Death Tax: Cynthia Webber, #5

By Michelle Cornish

When power and politics collide, trust no one. 

 

In the heart of Calgary, a controversial tax proposal isn't just stirring debate—it's igniting threats, intimidation, and . . . murder. Mayor Priscilla Byrnes, committed to the city she loves, finds herself ensnared in a shadowy political conspiracy that threatens to tear her world apart.

 

When forensic accountant Cynthia Webber takes on a tax client as a favour, she becomes embroiled in Calgary's politics, thrust into a whirlwind of treachery and deception. Teaming up with her best friend, investigative reporter Linda Reeves, and her new beau, Detective Warren Scott, she's drawn into a high-stakes game of power and betrayal, where trust is scarce and danger lurks at every turn.

 

When a whistleblower is found dead at City Hall, Cynthia, Linda, and Warren must unravel the truth before it's too late.

Death Tax is a riveting political thriller that explores the dark underbelly of power, loyalty, and the relentless pursuit of justice in a city where every alliance has a price.

• Language: English
• Publisher: SolVin Creative
• Release date: Oct 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781990221125

Book preview

Acknowledgements

Thank you to Jeannine Dryden, M.A., Leader, Operations, Elections Calgary, City Clerk’s Office, The City of Calgary for answering my questions in 2021 regarding Calgary City Council. Mistakes that remain are mine alone.

1

November 2018

Returning from a meeting with the Chamber of Commerce, Calgary mayor Priscilla Byrnes stepped into her office and closed the door behind her. She exhaled a long slow breath, leaning against the door. A faded image of herself reflected off the floor to ceiling window across the room from her, the natural light outside having dimmed only slightly as the sun set.

She removed her coat and hung it on the back of the door, along with her purse then rushed to her desk to regroup before leaving for the weekend.

Wiggling the mouse on her desk, she pulled up next week’s Outlook calendar. A creak caught her attention, and she jerked her head up in time to see two figures darken her doorway. Her heart racing, she shoved her chair back from her desk and stood, pressing a hand over her chest.

The figures were dressed head to toe in black and wearing sunglasses. Odd, considering it was almost dark.

Who are you? How did you get in here? When they didn’t respond or remove their sunglasses, her pulse quickened. She reminded herself to stay calm, but she was so taken aback by their appearance that her questions came out more accusatory than neutral.

Slowing her breath, she examined the figures, trying to remember every detail for when she spoke to the police, because Calgary Police Services would definitely be hearing from her.

The figures wore almost identical crisp black pants and black peacoats. One tall one short. A man and a woman? They almost looked like they could be security detail. Oh God, did they have guns?

But if they were security, someone must have sent them to protect her. They weren’t her usual team, though. She opened her mouth to ask what happened when the man stepped towards her, but his closer presence caused her to pause.

Mayor Byrnes. His voice had a cold tone to it. We have an urgent matter to discuss. One that demands your immediate attention.

She sucked in a breath. Something had happened. They were there to protect her. She exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. Taking a seat at her desk, she gestured to the chairs in front her, inviting the man and woman to do the same.

The woman stepped up level with the man, and they both crossed their arms over their chests. What the hell? So this wasn’t about her safety? How dare they barge into her office? Her jaw tightened, a mix of defiance and apprehension spreading throughout her body. Once again, she stood, trying to exert some sense of power. Mirroring the intruders’ postures, she crossed her arms.

This isn’t how I do business. Either tell me why you’re here or leave my office.

The woman chuckled. You might want to reconsider, Mayor Byrnes. The voice came out deeper than the mayor had expected, but she was still certain she was dealing with a man and a woman. The fate of this city rests in your hands. Your cooperation is imperative if you wish to see it thrive.

Mayor Byrnes's eyes darted between the two figures, her mind racing to decipher their intentions. She stood tall, finding strength in her position and not wanting them to see she was rattled. I won't be intimidated. My decisions are based on what's best for this city and its people, not threats or coercion.

Neither the man nor the woman responded. Tension hung heavy in the room, the atmosphere electrified by the unspoken clash of wills. Although the hairs on the back of her neck rose, Mayor Byrnes held firm, waiting for either of her visitors to respond.

