Culpable: An Isaac Black Missing Persons Investigation:

By John Charles Berry

On a beautiful spring afternoon in Charlotte, NC, 13-year-old Lindsay Lawless is snatched off the street in front of her own house as she walks home from school. Detective Isaac Black is assigned as the lead Missing Persons Detective to find Lindsay and bring her home safe. Black was once on the Homicide squad but was reassigned to Missing Persons after he returned from a department-imposed sobriety program. Black races to discover where Lindsay is and who took the daughter of Edward Lawless, one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the Southeast. As Black delves into the investigation, disparate lives intersect, family secrets are revealed, and departmental politics threaten his progress. The emotions of the case dredge up demons from Black’s own life that he must keep at bay. Meanwhile, the detective works to keep ahead of Monique Mohan, an aggressive TV reporter, who seems to be as close to uncovering the case’s secrets as Black is. Culpable is a thrilling read that weaves these storylines together into a spellbinding conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Charles Berry
• Release date: Jun 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781938701696

John Charles Berry

John Charles Berry has spent more than 20 years as an executive in the High Tech and Banking industries. During that time he has also published articles, speeches, and fiction in Newsweek, The Financial Times, The Harvard Business Review, Vital Speeches of the Day, and After Hours. He earned a Ph.D. in English. He resides in Charlotte, NC, with his beloved wife and children.

Book preview

The whites of Lindsay Lawless’ eyes stood open around her blue irises, which flitted side-to-side above the duct tape that covered her mouth. She was following the movements of the strange man as he walked to and fro in front of her. The stranger had abducted her a couple of days ago and held her captive in this empty house. Lindsay still wasn’t sure what the man wanted to do with her. What she did know was that she was scared to death and alone with him. She couldn’t move because he had not only taped her mouth closed, he’d taped her body against the folding chair upon which she sat. The jerk hadn’t bothered to pull her hair up when he taped her mouth closed either, so her blonde hair was matted roughly to the sides of her head. Stray strands stood out on the side like weeds growing along a fence line and clumps hung free behind. She looked like a child’s doll that had been discovered behind the bureau after several years of disuse.

How could he? the man muttered aloud. How could he ‘a put that thang inside her? His own daughter? How big will it be, I wonder?

Lindsay wasn’t sure what the man was mumbling about.

He stopped pacing and stood in front of her, facing her. She thought that the weirdo almost looked at her as if surprised to find her there in the house with him. They exchanged an awkward glance and then he turned again, his mouth working words in silence once more.

Then he spoke softly through the darkened room. His voice came to her as if from a disembodied spirit. CVS will have Neosporin and bandages. That’ll do for after, he murmured and pushed the knuckles of his closed fist into his forehead. A scalpel though. I need somethin’ to cut into her.

The man spoke as if he was thinking through which type of screwdriver he’d need to complete a home repair project: Phillips or flathead.

He stopped once again, facing the girl, but not really seeing her. She watched his mouth moving furiously in inaudible frustration. His fists were opening and closing at his thighs as if they were squeezing an invisible rubber ball. Then suddenly all movement stopped. His eyes focused on her. Lindsay stopped breathing, waiting for what he was going to say or do next.

Knife, knife! Not a scalpel, a hunting knife! Though he was muttering, she understood his words. If they can cut deer, they can cut her. I can git it outta her! He pointed down to her as if he was explaining to someone else standing with him.

The man had a southern drawl that had taken her a little bit of time to get used to so she could understand him well. He rarely talked to her directly, just roamed the empty house muttering about foreclosures and evil banks and mortgage companies. She’d gotten used to the drawl and now she understood his words very clearly. The girl’s nostrils flared over the duct tape and breath shot out in hurried blasts when she heard him say the word knife. Her eyes bulged in fear as she took in his meaning. He was going to cut her! Her eyes pricked with tears and her nose leaked. The fear seeped into her heart, like a pollutant in groundwater. He stood motionless over her and stared down. Her breathing remained heavy and uneven as she tried to wipe her nose on her shoulder. He had taped her so tightly into the chair that it was difficult.

