Found: One Dangerous Psychopath...and More...

By Sarah Schulz

Found

One dangerous psychopath...and more...

Gregory is a nice-guy billionaire determined to help people. When he is tasked with tracking down a con man from decades ago, he can't quite say no. He knows the guy is still out there and has a feeling that he's dangerous.

He finds his con man, finds he's right about his con man, and finds so much more.

Angeline is what Gregory finds. He is determined to help her find herself, and he thinks he succeeds. But then he loses his heart in the process.

They say nice guys finish last... Does he?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886547627

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Found

One Dangerous Psychopath...and More...

Sarah Schulz

Copyright © 2023 Sarah Schulz

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 979-8-88654-759-7 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88654-762-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

About the Author

Prologue

Benjamin Bach was always perfectly perfect.

That slime ball could walk the walk and talk the talk, and he never had a hair out of place on his perfectly pretty psychopath's head.

There must be a way to bring this guy down. He must be doing something wrong even on this level because a slime ball like that wouldn't operate something like this shopping mall cleanly. No way. He used this mall for something. He'd use the whole damn town for something. And this small Missouri town was perfect for Benjamin Bach's operations.

Gregory strode through the shopping mall with a watchful eye. On the surface, it seemed like a perfectly normal shopping mall, featuring the same variety of stores and amenities that you would find in any small-town mall. But Gregory was looking for what was below the surface. He was looking for a clue, any clue that suggested that not everything was as it seemed. His months of research into the business revealed that everything was on the up and up, the accounting was clean, the bills paid, and the profits accounted for, but he felt that even the miles of paperwork that he meticulously picked through didn't reveal everything. Sometimes just reading about something wasn't enough. Sometimes you just had to experience it. And with his stroll here today, he was hoping to find some missing pieces to the puzzle.

So far, no such luck.

Gregory looked at everything. The building itself presented as clean and organized. Perfectly modern and perfectly normal for the area. There was nothing too flashy or too dated about it. The security that was plainly visible to patrons was also perfectly normal for the area, consisting of appropriately placed cameras, alarms, and a couple of uniformed guards. Nothing too high-tech or too outdated. A quick glance revealed that the mall truly was an equal opportunity employer, and more than that, those employees seemed happy. Everything was perfectly normal.

Perfectly perfect.

Of course.

Just when Gregory thought to give up and leave, he got lucky. And he didn't even mind admitting that this was just sheer dumb luck that put him in the right place at the right time. A gaggle of teenage girls giggled their way past him, and he thought that he must have lost track of time because shouldn't they be in school? So he stopped to check his watch, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cardboard display in the window of the candy store turn slightly toward the girls. He figured that there must be a camera hidden in that display, and even though his rational mind was telling him to make sure, he knew better than to look at the display, knew better than to give any outward appearance of noticing anything awry at all. He certainly knew better than to linger in the area. So he continued walking as nonchalantly as he had been; however, this time, he was letting his sixth sense provide the clues. He cleared his mind and stopped consciously looking for things. He let the various sights and sounds penetrate as they would.

And it worked. It wasn't long before he noticed that the air was practically humming with technology, and this place was seriously high tech—way more than a shopping mall needed to be. He could almost feel the cameras. He stopped at the window of a men's clothing store in the pretense of checking out the display pieces, and that's when he saw it: a power cord; a power cord where there shouldn't be a power cord. It dawned on him then that there were lots of power cords in this mall where there shouldn't be. That is what has been bothering him since he got here. And now that he noticed the cords, he started seeing lots more cameras and even listening devices too—everywhere. The oddly placed garbage cans started making sense now, as well as the lost balloons in the ceiling. And of course, the longer he was there, the more the feeling of being watched intensified. He knew then that he wasn't mistaken about the candy store display because he could almost feel the cameras start to focus on him too. Someone was monitoring the cameras. He was glad that he always did this part of job off the grid. No cameras or microphones of his own, no transmitters. The only technology he carried on him was his phone, and that was because he'd draw more attention without it. After all, everyone carried a phone on them, especially a talent scout like him.