The man spoke again, not changing his posture. Consider the consequences, Mayor Byrnes. The future is a fragile thing, easily shattered. A wise leader knows when to make the right choice.

What choice are you asking me to make? You know as well as I do that I don’t make the decisions around here. As the mayor, it was her responsibility to provide leadership to the city council, but ultimately, the council made the decisions through long standing democratic procedures. Even these thugs had to know that.

Our boss is disappointed in how long it has taken to pass the new tax on businesses in the downtown core. Make it happen. The woman tilted her head to the side as if her neck was bothering her. Mayor Byrnes swore she heard a faint crack, and she thought about overtaking the woman. Maybe if the woman had been acting alone, but there was no way she could overtake her partner too.

How am I supposed to do that? And who’s your boss? Maybe if she knew who their boss was, she could reason with them. Although, she somehow doubted it if they’d resorted to sending these two goons to her office. Her gaze hardened as she waited for a reply that never came. I will not be swayed by threats or manipulated by hidden agendas. This city deserves transparency and honesty. If you have something to say, say it plainly. Otherwise, I suggest you leave.

The figures exchanged a glance, their ridiculous sunglasses revealing nothing. The man spoke again. Call an emergency meeting.

It’s Friday afternoon. They never had meetings on Friday afternoons. Nothing ever got accomplished at the end of the week.

The woman pulled out a revolver and pointed it at the mayor.

She froze, not daring to move.

Do it or the other half of our team, the one that’s currently waiting outside your daughter’s dance practice, will be forced to take action.

A gasp slipped out. Not her daughter. What will they do? The minute the words escaped her mouth she regretted it. They knew where her daughter was, and they were watching her. That was enough for her to do whatever they asked.

Let’s just say they aren’t as nice as we are.

Fine. The mayor took a seat, pulling her chair up to her desk. She picked up the phone and buzzed her assistant. I’m sorry, Alma, I need you to arrange an emergency meeting.

Now?

Yes, now. She wanted to add that was kind of the point of an emergency, but it wasn’t Alma’s fault—or was it? How had these two terrorists gotten into her office in the first place?

She hung up the phone.

And make sure the new tax goes ahead, added the woman.

The mayor swallowed the hard lump in her throat. How can I possibly do that?

The man cleared his throat. We have every confidence in your abilities, Mayor Byrnes. His voice dripped sarcasm, and she wished she could slap him and put him in his place.

They turned to leave, and Mayor Byrnes’s hand hovered over the phone, ready to call the police. The man whipped around at the last minute. We’ll have eyes on your family until the tax is passed.

Priscilla’s gut clenched, and she moved her hand to rest in her lap. So much for calling the police.

With those final words hanging in the air, the man closed the door behind him, leaving Priscilla alone in her office.

While Alma informed all fourteen councillors of the emergency meeting, Mayor Byrnes reminded herself of what she knew of each one, determined to figure out who had the most to lose if the tax didn’t go through. This threat had to have come from one of them. It was the only way her two guests could have gotten access to her.

An inside job.

Well, they had a thing or two to learn about Priscilla Byrnes. Nobody threatened her or her family, and she wasn’t afraid to fight back to protect the city she held dear.

2

Cynthia Webber sat at a desk in a spare office at Calgary Police headquarters finishing her notes for the week. As a forensic accountant and part-time consultant on fraud cases, she normally worked from home, but she found herself missing the office and all the people that worked there.

Proofreading her file notes, she wished she had some sort of say in the outcome of the case. A sixteen-year-old hacker had ghosted an eighty-five-year-old who’d died months ago. The teen had stolen the man’s identity and was siphoning the deceased’s old age security cheque into her own bank account.

Once the woman’s relatives found out what was going on, all they wanted was to see the money returned. She wasn’t sure if they knew it would be returned to the government and not their family since all the payments had been made after the man had died.

As far as she knew, the family wasn’t going to press charges. She shook her head. What would become of the teen? Clearly she had some skills when it came to computers. Even if the family changed their minds about pressing charges, the teen’s offense wasn’t violent, so she likely wouldn’t go to jail. She’d probably get a fine or community service hours.

