The Kappa File: A Legal & Political Thriller By Oliver Sands

By Oliver Sands

What does a mysterious file have to do with a commissioner’s election in Florida? Why does the file’s content pose a serious threat to the U.S. political establishment? Attorney Mark Stone has weeks, if not days, to locate the file and find out. However, no one who has seen the content of the file has lived to tell about it.

The Kappa File is a fast-paced legal and political thriller set in Miami-Dade County, Florida, where the winner in a special election for County Commission casts a tie-breaking vote to award a multi-million dollar construction contract to the competitor of Mark Stone’s client. However, Mark has some doubts about the circumstances of the contract award. Why did a commissioner abruptly resign to pave the way for the special election? If the new commissioner’s win in that special election was a true upset, why did his opponent already know that the commissioner would win the election in spite of the commissioner being far behind in the polls?

Mark knows that the answer may reside in a mysterious file, called the Kappa file, that his client’s former attorney was looking for. Knowing what’s in the file or who created it may solve the mystery. However, if made public, the content of the file may shake the U.S. political establishment. As a result, a killer is out there determined to stop Mark. He has already killed the previous attorney handling the case and is now coming after Mark.

***

Excerpt from the book:

"With one swerve, the driver of the van hit their car on the driver’s side. Horror seized Stephen and Gwendolyn as they saw the man with the crew cut smile at them before speeding away.

The impact caused the car to violently hit the wall of the bridge and break it, before going over the edge. As the car hung suspended in the air, there was darkness below. It was as if they were in a plane that was going to crash.

They knew that death waited for them. However, Stephen and Gwendolyn wished they were in a plane crash instead. Because in a plane crash, they might have had enough time to pray. It’s not that they were religious. It was just that they were not ready to die."

To read a longer preview of the book, please visit www.kappafile.com
To see the cast of characters, please visit www.markstone.co
To contact the author, please visit www.oliversands.com

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oliver Sands
• Release date: Jul 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301790272

Oliver Sands

Oliver Sands is the pen name of the author of the legal thrillers, The Kappa File and The Mumba Petition. He is an attorney and lives in Florida.

Book preview

CHAPTER one

If Bobby Richards could see the future, he would not have agreed to take the computer hacking job that George Ray offered him that afternoon.

After dropping out of South Florida High School a year short of his graduation, Bobby spent most of his days alone in his single mother’s apartment playing pirated computer games.

When he was bored, he spent the nights using the programming skills that he had developed during the past year to hack into online computers of major banks and businesses to steal their customers’ email addresses. They usually fetched a good price on Nigerian scammers’ websites.

While Bobby initially had doubts after reading George’s online advertisement, he had responded because he knew that rush jobs usually paid well. He was right. The twenty thousand dollars that George was offering would come in handy for the muscle car that he wanted to buy.

They were sitting at a mom and pop diner in North Miami, discussing the deal.

As I wrote you earlier in my text messages, we are a private company and we suspect that another company might have stolen our work. We simply want to make sure that we’re right, George told him. We need someone with good programming skills to take a look at some files and emails on the company’s computer before they delete them.

Once I hack in, how will I recognize your files? Bobby asked. He was tapping his fingers nervously on the table, his brown eyes surveying George’s expensive suit and tie. Bobby had imagined him to be in his twenties. However, George looked just like Bobby’s grandfather. He was old, bald and skinny.

Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering on the floor next to them interrupted their conversation and made them turn to look at the young child responsible for the noise. She was sitting with her family at the table behind them. Seeing all eyes on her and the broken ketchup bottle by her feet, she started to cry loudly, causing her mother to pick her up in her arms.

They waited for the noise to die down before continuing with their talk.

Our company’s files were stolen within the past two months. So download anything that was placed on their computer during that time, George said, before adding, After you finish with the download, you’ll write me a report identifying the files and any emails that talk about those files.

How do I know that you’ll really pay me? Bobby asked him, his fingers now playing with the small gold earring in his earlobe.

George glanced at Bobby. The whole scene seemed comical to him. Looking at Bobby’s intricate dreadlocks, George felt as if he was being interviewed by a member of a youth reggae music group.

You won’t have to give me the report until I give you all of the money, George assured him. In fact, I’ve even brought with me the three thousand dollars we agreed on, for you to start the work. I’ll give you the rest of the money when you give me the report.

Then George opened the silver briefcase he was carrying, took out a brown leather pouch, and handed it to Bobby.

