SnowCapped

By Mark Lewis

Christian Garrett has it all...until he doesn’t.

A successful, billionaire CEO, Chris lives a storied life in Silicon Valley. When his company fails, he loses both the job he loves and his vast wealth. Consumed by failure, he returns to his childhood home of Vail, Colorado to pick up the pieces of his shattered life. Just when he thinks things can’t get any worse, he is accused of the heinous murder of another famous tech billionaire, the CEO of a popular social media platform.

Chris enlists the help of his long-time friend and retired CIA operative, Jack Wood, to find the real killer. Faced with threats at every turn, and deadly reminders about the danger of their mission, they ultimately uncover the bizarre motive behind the murder, but the mastermind remains hidden. Chris and Jack must use their wits, their relationships, and their technological acumen to catch the elusive killer, clear Chris's name, and maybe, just maybe, restore a little of everything he lost.

A face-paced techno thriller, Snowcapped will put you on a rollercoaster ride from Silicon Valley to the peaks of Colorado. As Chris Garrett chases down a killer, he learns the value of family and friends over money and power.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Lewis
• Release date: Aug 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781956019872

Mark Lewis

Mark joined the Royal Marines aged 16 and 3 weeks in 1978 after the premature death of his Father who was also a career Royal Marine. He completed one of the toughest military training courses in the world still aged 16 and found himself thrown into the grown-up world of 45 Commando Royal Marines in Scotland.Mark had ambitions to become a member of Reconnaissance Troop and maybe even Special Forces, but a surprise handful of O Levels gained from a Comprehensive education meant that he was detailed off for a Clerks course from training and his military career was sent in a different direction.After Arctic Warfare training in Norway and deployments to The Mediterranean Mark found himself in 42 Commando Royal Marines at 19 heading to The Falkland Islands War with the most superb and timelessly humorous bunch of Royal Marines of that generation.Mark remained in the Royal Marines for 11 years after which he joined the police for 23 years. This held up the publication of any material Mark had written as his Chief Constable would not have approved and the Complaints Department may have come calling.After his career in the police service Mark became a RYA Yacht Sailing Instructor and has run a sailing school for the past 14 years.He still attends Falkland reunions and laughs with old mates for most of the weekend.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Christian Garrett’s new job wasn’t about the money; it was simply about keeping him from drinking all day or jumping off a bridge. He wasn’t the type for self-pity, but the crash had left him lost and without purpose for the first time in thirty years. He remembered, growing up, his parents telling him the adage, Work is good for the soul. At the time it just seemed like another platitude provided by your elders, but now he realized the insight contained in this simple phrase.

The day felt surprisingly normal for it only being Chris’s second week on the job. He glanced down at his watch—2 p.m. Two hours until the lift closed. His watch was old-school, a self-winding Ulysse Nardin Marine, worth more than he would make all season at this lifty job. Chris was a self-avowed super techie and had just about every gadget possible, but he hated smartwatches. To him, they were the equivalent of a handcuff to the needs of others. At least you could put your phone in a drawer or turn it off, but the smartwatch was always there, with its incessant unwanted interruptions.

At forty-nine years old, Chris was twice the age of most of his coworkers at Vail Resorts, the upscale Beaver Creek ski area where he now worked as a lift attendant. Long gone were the ancient, slow-moving double chairs that Chris had ridden growing up. They had all been replaced with fast quad- or even six-pack chairs that whisked skiers up the mountain.

Today, he was stationed at the Centennial Gondola at the base of the mountain, helping the skiers board the lift. It was the day after Christmas, and the resort was packed with holiday vacationers from around the globe. The sun was out, and it had snowed almost three feet in the past week, so the conditions were ideal—dry champagne powder and blue skies. Even the news reports that COVID was surging in the mountain communities did not deter the skiers.

Heather Simpson was his partner for the day. He had already worked with her a few times and found himself enjoying her company. She had recently graduated with a degree in Environmental Engineering from CU Boulder and had a part-time job working for the local utility on renewable energy projects. As the Valley was a very expensive place to live, she did what many young people did—she got a second side-hustle job working at the resort.

She was the opposite of the stereotypical nerdy and introverted engineer; Heather was tall, blond, and very attractive, seemed to always be in a good mood, and loved to chat.