Weak with fear, are ya? he whispered. The man’s heavy southern accent was more pronounced when he whispered. She looked up and held her breath, sensing a new and different intensity in his voice. Yore weak with fear! He suddenly shrieked and the veins bulged on the sides of his neck. Weak! Just like yore coward diddy! The man hid behind a phone and some policy to STEAL! MY! HOME! And my FAMILY! His temples visibly pulsed along with the veins in his neck. He stole it! Right from me! Damn him!

Lindsay’s entire body swelled with fear and the exposed flesh of her arm bulged against the tape as it did on her cheeks in some odd and sardonic way. Her heart was hammering away in her chest. The tape was so close over her mouth that the top pressed against the septum of her nose, so she thought she’d never get enough air into her lungs. She could feel the sweat pour from her body and trickle down the small of her back and between her breasts and down her belly.

The man fell quiet and took a step towards her. She clenched her eyes shut, thinking that he was going to kill her now. He had kept her alive these couple of days, and now the time had finally come. Her mind went straight to her father. She regretted her anger and resentment towards him. Lindsay realized that it really wasn’t his fault in the end. But how she wished he hadn’t done what he did.

Lindsay clenched her eyes closed; she could still feel the man. He was silently leaning towards her as if he was straining and stretching through the dark. Was he going to hit her? Strangle her? Did he already have the knife he was just muttering about? Then her pounding heart seized up in her throat as she heard his voice again. It was soft and had a singsong quality to it, as if he was speaking to a small child.

I know it ain’t yore fault darlin’. It’s jis yore diddy is mean-hearted an’ done stole from me. I’m tryin’ real hard not to hurt you. Tryin’ real hard. She felt his hand softly pat her on the head like a dog. It was oddly gentle and the gentleness of his touch repulsed her.

Lindsay kept her eyes closed tight, because she could feel his breath on her hair. Then all went quiet. Her body shook as she tried not to completely lose control. Her shoulders were hunched and she was leaning forward, trying to put herself into a protective ball as much as she could through the tape that restrained her from moving too much. The room remained silent and so she began to relax a bit. She straightened up in the chair. She opened her eyes and peered around through the dark of the room. It was empty of anyone except her. The man had quietly left the house.

Lindsay had just one thought that wouldn’t leave her mind: He’s gone to get a knife.

Monday

May 18, 2009

2. Lawless at Work

As you drive north on Interstate 77 and cross from South Carolina into North Carolina, the city of Charlotte rises up on a hill sleek and new. The towers of the nation’s largest banks rise into the sky in an impressive show. Charlotte’s center city is a compact unit of buildings that creates the second largest financial district in the United States. The combined holdings of Bank of America, Wacha-Fargo (the combination of Wachovia and Wells Fargo) and regional banks such as BB&T catapulted Charlotte into a leading financial town. At one point in the mid-2000s, there were more than thirty high-rise projects slated for the city. Most of the projects were mixed use high-rises with retail planned for the ground floor and condos planned for the rest.

Charlotte’s fantastic growth in the nineties and 2000s turned into a bust as the first decade of the latest century drew to a close. The real estate bubble burst, sending every financial institution in the land into a tailspin. As the extent of the exotic investments, like collateralized debt obligations that had been used to fund the real estate boom became evident, the safety and security of financial institutions were whisked away like mists on the morning breeze. Along with the loss of stability for these companies, also vanished the financial security of tens of thousands of families across the nation. In Charlotte, employees of the banks, owners of firms that serviced the banks, and the livelihood of thousands of waitresses, bartenders, retail workers, and shop owners who served them, were also in desperate straits. Within twelve months, only a handful of the high rises planned for Charlotte’s skyline were in progress. The rest were scuttled, plans saved for another time. The biggest question for the city was what would become of the huge iron skeleton that loomed on the western edge of the skyline? Wachovia, once the third largest bank in the nation, had nearly gone insolvent. In the panic of the fall of 2008, the bank literally had a run on its deposits. The Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation, overseer of large banks, huddled up and pushed Wachovia into the arms of a competitor to avoid the largest bank failure in United States history. Indy Mac, at $32 billion in assets, had failed just a few months earlier, and that bank failure would be nothing compared to the size and breadth of Wachovia’s. Wells Fargo hesitated in closing a deal, and Citigroup stepped in to acquire the struggling retail bank. However, Citi soon proved too weak itself to survive the acquisition and Wachovia ultimately ended up as the eastern operations of Wells Fargo after all. All of this drama took place while an impressive new corporate tower and arts center, 786 feet and some 50 stories high, rose into Charlotte’s skyline. The question lingered, would Wells Fargo finish the building or would Charlotte be faced with the prospect of a hulking, rusting skeleton of iron looming over the city like a ghost of finer days?