And then something else clicked into place in his mind—something that he only now realized was off. If he was right, and he was pretty sure he was, the security in this mall was more than what was at Fort Knox. That raised a few major questions immediately. First of all, Who was paying for all this equipment? This stuff wasn't free, or even cheap. The mall didn't pay for it—not on paper, anyway. The mall couldn't pay for it. It was just able to support itself and barely provide Benjamin with a tiny income. That meant that Benjamin had another source of revenue. But what was it? His name wasn't on anything. Gregory wasn't naive. He knew that people worked for cash and that lots of palms were greased. He knew that people traded goods and services with handshake deals. But what goods or services were Benjamin trading? Who was doing this with Benjamin? Why? How many people were involved with Benjamin? Do they know who Benjamin is? What he is? Are they just as corrupt as he is? Or are they just other victims of Benjamin's schemes? Another major question was, Why? Why was there this kind of security at a shopping mall? What was Benjamin that worried about? What was he watching? Who was he watching? Was he waiting for something? Was he hiding something? Was he trying to protect something? Why was he hiding the cameras? Why did he have listening devices? What exactly was he trying to hear?

As he mulled all this over in his mind, another question occurred to him: What didn't Gregory see? Now he knew about the cameras, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something else too—something more that he was missing.

What was Gregory walking into? Whatever it was, he had a feeling that it was huge. He felt a sudden, unexpected chill run down his spine when he saw a mannequin turn its head slightly toward him, and he knew that whatever was going on, he had to work fast and make no mistakes. He just knew that this was important.

A janitor looked up at him for a bit too long as he walked past, and Gregory knew that he was just minutes away from outstaying his welcome, and he learned long ago to never, ever, outstay your welcome. He'd been in the building too long for not actually buying anything, so he'd moved way past the innocent just looking phase and was moving out of the just killing some time phase and rapidly into the creepier just hunting phase. As he walked passed, the guy manning the sunglasses kiosk started talking into a handheld radio. Gregory has been around long enough to recognize the flurry of excitement as people started recognizing him, and he's been around long enough to recognize suspicion and he knew that somebody was getting very suspicious of him—suspicious enough to let the covert spies reveal themselves. Not that he was worried. In fact, he was rather pleased. That suspicion was going to be Benjamin's downfall. Also, he knew that it wouldn't be long before they recognized him as well.

Enough for now. It was time to go. He'd become curious enough to send in someone to infiltrate Benjamin's operation, and from there, they could gather enough evidence to warrant a police investigation. And when Benjamin's henchmen finished their internet searches, they would know that Gregory Hammond, the model and talent scout, had been in their town. They would know enough to expect him back in a few months, and they would know enough to welcome him back with open arms. This is what someone would call a win-win.

He drove out of town and stopped about a half hour later to quickly sketch out a sort-of rough blueprint of the mall, marking some locations of cameras and alarms. He marked the locations of things he thought were suspicious, making notations of what they were, such as the cardboard display in the candy store and the mannequin, and then wrote down a few ideas of things to look for next, such as cameras in the changing rooms or restrooms. This map was the evidence he would show his team to convince them that an investigation was warranted and also provide them with something to study to help brainstorm ideas on how best to proceed.

*****

Gregory rather liked his job as the owner and operator of his prestigious model and talent agency. He was able to help people realize their dreams. It provided him with a very lucrative income, and it afforded him the ability to go anywhere and talk to anyone. Not only could he move easily in any circle, but he was also actually sought after. He had some very powerful connections all over the world in fashion industries, performing arts, movies and TV, music and recording, broadcasting and communications, and even journalism. It wouldn't be unusual to find him in the hot spots all over the world: Cannes for the film festival or Milan for fashion week, Hollywood for the Emmys, and of course, New York for the Met Gala. He was an invited guest at weddings of royalty all over the world.

He was also found in almost any small town in the nation. He ate meals at truck stops and out-of-the-way diners. He wandered through shopping malls and sat through school plays and concerts. Gregory was constantly actively searching for the next hot look, sound, act, whatever, and he hung around lots of different places and talked to lots of different people to find it.

No one ever thought it strange if he stayed in one town for a long time or if he returned several times. He could stroll into practically any establishment, and no one was bothered. He was welcome everywhere, anytime. After all, everyone wanted to be discovered. The fact that he was a billionaire didn't hurt anything, either.

The fact that his prestige as a scout helped him in other ways, too, was no coincidence. After all, that was part of the reason why Hammond Elite was created—to provide him with the in that he needed for his other work, which was as a sort of investigator. He and his team worked very quietly in conjunction with the police, FBI, and other government agencies to help people who have been victimized by corruption or greed or bias. But whereas the government is limited by legalities, politics, and bureaucratic red tape, Gregory and his friends are not. They are careful to stay mostly within the lines of the law, yet they use covert, unconventional, and sometimes underhanded means to gather information to turn over to the authorities.