As they helped the skiers and snowboarders board the lift, Heather talked constantly. She would ask people how their day was going, compliment their ski attire, and ask where they were from. Like most of the employees at the resort, Heather didn’t want to live in some large city jam-packed with people. The outdoor lifestyle was an addiction.

During a lull in boarding, Heather turned to Chris. A few of us are going over to Route 6 tonight for a comedy show. Wanna come?

Thanks, but I think I’m a bit too old to hang out with your crew, Chris replied.

Oh, come on, she said with a flirtatious smirk. You’re not that old.

He was flattered but didn’t reply.

In high school, Chris had been the definition of a nerd—long, unkempt hair, a gangly body, acne, and glasses. He ran track and was on the ski team but never seemed to be coordinated enough for baseball or basketball.

While he was still a nerd in the technical sense, his features had transformed over the decades since. He used to look like a young Bill Gates, but his physique had filled out over the years. Chris had tried to grow a beard several times, but it never worked. Occasionally, he would grow a goatee, but mostly he stayed clean-shaven or went with the currently popular three-day stubble.

Chris was just north of six-foot-two with dark blond hair that was starting to show a hint of gray. He kept it trimmed short, mostly for ease. While he wasn’t going to run any marathons or the local Leadville 100—a full hundred miles on trails through the mountains—he was in good shape. In the past two months, he had focused on getting back to his target weight and toning up for ski season. He had dropped his waist from a size 36 back to a 34, which was all he wanted.

The evolution of his appearance had changed how women interacted with him. In high school, he was never going to be prom king or an athletic superstar; in college and after, girls rarely approached him in bars. He’d had several girlfriends, but simply didn’t have the looks to be a player. Now, at almost fifty, it seemed he had magically developed some kind of magnetism.

A group of snowboarders approached, and Heather returned to her chatty mode. If he didn’t know better, Chris would have thought the younger woman was flirting with him, but he was married, totally in love with his wife, and not going to do anything stupid. At any rate, tonight was poker night with his long-time friends, and he would never miss it. They had been playing two to four times per year for the last thirty-four years, and he rarely missed a game, even if it meant traveling around the world to make it.

Four of his five close childhood friends had left the Vail Valley in Colorado and moved to other states to build their careers, but everyone was now back except for Alton Hughes, who was just two hours away in Denver.

Chris had gone to school in Boulder, gotten an engineering degree, and then headed to Silicon Valley. While he loved Colorado, the Bay Area was, indisputably, the Hollywood for nerds. Sometimes he felt like he barely even chose to go there, just like an aspiring actor would go to LA almost by default. Chris had progressed to the top of his profession, and then the whole thing blew up.

A group of skiers approached, and Chris immediately recognized the tall, slender man leading them—Sanjay Rao, the CEO of Connected, a social media platform that was insanely popular with the twenty-somethings. Chris never used it himself—he shied away from most social media except for work purposes—but he knew it was a combination of a friend network a la Facebook and a dating platform like Tinder.

Heather apparently recognized Sanjay as well. Mr. Rao, she said with her usual smile, it’s great to see you today. How’s the skiing?

Sanjay ignored her and turned to Chris. Christian, it’s a surprise to see you here. How are you doing?

The man was tall and slender, with fine features and a sophisticated look. He was wearing a tight-fitting jacket and skin-tight patterned ski pants. As billionaires went, Sanjay looked the part.

Hey, Sanjay, Chris replied with a small wave of his hand. I decided I needed a break, so here I am.

The group was already boarding the gondola. Chris was thankful this wouldn’t be a long conversation. Sanjay was just another ever-present reminder of how far he had fallen.

As the door started to close, Sanjay said, Good to see you—be well.

As soon as they were gone, Heather exclaimed, You know Sanjay Rao?

Yes, Chris replied. I’m surprised you even know who he is.

She smiled. Of course I do. Connected is basically my life. But how do you know him?

We’ve met a few times, mostly doing panels together at events, Chris said, trying to make it sound as dull as possible so she would end the questions.

It didn’t work.

What events? Heather asked.

Of course it was intriguing for her. What she really was trying to understand had to be, how does a lift attendant pal around with a billionaire CEO?

We were on the same panel at a couple of investment banking events, and one a couple of years ago in Davos, Chris said flatly. He didn’t want to have this conversation, but he didn’t know what else to say other than the truth. He was a horrible liar.

I’ve heard of Davos—cool, Heather replied with genuine astonishment. She was clearly puzzled, and reached over and touched his arm. What did you do in the past? Seriously, how did you end up hanging out with a billionaire?

