happen, but when they do, they usually go uninvestigated or even unreported.

Times were hard then, in poor, upstate Monroe county, hustling to get what you needed. Urban black America was on a verge of losing its youths to the war on drugs and the street life. Even today we fight that battle every day. They say every hood needs a ghetto superstar, and every tribe needs a leader.

Prince Hakim Jenkins was born August 26, 1978, in Hempstead, New York, on the border with Queens. He later moved to upstate New York to reside with his mother and her new husband, who worked for the US Drug Enforcement Agency, only later to move out and drop out of high school to hustle on the corners of Rochester, New York, where he would learn valuable lessons on a life of crime.

Becoming rich is every hustler’s dream. S600 Benz and the house with ten bedrooms. It’s all on how you achieve your hustling goals that can put you to the top or drag you right back to the start. Hell, prison is just one of the ways you learn how to be a better criminal when you return to the streets. But Prince is not your average, everyday hustler. Coming up from $4.75 an hour to $35,000 a day surely stands for something. Prince is a computer hacker—an unauthorized user accessing data to steal or corrupt, doing whatever he needs to gain something from the unauthorized virtual break-in.

Most hackers are white males from middle—to upper-class families. Most of urban black America has only seen the movies and laughed at the stunts hackers pulled, like making satellites produce pictures of classmen doing funny things or some rich twelve-year-old changing scores on a report card to get a trip to the local amusement park. Well, I surely say this to you—if that’s what you came to read, then you might as well put this book down and return it to the bookstore you bought it from. Prince Hakim Jenkins is a hustler gangsta who took what he learned from the streets of New York, his black-collar game, and mixed it with white-collar crime. All this… to make him the Prince of Pentium!

Chapter One

Strong Island, New York

Get on the ground!

That’s the last sound Prince Jenkins heard before the Nassau County Police Department’s secret squad put him in handcuffs. The date was March 21, 2001, a cold, rainy day—certainly a day that called for staying indoors. Something had told Prince not to go, but that little voice had said, Let’s go and get this last $10,000.

You see, two years back he had moved to Baltimore, Maryland, about three hours from Strong Island—better known as Nassau County and Suffolk County, Long Island, New York. Like always, there ain’t no money like New York money! Hip hop, drugs, guns, clothes, scams—you name it. It was all there on Strong Island, back at Prince’s old childhood stomping grounds. And most of were he discovered the White Colloar craft. Strong Island was not only a place to get money. It was his second home.

You see, Strong Island was a breeding ground for fraud in the New York metropolitan area. You got Brooklyn, Queens, and the other three boroughs, where every corner you turned there would be some hustler outside selling CDs, movies, and whatever else you wanted. Strong Island, you see, was a state by itself. You got the five roughest towns in Nassau County, from Hempstead, Roosevelt, Freeport, Uniondale, and Elmont, to the five roughest towns in Suffolk County: Wyandanch, Amityville, Brentwood, Wheatley Heights, and Central Islip. Growing up in these ten towns could be a challenge. Strong Island mixed in people, from the rich and famous, to the Bloods and Latino Kings on the streets.

Yo, can you loosen these fuckin’ handcuffs? I can’t move back here. And what the hell am I under arrest for?

A voice came from the passenger seat of the unmarked police car. My name is Detective Valentine, and I just have orders to arrest you.

Well, first of all my name is Prince Jenkins, and you might have the wrong nigga in custody.

As the traffic got thicker, the two officers did not blink to put on the sirens to make their way through traffic. The roads were bad. And if Prince didn’t know any better, he would have thought this was some kind of hit the Nigerians put out for him. You see the Nigerians deal with 30 percent of the nation’s fraud overseas and about 5 percent of the scams that happen in the tri-state area. That the two officers were white didn’t help much, even though Prince knew the Nigerians liked to use their own soldiers to do their dirty work.

A voice came, from the driver’s seat this time. It won’t be much longer until we arrive at the seventh precinct.

Yo, is there any way you can loosen these handcuffs? Prince asked again. They ignored him.