This group that he belongs to was formed quite by accident, as was the work that they did. And they are certainly an incongruent crew: a modeling executive, a former police detective, a dancer, a former computer hacker, and a writer. No one would guess that they worked closely together, yet they each contributed something to the group that was useful and necessary; they each had skills and strengths that their professions afforded them to make them a very well-rounded team. And they each had very valid reasons to want to really help people.

For Gregory, it all started years ago when he was still a model himself, and he started to see how the world really worked—certain people taking whatever they wanted, doing whatever they wanted, to whomever they wanted with no repercussions—and often, it was those in a position of power, the person who already had so much taking advantage of the person who had so little. He remembered vividly a visit overseas in which he saw a girl being brutalized by some older guys. He had been unable to intervene then, and that horrible scene never left him; that horrible feeling of helplessness never left him. And there were many examples of bullying, racism, sexism, grifting, and abuse over many years, and many similar stories from friends that got to him, made him frustrated over the lack of real power that the police had, the rules that prohibited police from taking action.

He realized that he wanted to do something about it. He needed to do something about it. And he could do something about it. He knew that he was kind of in a unique position that enabled him to have acquaintances with many people in many different industries. That alone was all he needed to realize that he was in a great position to help people. He saw a lot of corruption, and he didn't just have to stand by and watch.

It was when he was in his midtwenties that he first had an inkling that his modeling career was about to end. He was slow to be booked for a particular fashion show because the designer thought he might look too old. While he was still one of the most sought-after guys in the industry the world over, he was also a seasoned professional, and he knew his days were numbered. While it was slightly easier for men, he worked in an industry obsessed with youth, and the bottom line was that he wasn't getting any younger. So he did what any smart person would do; he retired. He retired when he was still at the top of his game, except he didn't call it retiring. He called it expanding. He opened his own agency. And his was different. While it's nothing new for a former model to open a modeling agency, his was a talent agency. He used his friendships with various people in various industries and everyone else he could think of to advise him. He started small: just introducing certain people that he already knew to certain other people that he already knew and then slowly expanding. And he did this while he was still booking and working jobs himself. He found it easy to network while he was still a star, easier perhaps than waiting till people saw him as a washed-up old model still trying to hang on to a past life. It was such a slow transition that no one realized he was retiring, no one realized that he was getting old. He was simply too busy with his other job. Gregory had a true gift for recognizing honest talent and for being able to market that talent. It wasn't long before he was at the top of that game too. He treated his recruits with professionalism, honesty, and respect and did his best to assure that others did too.

And through it all, he kept his eyes open for people who needed help; people who were victims of cons or corruption or just plain old bullying or bigotry. He did whatever he could to help them out. He got a lot of help from a friend who was of like mind, a former police detective who had a bit of an inside track and very useful connections and contacts of his own. Together, they became sort of champions for anyone they happened to run across who couldn't help themselves. At first, it was just Gregory and Ethan, and then they started to get more and more help from other friends of Gregory's, Alison who was a writer, and Rochelle, a dancer. They even got help from a man Ethan had once arrested, Gabe, who was a computer hacker but now made an honest and lucrative living in the financial industry.

Chapter 1

Angeline's face still stung from where it was slapped, but it gave her something to focus on away from the searing pain of the flesh that had been ripped from her back. Just one more lash. It should be coming anytime now; Benjamin was nothing, if not predictable. She heard the faint sound. As the whip was drawn back, she counted silently to three, drew a deep breath, and let it out heavily as…cccrrraaackk… The whip's nine strands of knotted leather sliced into her. She did not cry out; knowing that if she did, he'd become excited enough to do more. And lord, how well she knew that three lashes from that nasty whip were more than enough.

Breathe.

Deep, slow breaths in through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe. Focus on breathing; think of nothing else except those deep, slow breaths. The familiar black spots were dancing behind her eyes, inviting her to give in to them. She didn't though because she knew that to give into them would be to pass out, and that would be even worse than crying or screaming or any of the many other things she could do. She's been through this before; she knew how to handle it. In truth, she really didn't even feel most of it anymore…just where one of the strands reached a spot that wasn't yet numb, as most of them just did this time. Benjamin must have been standing in a different spot today, and that was why the angle was different enough to allow her shoulder to take most of the hits. She felt blood trickle warmly down her arm and saw it fall in large droplets onto the floor.

Just breathe.