As you continue up Interstate 77 and pass Charlotte to the north, you drive between the international airport to the west and the Bank of America Stadium to the east, as well as another project, the NASCAR Hall of Fame and office building. From the highway, it’s a picture of prosperity. Bank of America’s Corporate Center is the centerpiece of the skyline. From this vantage point and distance, Charlotte is a tranquil and thriving city.

Bank of America has offices in more than fifteen buildings in Charlotte. One of them is called Hearst Tower, in which you’ll find one of the largest and most technologically advanced trading floors in the world. On the top floor of Hearst Tower is a small suite of offices that look north towards Lake Norman. The view on a clear spring day is eye-popping as the city spreads into the rich greens of pines, oaks, and maples that clump together into woods and wrap around the homes and developments of any city that appears so prosperous. The trees and homes cluster along the manmade lake that has become home to many a NASCAR driver, pro football player, and pro basketball player. Many of the executives seek the haven of Lake Norman’s quiet shores after a long day of surviving the meltdown. In the small suite of offices perched atop Hearst Tower are neither ballers nor bankers, but the offices of a serial entrepreneur.

Edward Lawless had been creating and selling companies for almost twenty years. He gathered the greatest part of his wealth in the nineties when he took three successive companies through an Initial Public Offering of stock in the midst of the Internet craze. He personally netted a quarter of a billion from these three transactions alone. Lawless was so good at spinning off concepts into viable companies, he created a Limited Liability Company just for him and his personal staff to develop and launch new companies: Lawless Enterprises. He had stayed with his strong suit, bringing to market technological services that helped banks build stronger online communities. It started with one of the first online bill pay services in 1997 and had continued with person-to-person money payments in the early 2000s.

On this bright spring day in 2009, Lawless was sitting in his videoconference room rather than before the expansive window that allowed the brightness of the azure blue sky to naturally light his office. His dark hair was cut short on the side of his head and was flecked with gray. He left his hair longer on the top because it was thick and rich. He had brown eyes that beamed the intensity of his personality. The line of his jaw was strong and lent to his reputation as a handsome man. The bottom line on Edward Lawless was that he was an intensely focused tycoon of business who won at all costs in a boardroom.

Lawless was speaking to one of the Russian oligarchs, the new capitalists who learned to navigate the system as Russia turned over huge swaths of their government-run businesses to private industry. These men quickly gathered enough wealth to land them on Forbes’ list of the wealthiest men in the world. The Russian oligarch to whom Lawless spoke today was Sergiev Petrov. He had taken over Russia’s largest steel-making company and took it public when the world demand for steel began to surge to an all-time high in the early 2000s as China and the Middle East went on building sprees.

Surely, Mr. Lawless, you don’t think these services are applicable to Russia today, said Petrov from the large video screen. Lawless thought that Petrov’s voice was heavy on the Rs and, like most Russians, he spoke with his tongue bunched in the back of his mouth, creating that quasi-gagging sound as he spit out his words.

Serg, you and I both know that the abduction rate is on the rise across the world, particularly for wealthy businessmen like yourself. Last year, there were upwards of 25,000 abductions and those are just the ones reported. We’re talking about a billion dollar a year business that is now becoming a favorite way to fund Middle East terrorists or drug cartels in Mexico. Naturally, you can see how a service like this … Lawless smiled, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly like a menacing tiger. His crisp blue shirt and paisley tie, a swirl of grays, blues, and deep reds, set off his dark skin. He gave off power and money like a teenage boy gave off pheromones.