The expensive pouch caught Bobby’s attention. He grabbed it from George’s hands, and brought it under the table to his lap, hiding it from view. He quickly unzipped it and peered inside. The sight of the stack of the twenty-dollar bills and the cell phone brought a smile to Bobby’s face. Most of the online computer hacking jobs that Bobby had done in the past had only earned him a few hundred bucks. At least I’m being paid real money this time, he thought.

* * *

A few days later, Bobby texted George to tell him that he had downloaded the files.

You’re a genius, Bobby, George texted back. When you write the report, make sure all emails and files that you found are included.

No problem, Bobby responded. I’ll bring the report to you next week on a disk.

Good, George replied. I don’t want people to know what you’ve been doing for me. So, meet me behind the old thrift shop and I’ll bring you the rest of the money.

The next meeting could not come fast enough for Bobby, who also shared George’s concerns. Only very few people knew of his hacking habits and he wanted to keep it that way.

He was able to complete the report in two days, and it also included a description of another major hacking incident that Bobby discovered had taken place on the company’s computer.

When the time for the meeting came, Bobby, who was running late, hopped on his bicycle with the report on a disk, and an empty backpack to carry the rest of the money.

The thrift shop was less than two miles from Bobby’s apartment, in an area that was home to immigrants from the Caribbean and South America. It was getting dark, and Bobby, who was worried that George might not wait for him, decided to take a short cut.

As Bobby furiously pedaled through several neighborhoods towards his destination, makeshift shops selling illegal wares, including cigars from Cuba and lottery tickets from Mexico and Haiti, were already closing their doors for the evening.

When he finally reached the thrift shop, it was almost past the time for his meeting. The thrift shop was at the corner of an old strip mall that had already survived beyond its lifespan. The shop was the mall’s only tenant.

There were no cars in the pothole-filled parking lot. As agreed, Bobby rode to the small deserted alley in the back of the building. When he reached the back of the shop, he paused by the shop’s rear metal door, with his left foot on the pedal and his right foot on the ground to steady himself. He looked around but George was nowhere to be found. The nauseating smell of rotten eggs and fruits coming from the nearby overflowing commercial dumpster was so overwhelming that Bobby could hardly breathe. Once or twice, he had to swat the air with his hand to chase away annoying flies buzzing around him.

Bobby was about to leave, when a tall man with a crew cut stepped out from behind the dumpster.

His appearance surprised and frightened Bobby, who was debating whether he should speed away. What if George got sick and sent the man instead with the money?

Where is George? Bobby asked cautiously.

Before the man could respond, a sudden rustling noise broke the evening silence, startling Bobby. His left foot slipped off the pedal as he looked toward the trash pile.

Something was moving.

Bobby tightened his grip on the handlebars to stop them from shaking. Without warning, the thing jumped to the ground, causing Bobby’s heart to skip a beat. It was a stray cat.

Bobby breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the skinny animal, and turned and looked at the man, who had ignored the commotion.

George could not come. He sent me in his place, he said. He looked like a wrestler, with large muscles bulging under his t-shirt. He was wearing black leather gloves that seemed too small for his large hands.

Seeing that the man came empty-handed, Bobby gathered his courage and said, I don’t know who you are. I’m not giving you any report until I get the money that George promised me.

Yes you will, Bobby, the man said, as he pulled a gun from the back of his pants and pointed it at Bobby.

Fear seized Bobby when he saw the gun. What are you doing? It’s just a report.

So give it to me, the man ordered him. His face was expressionless and his eyes were void of any emotion.

It was an order that Bobby knew he had no choice but to obey, if he wanted to live. Terrified, with his hands trembling, Bobby removed the backpack hanging from his back, unzipped a small pocket and took out the disk.

The man grabbed the disk and looked at it quickly before looking back at Bobby, his weapon still raised at him.

Can I go now? I promise that I won’t call the police, Bobby said, fighting off his paralysis and trying not to look at the gun silencer pointed at his chest.

Not until you tell me whether you made any other copies of this disk. The man’s voice was monotone. It was as if he was reading from a bad script. Watching Bobby fidget on his bicycle, his lips curled up slightly in amusement.

I didn’t make any copies of the disk, Bobby lied. All he wanted now was to get out of there as quickly as possible. He was hoping the lie would help. It didn’t.

In that case, I don’t need you anymore, the man said, before shooting Bobby three times in the chest.