Just as Prince was regaining his composure, the squad car pulled into a parking lot. A big splash from the puddle that might have been there all day hit the passenger-side windows, front and back. As the car pulled in, all Prince could do was hold his breath and think of a way to con his way out of this situation. Or better yet, talk his way out. Prince thought to himself, Why would the Nigerians want anything to do with me? It’s not like I crossed any of my connects. Surely this has to be all about law enforcement. But in this game, once you’ve crossed that hundred-thousand-dollar marker, you might as well put on your new suit, because there ain’t no turning back.

The squad car came to a stop, and Detective Valentine opened up the back door. Get out so I can loosen your handcuffs. All we need is another punk giving us a lawsuit. Prince, that is your name, correct?

Yeah, Officer Valentine’s Day.

The officer responded with a deep tone in his voice, You got jokes, kid.

As Prince wiped the smile from his face, another car pulled into the parking lot. Damn, Prince thought. Really thought I was going to be all right.

There was a brief moment of silence in the street traffic as the new car approached the police car. Could it have been that there was a red light, and none of the cars on the side street could move? As Prince sat back down in the unmarked police car, he looked at the driver of the dark-blue Ford Taurus, and he thought he knew that female face from somewhere. Could have it been from a nightclub?

As the Taurus came to a stop right next to the police car, the driver exited with such sex appeal that she could’ve been mistaken for a model from a playmate magazine. With light skin, she looked like she was of Spanish descent. No more than five-foot-seven and one hundred and thirty pounds. Long, dark hair and lips that only Angelina Jolie would be jealous

A voice came from the woman. Hello, officers, my name is agent Maricel Castro I’m with i the United States Secret Service.

Now not only did Prince’s eyes lit up, but his memory was jolting about this woman. Where do I know her from?

The other detective exited the driver’s side of the vehicle. Both were eager to see some kind of badge from the new arrival. Prince was still in a daze trying to remember where he knew this female from.

As soon as she went to flash her credentials, another vehicle pulled into the parking lot. This time it was no Ford Taurus or Crown Vic! It looked like Prince’s New Jersey connection, Archey! And then he put the woman’s face together with an identity. Oh shit, that’s Archey’s crew’s mule that they use to go into banks to cash high-amount fraudulent checks. And she’s the fall girl if anything gets sloppy or hot! Oh my God, this nigga is trippin’. Archey pulled into the parking lot and went straight to the corner, where he got out and walked into a nearby deli. Prince’s heart was pumping one hundred miles an hour, just as if he was on a street bike doing one-eighty on a rainy day.

The officers looked at the woman’s federal badge. Valentine pulled out his radio to check the information before going any further in conversation with this mystery woman. Detective Valentine to base.

A brief pause, then a voice came over from the radio. This is headquarters.

Yes, this is Detective Valentine with the Special Crimes Prevention Unit. I need to confirm a check on an agent with the United States Secret Service. Over.

As the detectives both fell very quiet, Prince stayed in the backseat trying to remember any connects he had in the Nassau County Police Department. None. And if so, how did Archey know about his arrest? Nevertheless, if this was his way to get out, then Prince would ask no questions.

As the woman sat back in her car to prevent getting too wet, a voice came over the radio. Base to Detective Valentine. Over.

Go ahead, base.

The information you gave us checks out. She’s clear.

That was a con of a relief. Prince sat back and noticed Archey getting back into his Lexus. He must’ve been doing something in real time, either on his laptop or on his cell phone. Either way, Archey was behind this Secret Service scam.

The windows inside the police car were starting to fog up from the rain outside mixed with Prince’s breath. It was getting hard to see what was going on outside in the parking lot. About ten minutes had passed by when the rear door of the unmarked police car opened again. A not-so-happy Detective Valentine pulled Prince up and out of the police car, uncuffing him to be recuffed by the makeshift agent. He was put inside her Taurus.

Even the air inside this car felt refreshing. Prince figured any air smelled better than prison air. She shook both of the detectives’ hands, and Prince saw a sigh of relief pass through her eyes as she turned around to face the Taurus and Prince. The detectives both got back in their car with no debate or confusion and drove away.