A service? Petrov said the second syllable like weese. This is hardly viable service.

On the contrary, it’s a comprehensive service when you combine the technology that provides a unique identification code to the technology that locates and tracks the individual so they can be safely extracted. It’s actually unprecedented on the market.

Now, Mr. Lawless, that term ‘unprecedented’ is not applicable to this particular venture. Again the w replaced the v and a heavy emphasis was on the first syllable, making it shoot from his mouth like the blade of a stiletto. I am looking at website for a Ubicar, located in Mexico, that does the very same thing as your venture.

Lawless looked at the Russian on the high definition screen before him. In the ensuing pause, they exchanged pleasant, if completely vacant, smiles.

Ubicar doesn’t have the unique combination of RFID and GPS as I’ve explained. It’s—

Though it has the same, what did you call it? ‘Comprehensive service’ that your venture has, Petrov interrupted. The way he said ween-ture was now annoying Lawless. He knew better than to show annoyance to a potential funding source, because he always wanted to leave the door open for the next venture. But the Russian was just pissing him off now. If he didn’t want a piece of the company, he should simply say so and move on.

How much are you putting in, Mr. Lawless? Petrov asked.

I don’t shit where I eat, Serg. Never have and never will.

Petrov laughed and repeated the phrase. That’s very funny, however it does not build confidence in outside investors.

They looked at each other in brief silence.

So what’s your decision, Serg?

I would be foolish to join such a venture, Petrov continued to smile. Lawless smiled back, matching him tooth for whitened tooth.

Very well, then. Thank you for the time and it was nice meeting you. Lawless looked over to a woman sitting in the corner. Tammy? She stood up and walked to the table, then lifted a small door on the surface of the table. It revealed a console and LCD screen inside. She pushed a button and terminated the videoconference.

Asshole, Lawless muttered as he rose from the table. He turned from the videoconference screen and walked towards his desk. His office was actually one large space of seven hundred square feet without walls to break it down. His interior decorator, aided largely by his wife, had designed it as one integrated space with oriental rugs, furniture groupings, and wall treatments that established individual work environments: his desk and guest chairs for his main work area; the mahogany conference table and screen for the videoconference area; couch, coffee table and easy chairs for the sitting area; and the more conventional conference space with an oak table, Persian rug, and chairs. One entire wall was a tinted window to offer unencumbered views of the vista surrounding Charlotte and Lake Norman to the north.

Lawless now stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window and crossed his arms, stewing over this asshole Russian capitalist. It wasn’t just Petrov. No venture capitalist seemed interested these days. He sighed. Lawless looked out at the city over which he held sway and thought about the fact that he’d never encountered so much resistance to investing in his ideas in his twenty years of starting companies. Even after the dot-com bust, Lawless had found support for his next generation of online banking applications and then the first person-to-person payment service. It was true that this environment was more unstable than those early years of the twenty-first century, but he couldn’t find one investor for this venture. Not one.

3. Miranda Lawless at Play

Across the heart of downtown Charlotte, what locals affectionately referred to as Uptown, Miranda Lawless was picking up her thirteen year old daughter, Lindsay, from the private school she attended: Charlotte Latin School. The school was situated on its own private campus, just off Providence Road in south Charlotte. Modeled after a college campus, it had its own separate buildings for science, math, the arts, as well as an athletics building and mini stadium for football and soccer. The Latin football team was the reigning state champion of the private school division in North Carolina. Its regular competition for the state crown was Charlotte Christian School, located on Sardis Road just a ten minute drive from the Latin campus.

Miranda steered her Hummer H3 into the pick-up line and edged forward, scanning for her daughter in the throng of children standing on the sidewalk alongside the pull-through. Miranda pulled her soft spa-bought blonde hair behind her ear. Her face was just beginning to show a few lines and wrinkles, just taking off the soft edge of her eyes and full lips. Her hair was a perfect blend of blonde, soft brown highlights, and gentle waves that gave it just the right amount of body for her face. As she came to a stop, the door suddenly popped open and Miranda started.

Presh! You scared me, she said to her daughter, who climbed in rolling her eyes. Lindsay Lawless was a mini-me to her mother. They had the same hair color, though Lindsay’s was natural, and the daughter had eyes as blue as the Carolina sky.