The bullets shook Bobby’s body violently, causing him to fall backwards awkwardly on the ground with the bicycle between his legs, tumbling and falling on his left ankle, breaking it.

Amazingly, Bobby did not feel any pain. He was lying on his back and felt wetness on his chest, but nothing else. Suddenly, he felt cold and sleepy. His eyes were closing. Under his eyelids, he could see crew cut man come and stand over him. Crew cut man was now smiling widely. When the last bullet entered Bobby’s skull, he did not feel it either. He had already surrendered his life.

Once he was satisfied that Bobby was dead, crew cut man searched Bobby’s pockets and took his wallet. He quickly pulled out a small bag of marijuana from his back pocket and put it in Bobby’s right hand.

By the time the police found Bobby’s body, crew cut man was gone, and the gun had already been dumped in a lake several miles away.

CHAPTER TWO

When the woman entered Mark Stone’s law office in downtown Miami without an appointment, Mark was tempted to tell her to come back another day. It’s not that he was busy. He had lost most of his clients in the past two months. The thing was, as a lawyer, he could not simply receive any visitor that happened to drop by. He had to keep up appearances.

What can I do for you? he asked the woman, as he invited her to sit down in one of the two red leather guest chairs in front of his desk. He was still debating what to do with his visitor. Her face reminded him vaguely of a picture that he had seen in a business magazine.

He could not simply chase her away, however, because Joan Couch, his bossy secretary, would be furious. Mark figured that it must be really important for Joan to allow the woman to intrude and disrupt his morning coffee.

She waited until Mark walked back behind his desk to sit down before responding. Thank you for receiving me on such short notice, Mr. Stone. My name is Margaret Prentiss and I am the CEO of Prentiss Construction and Design and I need your help.

She was thin, attractive and looked very elegant in a conservative dress that screamed Fifth Avenue shops. She appeared to be in her early forties, with dark auburn hair kept in a tight bun, and a slight New York accent that reminded Mark of home.

Call me Mark, Ms. Prentiss, he said. I’ll be glad to help. Just tell me what I can do for you. Mark was definitely not accustomed to this type of client. She smelled of money and power. She seemed the type who went to the big law firms and hired the most expensive lawyers.

Mark’s law office, on the other hand, was a two-person operation and was on the fifth floor of an old building that needed a facelift. That made Mark wonder whether she had mistaken him for another attorney named Stone.

She paused as if she was taking a deep breath and, looking at Mark with warm gray eyes, she said, I’ve seen your face in the paper. I know you’re familiar with Chief Judge Jonathan Francis.

I can’t believe that she would bring this up. That slimy judge hurt my reputation and is responsible for me losing most of my clients, Mark thought. He did not want to talk about it. It was an unfortunate incident that happened two months ago.

It was more than an incident, she insisted. You spent two days in jail for contempt of court for telling the judge to shove the order that he was entering against your client. That’s why I think that my company needs a lawyer like you. We recently sued Miami-Dade County over a seventy-five million dollar construction contract that the county awarded to our competitor. Judge Francis, who is the judge in the case, just ruled against us.

As she was explaining the reason for her presence, she smiled at Mark, revealing perfect white teeth, which beautifully contrasted with her dark shade of lipstick. Whether she knew that she had a disarming smile was impossible to tell.

Mark gently tapped the pen he was holding on the blank notepad in front of him on the desk. He did not intend to take any notes. He was leaning against taking the case.

Ms. Prentiss, Mark began to say, ignoring her charming expression, companies lose cases every day. I’m not sure why your case would be any different. His intuition was telling him that the case was trouble, and he wanted to find a tactful way to tell the woman that he did not want to get involved.

Instead of being offended, she widened her smile and leaned forward with calm poise. She seemed surprised but undeterred by Mark’s doubts.

The vote to award the contract was made by the county commissioners. There was a tie vote and the newly elected commissioner voted and broke the tie in favor of our competitor, she said. We also suspect that the judge is friends with the new commissioner, but we can’t prove it.

Listening to the woman, Mark definitely did not want to take the case. His intuition kept warning him that if he did, he would regret the decision.

Seeing the woman’s eyes resting on his blank notepad, he lifted it up. He was pretending to scribble something when the phone on his desk rang, surprising them both. He apologized and looked at the caller ID. It was the building property manager calling on Mark’s private line for the overdue rent. He ignored the call and turned off the ringer before resuming his conversation. I still don’t see how I can help you. He was trying his best to find a polite way to decline the case and, at the same time, not risk Joan’s wrath.