Well, Chris said, looking straight at her. Six months ago, I was a billionaire.

Chapter 2

Chris arrived at the Ritz Carlton Bachler Gulch right at seven, pulling his Jeep to the front entrance.

Good evening, Mr. Garrett! said Dameon, the head valet, as he helped open the car door. Your game tonight is in Room D in the conference center. The others are already here. I think they’re in the bar.

Dameon was probably thirty or so, and slightly taller than Chris, with a full brown beard. He wore a duster coat and a dark brown felt cowboy hat—all in all, he looked like he’d come straight out of central casting for a classic Western. While the attire would have seemed out of place for most hotels, it was perfect for the Ritz in Beaver Creek. The hotel, built in the early 2000s, was the largest log cabin in the world. At seven stories, and containing 180 oversized rooms, it dominated the Bachler Gulch valley.

Thanks, Dameon, good to see you, he replied, handing him a twenty.

Dameon took the keys to Chris’s Jeep Rubicon. We’ll keep it up top, Mr. Garrett. Hope you win big money tonight.

It’s just a friendly game. Chris gave him a nod and walked into the hotel.

Entering the lobby, he looked around. It was small, with a stone fireplace, a coffee table, and four overstuffed chairs. The check-in and concierge desks stood on each side of the entry door. To Chris, it always had the feel of a large house or maybe a small castle, not a hotel. The combination of the warm feel and the great staff made it by far his favorite place to hang out in the Vail Valley.

That said, whenever he drove up the road, the outside reminded Chris of the Stanley Hotel in The Shining.

He walked into the bar. As expected, the mood was festive, and it was packed. The period from Christmas to New Year’s was the busiest of the year, one Chris usually avoided.

He looked around for his friends but didn’t see them. Several familiar faces popped out, however, including his company’s chief legal counsel, Tom Stanwick. That was a bit surprising—Tom hadn’t mentioned coming to Vail, but he must have been here on other business for other clients, or maybe just taking a break. Sanjay Rao was having a big new year’s party at his ranch, called the Bar T, in nearby Edwards—half of the people at the hotel were probably here for the party.

Lifestyles of the rich and famous. Chris wondered if there would be fireworks.

It still stung. Until six months ago, Chris had owned the Bar T ranch. He’d purchased it a decade ago and had spent six years completely renovating the property. Originally, the ranch had occupied the whole Lake Creek valley and been over two thousand acres in size, but most of it was sold for expensive homesites in the early 1990s. Chris had purchased the ranch house and about two hundred acres in 2011. The ranch was at the top of the valley and bordered the White River National Forest. He had kept the existing house as a guest house and built a new, fourteen-thousand-square-foot main house that looked like an old mountain lodge but was tricked out with the latest in technology. He rebuilt the stable and built a massive toy barn for his classic car collection, snowmobiles, and off-road vehicles. The barn was even larger than the main house and a quarter mile away, tucked away in the woods. It was also set up for hosting large parties, and he assumed it would be the location for Sanjay’s party.

Six months ago, when his company was facing a cash crisis, Chris had sold the ranch to Sanjay and invested the money all back into the company. It might have seemed foolhardy to risk everything, and in hindsight it had been, but it was the kind of move not uncommon among successful entrepreneurs. If you believed, you needed to be 100 percent invested, period. Many highly successful startups had had a crisis event, coming within weeks if not days of shutting down.

Unfortunately, in this case, Chris’s company did not survive, and was forced into a position where most of the employees were laid off. He and the board had just retained an investment bank to sell the remaining assets. The investors, including Chris, would see pennies on the dollar from their investments—if they saw anything at all.

Chris knew that 90% of startups failed, but that fact provided little solace. He equated the startup environment to a large casino with hundreds of slot machines. If you sit there and play, every few minutes you’ll hear that familiar ding, ding, ding of a big payout. The whole casino environment is designed to give the impression that a high percentage of people are winning when the exact opposite is true. The venture capital community has set up that same program. Shout the winners from the rooftops. Let the failures fade quietly away.

Chris worried that some of his less experienced investors might think they were deceived somehow and, as his legal counsel said, might make a fuss. The media was all over the Theranos story, where an entrepreneur named Elizabeth Holmes had been able to secure billions in investments for an idea that never got off the ground. That was an extreme case, where the management team was outright lying to investors and the board was completely out of touch with what was going on. Chris knew that he had not deceived the investors, but sometimes emotion still trumped facts.