Like I don’t get into your car every day after school, the girl commented as she sat down in the front seat of the Hummer, iPhone in hand. She barely had the door closed before she was texting one of her friends. Miranda didn’t quite suspect, yet, that she was the topic of her daughter’s text.

Buckle up, Miranda reminded her, turning the music up. She watched her daughter thumb away at her text. It annoyed her a bit to see Lindsay work away at her text message without so much as acknowledging her mother’s presence or her mother’s request to buckle her seatbelt.

She’s just had a full day of school, she thought. No telling what terrors were visited upon her by her friends. Miranda was acutely aware that her daughter was thirteen and in the dreaded middle school phase of life. The Spanish Inquisition had nothing on early teenage girls in terms of the way they tortured each other. The gossip, the slights, the rumors, the lies, the cutting remarks, the cliques, the drama, the alliances, the raw emotions, the hurt feelings, the going behind each other’s backs, the sharing of secrets with avowed enemies. And that was just how the girls treated each other. Miranda didn’t even want to go through the litany of evil produced when a boy was injected into the situation!

The mother in her could wait no more as she maneuvered the car into the line exiting onto Providence Road, so she took her breath in to tell Lindsay to buckle her seatbelt again. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Lindsay moved. She kept texting with her right thumb working over the virtual keypad, and pulled the seatbelt over with her left hand. She deftly clicked the seatbelt in place with her left hand and hit send with her thumb at the same time.

I am so mad at Tana right now, Lindsay announced to her mother. Tana was the nickname of Lindsay’s best friend, Montana Jenkins.

Presh, what’s wrong? Miranda asked. Presh was short for Precious, which was the nickname bestowed on Lindsay at birth. It was the name used by parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends when anyone first saw the sleeping, golden-haired Lindsay: "Oh, Miranda, she is just precious! or Lindsay Lawless, you are simply precious!"

So it stuck for Miranda, and she called her daughter Precious all the way through elementary school. After she started middle school, Lindsay had the chance to see all of the Lord of the Rings movies and when her parents called her Precious, all she could imagine was Gollum fawning over the magic ring. It drove her crazy and she would simply lose it with her mother whenever she used the name to refer to her. Especially now that she was in her thirteenth year with the new hormones raging in her system. So to placate her daughter, Miranda had taken to calling her Presh. Lindsay, in a surprise move, pronounced the change acceptable and peace was restored to the Lawless household. At least for the moment.

Tana told Jamie that I like Bobby, Lindsay said.

Oh no, she wasn’t supposed to do that, Miranda responded sympathetically.

No she wasn’t. And Jamie has, like, the biggest mouth in school.

And now Bobby might hear that you like him, she said knowingly.

"Yeah! And that would be a total disaster."

What if he likes you, though, and this moves things along?

Really, Mom? You’re going there?

Just trying to help, Miranda replied.

The policeman hired by the school to direct traffic was waving her on, so she pulled off the Latin campus and headed north on Providence Road. Lindsay sat stabbing at her phone with her thumbs. She mumbled and sighed and pushed the virtual buttons on the screen. Miranda glanced over at her daughter, who was clearly stressing over this new development.

Did Tana do it on purpose?

No, Mom, she told Jamie by accident, she looked up from her phone and gave her mother a look that clearly stated the imbecility of her comment. I mean, like, where did that even come from? Really. She gave her head one shake and returned to texting.

Presh, don’t be mean to me because your friend is hurting you, she said softly. "What I meant was did she somehow think you wanted her to tell Jamie?"

Please. Let’s just drop it, Lindsay muttered as she sent another text off. Her phone called out to her each time a text arrived and chirped its confirmation each time she dashed one off.

Are you texting with Tana now? Miranda asked, watching the road.

"Are you crazy? I don’t know if I’ll ever talk to her again."

Does she know you’re mad at her?

Yeah! She said it so it had two syllables to draw out just how stupid her mother’s remark was: ya-aah. Lindsay hated it when her mom tried to get into her business. I mean, how old is she? Like 40 or something? Ancient-like.