Detecting Mark’s reluctance, she tilted her head slightly towards him and lowered her voice, as if she was sharing a secret with him. The lawyers in this town don’t want to fight the county commission. Since you’re originally from New York and are not afraid of the Chief Judge, I know that you can help us fight his order.

Although Mark was pleased by the confidence that she was exhibiting in him, he was still hoping to convince her that he was the wrong lawyer for her case. What happened to the lawyer who represented your company in front of the judge? Why don’t you just use him? He was amused and impressed by the woman’s persistence.

She leaned backward, turned sideways on the chair uncomfortably, and crossed her tanned legs before responding. My old lawyer died in a car accident a couple of weeks ago.

The news of the lawyer’s death surprised Mark, who now felt embarrassed by his behavior.

I’m sorry to hear that, Mark said apologetically.

That’s okay, she said. Her smile then faded and her brow became furrowed as she continued her explanation. Although we didn’t hear from him, we thought that he was in court representing us. We only found out about his death when we went to his office to talk to him, after we heard of the judge’s decision against us.

Listen to your intuition. Bad omen, Mark kept reminding himself. I’m sorry about your company losing the case, Ms. Prentiss. But why do you think the new commissioner voted against your company? Could it be that he thought that your competitor could do a better job? Mark was hoping that his skepticism would convince the woman to take her case somewhere else.

Call me Margaret. We are larger and more experienced than the other company, she said, tilting her head very slightly to her left. She uncrossed her legs and shot Mark a confident glare, before adding, We would have won, but when one of the commissioners abruptly resigned, the county had to have a special election and Mr. Manuel Garcia, the newly elected commissioner, voted against us.

Mark was restless inside. Don’t take the case.

I’m not sure that I’m the best person for your case. I don’t handle government litigation, Mark said, finally giving in to his intuition and gathering the courage to turn her away.

Instead of being deterred, she said, I understand that you’ve been losing clients because of Judge Francis’ actions against you. Taking my case could also help restore your reputation. As Mark was about to protest, she quickly added, I also know that it will be expensive and that you might have to appeal his decision all the way to the Florida Supreme Court. So I’m prepared to give you an initial retainer of thirty thousand dollars to cover your costs and your attorneys’ fees.

Thirty thousand bucks can go a long way, Mark thought. He was amazed at Margaret’s generous offer. Usually, his clients had to scramble to come up with a few hundred dollars to pay him. Don’t be stupid Mark. You’ll be able to pay your rent for months in advance and pay back everything you owe your secretary.

After listening to the offer, Mark thought again for one second and decided that male intuition was not that reliable after all. He then smiled widely, flipped the first page of his notepad, and said, Okay Margaret, tell me what happened from the beginning.

CHAPTER THREE

As soon as Margaret left, Joan came to the door. At twenty-six years old, she was two years younger than Mark. She was tall and very pretty with jet-black hair and deep green eyes. Most of Mark’s clients tended to be males and Mark wondered whether they chose his office just to see her.

So what do you think? she asked. She was wearing an attractive white linen dress and matching jacket. She did not enter the room. Instead, she remained standing at the door watching Mark, who was still seated behind his desk.

She’s pretty, but she’s not my type, he answered. He was still irritated by Joan’s decision not to consult with him before allowing Margaret to see him.

I mean the case, Joan clarified. She had a grin on her face and did not make any excuses for the early unscheduled appointment.

It was possible that Margaret had made the appointment and that Joan forgot to put it on Mark’s calendar, but Mark doubted that. Joan was not the careless type.

I know what you mean, Joan. He raised his eyes from the notepad that he was holding to look at her. The corners of Joan’s mouth were pointed upwards while her lips stretched just wide enough to reveal a smile that conveyed a sense of contentment. Mark, who had seen that amused look on Joan’s face before, added, I have a bad feeling about this.

Mark’s warning caused Joan’s smile to fade. You didn’t take the case?

Of course I took it, Mark replied, seemingly offended by Joan’s lack of confidence in his decision-making skills. I’m not stupid.

I’m glad to hear that, she said, exhaling loudly. Her smile was back. Maybe this case will help you get your mojo back.

Mark, who was annoyed by Joan’s insult to his maleness, put the notepad down on the desk, leaned backwards in his chair, and said, I didn’t know that I lost my mojo.

She ignored Mark’s reaction and looked at Mark’s diplomas and law license that hung on the walls behind him. "You’re a