The worst part of this ordeal, however, had been the cover story in Fortune magazine titled The Rise and Fall of Christian Garrett that had come out a month prior. The money loss was bad enough, but the epic failure of his company consumed him. Every night he thought over what he could have done better, the moves he should have made. The only thing he could settle on for certain, though, was that his career in tech was over.

Now, Chris was looking forward to a simple evening playing cards with his oldest friends.

He found the room in the conference center and stepped in. His friends were all there, just starting to count out the chips. Thirty years later, everyone still addressed each other by their high school nicknames. Chris’s was GT—either from the first and last letter of his last name or his passion for sports cars; at this point, he couldn’t even remember. Dan Hart was Danno, Jack Wood was Wooder, Mike Mason was Mace, Randy Scott was Scotty, and Alton Hughes was Hewy. Each of his friends had dramatically different professions, but all had done extremely well.

This was their first time playing at the Ritz. They had generally played at someone’s house or Alton’s club in Denver. In the past several years, they had played mostly at Chris’s barn at the Bar T, but that was no more.

Dan was playing host, and he greeted Chris with a double handshake. Hey GT, welcome! What can I get you?

Dan Hart was the general manager at another Ritz Carlton, in Beaver Creek. After high school, he’d gone to college at ASU and then entered the hospitality business, working in sales for several hotel chains before moving into management. He’d served as general manager for several high-end hotels around the world before returning here to Colorado.

Hey Danno, I’ll have the usual—and a bison burger, Chris said. The usual was a Tanqueray 10 martini straight up, shaken hard, with blue cheese olives. Technically, it wasn’t a martini, as Chris always told the bartender to just look at the bottle of vermouth while shaking the gin.

Dan was the king of hospitality; he remembered everyone’s favorite drink and virtually every other like and dislike. Chris wished he could even remember people’s names at parties. In true Dan fashion, his perfectly chilled martini, absent the vermouth, was already on the table.

Chris sat and sipped his drink with a nod. You know, Danno, maybe you should go into the hospitality business.

Everyone laughed.

The others said hi to Chris and settled into their seats. They all knew what had recently happened with Chris’s company. He was sure they all had also read the Fortune article, but none of them were ever going to bring up the topic. The group had an unspoken rule about bad stuff like that—it just wasn’t discussed. Poker conversation was about sports, fishing, the status of the kids, cars, and jokes. Subjects like politics, religion, divorce, or heavy drama were simply off the table, no pun intended.

In decades past, the game refreshments would have been chips, beer, and cigars, but that had evolved. Mike Mason was the only beer drinker left. Alton had developed a problem with alcohol after his divorce and no longer drank. Dan and Randy mostly went with wine. Jack was a bourbon man. Chris always had a gin martini and then a glass of wine. While he still loved a good cigar, smoking indoors was all but extinct, so that rarely happened these days.

The wood-paneled, windowless room was large and set up with a single round table in the center and a couple of side tables for parking the food and chips while they played.

This is pretty nice, Danno, Mike commented. We should make this our regular venue.

Mike Mason was the one member of the group who’d never strayed far. He’d gone to college in Boulder and gotten a master’s degree in criminology. Mike had worked as a police officer and deputy for several cities, including Denver, but returned to Eagle County ten years ago to run for sheriff, the position in which he’d now served for almost a decade.

Mike was the comedian of the group and always had a funny story or a joke at the ready. To his friends, he never seemed like a cop. If Chris had to guess, he would have said car salesman or maybe realtor, but not cop. From what Chris gathered from a couple of his deputies, however, Mike had a bit of a Jekyll/Hyde personality when it came to work life vs. home life. At work, he was a total professional and a bit of a hard-ass, while socially, he was super mellow and more of a comedian than anything else. Chris had yet to personally see his work side.

Just don’t bring your work ride, Dan scolded Mike. It scares the guests.

After he finished getting everyone’s orders in place, he sat down. Presumably thinking that Chris had flown in from California specifically for the event, Dan said, GT, it’s great that you could make it out for this auspicious event. When did you get in?

Oh, I’ve been here a while, Chris said. He didn’t want to lie, but he had no desire to get specific.

And you didn’t even let us know? I guess you must be too busy socializing with your other friends, Dan joked.