As the woman entered the Taurus, her perfume was so vile that Prince held his nose in the air, wondering what brand she was wearing. As she settled down in the car, a voice came from the driver’s seat. Baby, are you okay?

Yes I am.

All right. Now don’t make any movements until we clear the area. Then I’ll get those cuffs off of you, all right?

Prince knew he’d just gotten deeper than he’d ever been with the law. The window wipers were moving slow, and the rain turned to drizzle as they pulled into the traffic. His eyes were glued to the rearview mirror, wondering if they were being followed. The traffic light took forever to change.

A pearl-white Cadillac truck pulled up alongside the Taurus, hip hop music just being turned down. The driver’s window rolled down to blow the smoke of a Phillie blunt out into the rainy air. Prince, still handcuffed, saw his window roll down. A voice came from the other car’s driver’s seat—a deep voice that matched the face it belonged to. Damn, it just keeps getting better and better.

Clawdell Jones, better known as CJ. Now CJ is that nigga if you need address, mules, IDs, retagged cars—shit, this nigga was like the black white-collar Escobar.

Prince’s window went back up, and the light turned green. I guess this was a way to let Prince know the family was behind all of this. As the Taurus drove off, Miss Makeshift Secret Service Agent told Prince it wouldn’t be long.

Hey! he said in response.

Yes?

What is ya real name again?

Oh, I thought you knew, Prince! It’s Regina, but they call me Diamond.

Well, all right, Diamond. Could you please hurry up and get me somewhere to get these cuffs off of me? I’m starting to feel like a prisoner in transport, baby.

Her voice was so light, with an accent that only a New York Spanish fly could speak. Papi just one minute.

Prince’s patience was not something he practiced, but due to the circumstances, he would have to accept her answer. He sat back in the seat to relax and wondered how he’d gotten this far in the game. It was only a couple of years ago he was living with his grandmother and his aunt in a two-bedroom apartment with very little, if any, money every week. Time surely flies when all is going perhaps too well, Prince thought to himself. He was now so well connected that not even the local police could touch him. Money, power, respect—this very well must be what he’d heard about. Prince had no clue how deep he really was.

Diamond’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Are you all right back there?

Yeah, Diamond, I’m all right.

Well, Prince, we are here!

As Prince looked up, he recognized the area he was in. It was an empty Nassau County Fairgrounds parking lot. I’m getting to not like this parking lot thing more every the minute.

As the car came to a stop, Diamond hit a number on her cell phone to notify whoever was on the other end that they were there. Baby, let me get those handcuffs of you now.

As she opened the back passenger door, Prince stood up to stretch. Diamond uncuffed him. Oh thank you, baby, much better.

Just has he said this two vehicles pulled into the parking lot: a gray Lexus GS300, which could only be Archey, and the same pearl-white Cadillac Escalade that had pulled up to them at the light, which was CJ. Both drivers got out and were smiling at Prince as if they had saved Superman. If only Prince felt the same way.

As Archey strolled up to Prince, the tone in his laugh was of joy and evil mixed together. What’s up, nigga? Tell me ya boys Archey and Clawdell are not the number-one computer hackers in New York.

Listen to me very closely, Prince responded. What y’all niggas just did was off the records. But now I must become a ghost to the system.

Yo, Prince, what do you mean, become a ghost?

Just that it’s not going to take long for the police or the feds to know that they themselves were just scammed. Now Archey, CJ, thank you. Death before dishonor. In this day and age, there is no more honor among drug dealers and thieves. What you both have done is something out of a Hollywood motion picture.

Now Prince wanted to ask the million-dollar question: how the hell did they know that he was to be arrested, and why didn’t they notify him if they had all of this planned out? But Prince had a strange feeling that if he would have asked, he wouldn’t get an honest answer anyway. Prince knew in this game, this life he was living, that when you do a favor for a person, it was only in due time that they would come running back for something in return. Also, the game is meant to be sold, not told! And in any case, Prince knew that when it came to scamming or hacking, he was still the Prince of Pentium.