"OMG mom giving advice on tana," she texted to Bethany Bartholomew. Bethany was her second best friend, and clearly moving up in position with all that was going on with Montana.

"whats that about" Bethany responded, dropping all pretense to punctuation as teens do in text messaging.

"how the hell should I know?" she replied. "drives me crazy"

So how does she know? her mother asked.

Lindsay’s phone signaled a text had come in. She looked down, ignoring her mother for a moment.

"has she told you to talk it out yet that’s what my mom does."

"that’s next," Lindsay typed in.

She knows, Mom, Lindsay said, after hitting send.

Did you talk to her? Because that’s the best approach, Miranda suggested helpfully.

Lindsay smirked. "bingo just got the talk it out advice" she typed.

What’s so funny? Miranda asked as Lindsay hit send and her phone chirped.

Mom, I told Bethany that I knew because Nichole told me she heard Jamie say something to Stephen at lunch. And I told Bethany to tell Jessica because she would’a told Tana as soon as she heard. So she knows, believe me.

So you don’t even know that Tana told Jamie? Miranda clarified, trying to keep up with the jumping logic. Lindsay’s phone suddenly blew up with several texts coming in, one right after the other.

"didnt take long," Bethany responded.

Lindsay then clicked on a new conversation to read. O-M-G, she said out aloud and began thumbing a response.

What? Miranda asked, turning the music down. What’s wrong?

Tana just called me a ‘B,’ she said as she thumbed her response.

"don’t u call me bitch when ur1 who did it," she stabbed the send button.

"unbelievable … just called me a beatch," she sent to Bethany.

Why don’t you just call her? Miranda asked as she held her own phone up to read a message that chimed in.

Nice, Mom. Why don’t you just drive into a tree now? Lindsay said. You’re not supposed to text and drive.

Okay, okay. Miranda dropped the phone back between her legs.

"ur kidding nfw," Bethany had texted back. Before Lindsay could respond her phone received another text.

"didn’t call you beatch—sed ur acting like one" That was from Tana.

"please stop this" Lindsay sent back.

"I didn’t tell jamie" Came back from Tana.

"don’t wanna fight w you" Lindsay wrote back.

"call me"

Really Tana? Lindsay said out loud.

What? Miranda asked.

Nothing, was all Lindsay said, writing to Bethany: "now wants 2 talk :-s"

"really … maybe u shld" Bethany responded right away.

"seriously? u and my mom shld hang out" Lindsay shot back to Bethany, clearly not happy that she was now getting more advice to talk with Montana.

Nobody is on my side, she announced and threw her phone into her purse. I mean, seriously. First Tana, then you, and now Bethany. Her phone chirped from inside her purse.

"What did I do? Miranda asked, now totally lost. I’ve just told you to talk to her. Texting isn’t a very clear form of communication, you know?" She was turning off Providence and onto the roads leading to their home in Myers Park.

You aren’t on my side, Lindsay objected.

Don’t be silly. ‘Course I’m on your side. I just know how much you and Tana love each other and don’t want you to lose that over a potential misunderstanding.

That’s what she wants to do, she responded flatly.

Then call her! Miranda said, giving her daughter’s shoulder a gentle and playful push.

I will, she sighed. Later. I can’t right now. She put her elbow on her knee, crossed over her other leg, and sat with her chin in the palm of her hand and looked out the window.

Hey, how ‘bout a mani-pedi to make you feel better? Miranda asked. Lindsay scrunched her mouth up to the left side of her face.

Okay. I think that could work, she responded, smiling ever so slightly.

Dealio.

Miranda turned the H3 towards their favorite spa.

Charlotte was rich in four things for a city of its size. The first was bankers. You couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting a banker in a pinstriped suit with a red tie and a white shirt. The second was shopping. There were people who took vacations in Charlotte simply to shop. Now, if you wanted to shop, then you shouldn’t go Uptown. The center city had plenty of bars and restaurants, but there wasn’t any shopping to be done. Next was cars. There were more BMWs, Hummers, and Mercedes in Charlotte than anywhere else. Most likely the research would show the per capita number of luxury cars in Charlotte was the highest in the South. The first item on the list, bankers, increased the demand for the shopping and cars. It certainly increased the fourth: spas. There were almost as many spas in Charlotte as there were churches. You couldn’t come to a street corner without a choice between two churches and two spas. Restaurants failed during the financial crisis; however, spas for the most part, seemed to have held on.