You got that right; I even had to say no to a date with a very attractive young woman just to make our game, Chris said, continuing the banter. But wanting to keep being married to Lisa was the main reason I declined.

Good call, Alton teased. But I’m not married—do you have her number? Maybe I should give her a call. What’s her name?

Alton Hughes, the athlete of the group, had gone to Notre Dame on a football scholarship and become a lawyer. After living in Phoenix for many years, he ultimately started his law practice in Denver. He married an heiress of some sort from Texas. Of the group, Alton was always the one who seemed to be a magnet for the most attractive women. For the guys, it was hard to figure out why, because Alton was not great-looking, but his outgoing personality and charm were second to none. He and his wife had divorced about ten years ago, but he never seemed to lack female companionship.

Her name is Heather Simpson, and no, you cannot have her number. Chris now regretted even opening the topic. How about we play some cards?

Okay, forty-dollar buy-in to start, Jack said as he pushed the stacks of chips around the table. Even though everyone could afford higher stakes, the game never really changed. The most you were ever going to win or lose was a couple hundred. It wasn’t about money.

Chris was a good, albeit amateur, poker player. He almost always came out ahead, and often even won, but nobody cared. It was just how things were. The game was simply a pretense for maintaining the friendships. On the other side, Randy almost always lost. The others were somewhere in the middle. When they had to cancel their game last summer, Mike Mason texted everyone that they should all just send $50 to GT so it would feel like they’d had a regular game.

The hands were dealer’s choice, so they would play lots of different games. They played everything from draw and hold ’em to more wild games like 727 and Bloody Guts. The conversation always remained light and unsubstantial.

Even though it had been a year since they last played, it felt like they had all just been together yesterday. They fell into the usual mode of light conversation and banter. The first jab came from Alton. Hey Mace—shot any furniture lately?

Mike Mason had told the group a hilarious story a few years back. He’d been sitting down at his desk and adjusting his holster when his gun went off. The bullet went right through his chair and obviously scared the crap out of him and everyone else in the office. Mike had everyone rolling on the floor laughing—the only time he’d ever fired his gun, he shot a chair.

No more pieces of furniture have lost their lives, Mike quipped.

They all laughed.

And so it went, all evening.

How’s the weed business? Chris asked Alton later, as he sipped on the martini and peeked at his cards.

It’s on fire, Alton replied. Growing like crazy.

How big is your team?

We have over fifty lawyers, about three hundred in total. Most are in Denver, but we have small branches now in Telluride, Aspen, and here in Vail.

Impressive, Randy said.

As he was shuffling the cards, Randy looked over at Chris and asked, How long are you staying? Got time for a backcountry ski day?

Randy Scott was the rich friend. All of the group had come from working-class families except Randy. His father was a real estate speculator who hit it big when the Vail ski area started in 1962. Like Chris, Randy had been a bit of a nerd in high school. He’d gone to college back east, starting out in engineering but then switching and getting a business degree. Once he graduated, he worked as an investment broker in New York. Randy always seemed to have a different job or be working for a different brokerage. About eight years ago, he’d moved back to the Valley, and he and his wife now split their time between Vail and Naples, Florida. He called himself an investment advisor these days, but the group believed he was mostly a trustafarian—living off his parent’s inheritance.

I don’t think I’m ever leaving, Chris said in a monotone. He immediately regretted saying it, but it just came out.

As expected, his statement took everyone by surprise. Chris hadn’t told any of his friends yet that he had moved back to the Vail Valley. They obviously had questions, but it seemed no one wanted to open the box.

Chris would never return to Silicon Valley. The failure of his company had changed him, and he now got physically ill even thinking about going back to the Bay Area.

He knew it was irrational; he’d had an incredible twenty-five-year run of success and dozens of major wins. He had made it to the top, but the failure consumed him, and he would never return. This had to be how a professional athlete felt when they aged out or got injured, forced to leave their sports career behind—that was the only analogy he could think of. Technology and building companies were his passion, but Chris knew it was over, and it crushed him.

As everyone was digesting Chris’s pronouncement, a man in a dark suit entered the room. Chris thought at first that it must be a hotel employee, but even the Ritz employees rarely wore suits.

The man looked directly at him. Christian Garrett?

Yup, Chris replied.

The man handed him an envelope. You’ve been served, he said as he pulled out a phone and took a picture