Behind her, she heard Benjamin's sermon to the population of the commune. She heard him talking about how grisly it sometimes could be to do God's work, how he detested such violence, but that it was necessary and the only way to deal with certain afflictions. It was all spelled out so clearly in the Good Book itself, he said; anyone could read those passages and understand. He was confident in the Word, he continued; he was confident that following these teachings was right and just. He was confident that his work today would help to continue Angie's path to mental healing. She heard him add that another thing that would help her to heal was love. That was also spelled out in the Good Book. In fact, it was found often throughout those glorious pages. He preached that if he were to get enough physical love from the good people of this commune, he would be able to channel that love into her. She heard too many murmurs of agreement, an enormous number of volunteers, and lots of laughter and good cheer. They believed everything Benjamin told them. The laughter turned to whoops of anticipation as Benjamin chose one of the volunteers. Apparently, the physical love was going to start immediately this time and in front of everyone. The applause was deafening. The community was happy.

This was nothing new. This has happened so many times over the years she knew the entire ritual. The words were different each time, but the results were the same; he would get himself all excited by whipping her, have sex with everybody he could for three straight days, then come and rape her. Wait. Was it still considered rape when she didn't bother anymore to try to say no? It didn't matter; she was getting it either way.

Benjamin was nothing, if not predictable.

Jeffrey, the doctor of the commune and one of its leaders, untied her from the whipping post and put a sheet around her shoulders. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to Angeline; all eyes were on Benjamin and the barely fifteen-year-old girl who was on her knees in front of him. The girl was smiling as she helped Benjamin undo the zipper of his trousers.

Angeline was led out of the consortium and to Jeffrey's clinic in the next building, where he did a rather thorough, if none to gentle, job of cleaning and dressing her wounds. He tucked her into a bed where she would stay for two days under observation, then go home.

Home for Angeline was the house that she was forced to share with Jonathan, another of the communes' leaders. It wasn't so much a home as it was where she was imprisoned and enslaved. Jonathan was given the title of Protector, which basically meant that he was responsible for carrying out Benjamin's dictate of how she should be treated, and this was a great privilege for him, of which he took full advantage. He trained her to be exactly what Benjamin wanted her to be, a shell of a person. He carried out Benjamin's directives to the letter and kept her weak by limiting her food, sleep, fresh air, and sunshine. He followed Benjamin's ideas to keep her submissive through violence, enacting crazy rules, and playing mind games.

On her arrival, Jonathan greeted her with the familiar length of rope around her neck that acted as a leash to keep her tethered to the house. They both knew that the rope was not necessary as the doors were kept locked, yet it was there anyway, tied firmly in place as a threat or a joke or a reminder; she didn't know which, and she didn't much care either. It was nothing new.

The commune was called Paradise Ponds and was a farm of several hundred acres in size in Southeast Missouri. To the general public, it was not a commune at all but a profitable cash crop business specializing in growing organic produce. The members of the commune, led by a man named Benjamin Bach, worked the farm, growing and selling the produce. It was a very large commune boasting well over one hundred members—men, women, and children, who were very close-knit. They looked after one another, were family to one another, helped raise each other's children, and basically shared everything from living arrangements to toothpaste and even each other's spouses. They shared another thing too. All members shared the same loyalty to Benjamin, agreeing with his philosophies and ideals and believing in the utopia that he promised. The members of Paradise Ponds were proud of where they lived, this most perfect of communities, and worked hard to uphold what Benjamin created. They believed in Benjamin wholeheartedly, believed everything he told them, accepted him entirely as their leader, and followed him and his ideas and directives absolutely. And in return, they wanted for nothing.

The commune hierarchy consisted of Benjamin, who was lord; Jonathan and Jeffrey who were masters; Lil, who was headmistress; and the board, which was a group of five men that were voted into the position by the people of the commune and approved by the masters and Benjamin. Benjamin, as lord, made the rules, decided who joined and who left the commune, and was in complete control of anything involving money. Benjamin was in complete control of everything and everyone; he made every decision. He appointed Jonathan to help with security, Jeffrey to help with all things medical, and Lil to help him with education. All three very happily followed Benjamin's decree. The board was around to act as a buffer between the people and Benjamin and the masters. Any problems were addressed to the board, the board oversaw the day-to-day operations of the farm, managed the cash crop business, monitored the people, and helped to promote overall morale and good cheer and of course, Benjamin's wisdom. The board reported to Benjamin through the masters and also very happily followed Benjamin's decree. The hierarchy was set up so none of the people had to worry about anything; no one had to think about anything. They knew that their futures were secure, they would never want for anything, and their children were nurtured and educated and also had their futures secured.