CJ offered to give Prince a ride back his house, but Prince knew the safest plan would be to get out of Strong Island ASAP. It would only be a moment in time before the detectives would be back on their hunt for him. Prince knew he had to erase his identity. He’d hack into some vital records department in some small town’s town hall. That would let him get a new birth certificate, Social Security number, and whichever state driver’s license. It was a sixty—to ninety-day job, but it surely needed to be done since the cops were curious about him. Prince still didn’t know exactly why they wanted to talk to him, but couldn’t be anything good.

Yo, CJ, I’ll take you up on that offer, but first we have to contact some people out of state, he finally answered.

CJ wondered why Prince didn’t just wait until they got clear of the tri-state area before making any phone calls that could jam them up in the long run. Yo, Prince, why don’t we just wait until—

Before CJ could finish his statement, Archey came over and gave Prince a black plastic card that looked like a credit card. Prince reached over CJ to grab the card. Yo, Archey, what’s this?

Now listen to me really good. This card is a corporate American Express card with an endless limit.

Say what? Prince said, shocked.

You heard me. There is no limit on this little black card.

Prince knew about the companies that could be hacked into. But American Express was surely not on his top-five list. Plus, if you have been in this game long enough, you should know that companies like American Express and Discovercard all have their own investigation departments. And believe it or not, they follow up on all of their leads.

Prince gave the card back to Archey and explained to him that using that card would only bring him a bigger federal case down the line. Then with a slight grin he said, I’m the Prince of Pentium, and I got this under control.

CJ And Archey both turned and looked at each other. CJ said, Brotha please, you was just about to go to jail.

Prince knew nothing else could be said, but he still wasn’t about to take the black card. Yo, Archey, hold on to it. Never know, I just might come into a jam that may call for your financial hacking skills as well as mine.

Archey accepted this and gave Prince one last embrace, then Prince and CJ got into the car and pulled off. Yo, CJ, this shit you all did was truly some movie, Hollywood, gangsta shit. Damn I wonder what those cops are up to?

Yo, Prince, I wouldn’t even worry about that. You see there is a operation going on as we speak regarding the NCIC system."

Say what!

Yeah, the National Crime Information Center. Every fucking cop and FBI and DEA agent uses that system to log or de-log warrants into the network. Each department has a main drive hardware system, and each district is given usernames and passwords.

Wait a minute, you mean to tell me—

Before Prince could finish his sentence, CJ’s phone rang. Hold on, Prince. I have to take this.

Prince sat in a criminal state of mind while CJ was on the phone, thinking to himself what kind of money-making moves he could do by hacking into the NCIC network. But money was not what a hacker would gain from hacking into the crime network. The sole purpose of getting access to that kind of data was to keep an eye on Big Brother to see what the feds or the locals were up to.

With the window cracked and CJ still on his cell phone, Prince reached into the glove box and pulled out a pouch of what looked like some high-grade marijuana. He looked up by the passenger-side visor and pulled a honey Dutch Masters cigar from the box he found there. He cracked the cigar in the middle and emptied the contents out onto the rainy road, then he filled the cigar up with weed and rolled it back up. He used the car’s cigarette lighter and lit the blunt, took a few inhales, and passed it to CJ.

Chapter Two

Rochester, New York

The date was May 13, 1996. Prince was just about to turn eighteen years of age. And just like any teenager, you couldn’t tell him shit and expect it to stick.

Monroe County PD. Open up.

Prince was lying in bed with his girlfriend of three months, a Puerto Rican with two wild, young boys.

Bangs knocked on the door. Open up, police.

Prince got out of the bed and looked at the clock. 1:12 a.m. I’m coming, just a sec.

As Prince was getting his pants on, Maribel, his girlfriend, was just turning over. Baby, what’s wrong?

I don’t know. Somebody saying it’s the police.

Police! came the shout, on cue.

Yeah, just give me a sec! As Prince was walking to the door, he could hear laughing coming from the other side. Who’s at the door?

A brief quiet came, then a familiar voice. Yo, it’s me, open up.

Me who?

Nigga you know who!

"D-wise is