Who was your text from? Lindsay asked her Mom.

Oh, it was your dad. He thinks it’ll be eight o’clock before he’s home. So we can get a bite to eat when we’re done before we go home.

They arrived at the spa and Miranda parked, then they climbed down from the Hummer.

He seems to be working more, Lindsay commented.

He’s having some problems getting this latest company up and running. It’s a new experience for him, Presh. Your dad is one of the most successful men in the city. Heck, in the entire country.

They went inside and got themselves situated in their seats and kept talking.

I don’t like this new company, Lindsay said as the Asian woman rolled up her jeans. Lindsay slid her feet into the paraffin bath, smiled and closed her eyes. I love this part, she sighed.

Me, too, said Miranda. What’s wrong with this company?

I don’t like how much he works and how unhappy he seems to be. He’s different, Lindsay got quiet. He’s making bad decisions, Mom. He’s doing things that aren’t right.

Presh, how so? Miranda asked, looking over at Lindsay, who kept her eyes closed.

Really? You have to ask? Lindsay said, instantly back to her irritated self. She sighed. He’s just different. He’s meaner. I don’t like what he made me do, Mom. I don’t like what it’s doing to him. I just don’t like it, Lindsay said, keeping her eyes closed the whole time.

Miranda’s fingers were splayed open on the armrest of the pedicure seat. The deep burgundy color glowed in the track lighting of the spa. I know, honey. I know, was all she could say. She didn’t like the changes in her husband either.

4. Jeff Johnson Stalks His Prey

Jeff Johnson sat in his beaten down Ford Escort and tossed the empty Krispy Kreme donuts box over his shoulder. The backseat of the car was strewn with McDonald’s wrappers, Red Bull cans, and now donut boxes. His head ached from trying to work through all of the possibilities of his plan. One thing that Johnson was not good at was planning. He was an athlete. Well, he had been an athlete at one time. First he was a linebacker for the University of North Carolina Tar Heels. And then, after he’d been cut from the squad in his junior year, he’d joined a Nationwide NASCAR racing team as part of the pit crew.

Now he sat in a dirty and dented Ford Escort in one of the most affluent neighborhoods of Charlotte. He felt self-conscious. Johnson knew that his car was probably sticking out in Myers Park, that was all BMWs, Mercedes, Jaguars, and other European luxury cars. He needed to follow this girl and make sure he knew exactly which house she lived in. He realized that someone was walking towards him and it wasn’t Lindsay Lawless. He looked around, trying to find something that looked like a map or a newspaper or anything so he would like he was waiting on someone. He settled for grabbing his cell from the glove compartment and acted like he was texting someone, though his phone wasn’t even working. He hadn’t kept up with the bills so the wireless company had turned it off days ago.

The person walked on by so he shoved it back into the glove compartment and looked around again. The big house that the Lawlesses lived in was right there in front of him. Johnson had fantasized several times about burning the place down. Of course, he’d want to make sure the house was empty; he didn’t really want to kill them. At least not the wife and daughter. Lawless himself, now that was another matter. That bastard deserved a slow painful death. Being burnt alive seemed like a pretty good way to make him pay for what he’d done to Johnson and his family. He was pretty sure it was the Lawless’ house. The man was almost certain he’d seen Lawless go inside when he’d followed him from work, though it was always dark when he came home. The man worked so damn much!

Who in their right mind would spend so much time at the office when they have a spread like this to come home to? Johnson thought as he stared at the house. Then he saw a massive H3 Hummer pull down the road. That’s them. He hopped from his car and started walking towards the driveway to the big house.

Johnson timed it perfectly. He stopped at the edge of the driveway as the H3 pulled to a stop to let him walk by. Inside, Miranda and Lindsay were still talking brightly after their visit to the spa and picking up dinner.