Benjamin made it so easy. He made it so no one had to think for themselves.

Angeline used to think that everyone in Paradise Ponds was like sheep being led down a primrose path to slaughter. The path was never primrose for her, though, but she didn't care anymore. She simply endured. She had a few sneaky habits to help her endure, but no more feelings. They've been starved, beaten, whipped, and raped out of her.

She simply existed.

She never thought of her mother anymore; there was no point to it. Her mother was gone and was not coming back. She never thought of her childhood either; her life before coming to this place. It, too, was gone. She never really thought of anything anymore. She remembers the days of years ago when she would dream of leaving and when she would plan escape. She didn't think of those days or those dreams or those plans anymore either. There was no point to it.

She didn't even think about her current existence at the farm either. She didn't think about the people she's with, the pain and hardships she's endured, nothing. She didn't think about it because she didn't care about it anymore; after all, there is no point in thinking or caring.

She simply existed.

She learned to expect certain behaviors and happenings, but she didn't care. She learned to read body language and facial expressions and tones of voice and the looks in people's eyes, but she didn't really care. She learned to interpret the true meaning and reason and motive behind most anything with an alarming degree of accuracy, but she just didn't care. She learned to read people's ambitions and dreams and fears. She could interpret anything and everything and be right on. People were like open books to her; there were no mysteries, and she didn't care one iota.

She simply existed.

She'd learned the hard way what every smile really meant. She'd learned the hard way the true meaning behind everything. She'd learned the hard way after so many years of experience how to read everything. After so many years of duplicitous behavior, after so many years of pain and mistreatment and manipulation, everything was so easy to see. She'd learned to never trust anyone, ever, regardless of what she saw.

Not that she actually gave a damn, of course. She felt nothing; her mind was silent. She simply existed.

Chapter 2

Benjamin was born Bernard Charles Benjamin Bach some fifty years ago, a bastard son of a prostitute in Nevada. Bernard was always a very bright child, with a happy disposition and a very charming personality. He had a good relationship with his mother, who doted on him, and a good relationship with all the other prostitutes in the brothel in which they all spent the majority of their time. He was sort of taken under the wing by the prostitutes and the owner of the brothel, as well as a few of the regular clients. He never had much of formal education, was never made to go to school regularly, and was finally just allowed to drop out at age twelve but received lessons in math, reading, and writing from anyone who happened to have time to spare. Apparently, it was widely thought that such a smart boy be given an opportunity to learn. And the lessons didn't stop at academics. He was taught lots and lots of very useful skills, such as how to communicate effectively, how to play cards, how to win at cards, how to cook and clean, and the basics of mechanics. He was taught how to throw a punch, how to take a punch, and how to never take the blame. He learned how to have sex, how to read people's body language and facial expressions and voices. He learned how to spot a lie, how to tell a lie, how to spot a cheat, and how to be a cheat. He learned how to manipulate, how to blackmail, and how to extort. He learned how to abort an unwanted pregnancy. He learned to not ever use drugs or alcohol because they seize your control. And nothing was more important than being in control. He learned how to inflict pain. He learned that he liked to inflict pain, and he learned that he liked hearing screams of pain. He learned that appearances were everything. He learned to always be well-groomed and clean. He learned the importance of being organized. He learned to think on his feet, and he learned to be soft-spoken. And he learned the value of listening.

He learned about people too. He learned that women were property and should be treated accordingly but with care because they were very, very dangerous, smart, strong, cunning, and deceitful. They had to be lied to and placated constantly yet were not easy to manipulate. They were never to be trusted. He learned that men were stupid fools who were insanely easy to manipulate—also, never to be trusted. He learned that the key to getting along with people was to get them to trust you—through whatever means necessary. He learned that people were naturally trusting of anyone who looked good and was confident.

All this was learned by the tender age of fourteen, and then Bernard learned something new. He was given a gift, a rather curious gift, from his mother's favorite client. It was a whip—a rather long one with nine strands of knotted leather that was called a cat-o'-nine-tails. A tool of dominance that gives you power, the man explained. Use it with care. It's the last resort when everything else fails. Two or three strikes is all it takes. You only want them to remember you. This is way more effective than anything that causes maiming or death. He tried it on a stray dog, and Bernard quickly got the hang of it. He learned that