Hey, doll, came a voice from the hallway. Hack, Calgary Police Services top cyber crimes guy was the only man in the office who could get away with calling all the women ‘doll.’ There was something about the way he thought he was so smooth when in reality he was, as much as Cynthia hated to use the words, a typical computer geek.

She smiled at his almost obnoxious greeting, but when she glanced away from her laptop to ask him how he was, he was already long gone. Must be a busy day for him. Hmm. Her thoughts returned to the teen. Was she destined for a life of crime? There would be no reason for her to change her ways. Certainly not if the family wasn’t going to press charges.

She shrugged. That wasn’t part of her job. As much as she tried to stay detached, she always found herself caring too much, even about the criminals.

Her job was to present the facts of the fraud, so if the case went to court, the evidence would speak for itself. Of course, she had to be prepared to appear in court as well, if things went that far. Her notes helped with that too.

She finished reading her report and made sure it was saved in the right place on the police network.

From the corner of her eye, she sensed someone in the doorway, and she looked up.

Hi, Cynthia, said Melody, one of the staff psychologists. A warm smile spread across her face, and Cynthia’s lips curled in response.

Hi. How are you?

Melody stepped inside the office. I was going to ask you the same thing. She dipped her chin and arched her brows slightly. The look told Cynthia she wouldn’t find out how Melody was. Not right away, anyway. This was Melody’s I’ve-got-my-eye-on-you look.

Cynthia’s cheeks warmed. She hadn’t seen Melody for a while after several regular sessions. Not since she’d had trouble coming to terms with Melody’s suggestion that burning a certain photograph might help her move on with her life. Help her finally get closure regarding her late husband’s infidelity.

I’m doing well, Cynthia answered, trying to ignore the thoughts that were now focused on the photograph in her purse. She wanted closure, but she’d loved Jason so much. Was burning this photograph really going to help? He was still Luke’s father.

Glad to hear it. Melody’s voice was cheerful enough, but the look in her eyes didn’t match. They had an almost suspicious vibe about them. She was always too good at seeing through the walls Cynthia put up.

Cynthia’s cheeks grew warmer, and she glanced back at her laptop, even though her work was finished for the day.

As if taking a cue, Melody said, You know where to find me if you want to talk. She took a step towards the hall. Even if it’s not about work.

The photograph wasn’t about work, but she never would have discovered it if it wasn’t for a case she’d worked on a few months ago.

Feeling as though she should walk Melody out, even though the woman had barely stepped inside the office, Cynthia rose and strode to where Melody stood. Thank you, said Cynthia.

Maybe she should book another session with Melody. But what was the point? Melody had made her feelings about the photograph very clear. Cynthia didn’t really know why she was hanging onto it. As angry as it made her, she just couldn’t bring herself to let it go.

How’s Warren? Melody asked, placing a hand on the doorframe. The question caught Cynthia off-guard. Detective Warren Scott was currently on medical leave due to breaking his leg while saving Cynthia’s life. Of course, that came up in one of her sessions with Melody, as well as Cynthia’s feelings for Warren.

Medical leave did not sit well with Warren, and he’d made Cynthia and her four-year-old son Luke his personal protective-detail project. Not that they needed protecting now that Cynthia’s stalker was behind bars. Still, on the nights when Warren crashed on her couch, she felt much safer with him around than when he wasn’t there.

Cynthia blew out a breath. He can’t wait to get back to work.

Sounds about right. Melody looked down the hall as if she wanted to get going. How much longer does he have on leave?

Three weeks until his cast comes off. Warren had been counting the days and driving Cynthia crazy with his constant complaining about how itchy the cast was and how he couldn’t wait to get rid of it. At first, she didn’t mind—Warren never complained about anything—but his daily texts of X more days had gotten a bit old when he started counting down on day five of having his cast.

Melody nodded and smiled with closed lips then turned and walked down the hall. She glanced over her shoulder at Cynthia. Enjoy your weekend.

Oh, she planned to. You too. Cynthia walked back to the desk, thinking about the meal Warren had offered to cook for her and Luke tonight. Cynthia’s favourite. He’d even called her mom to get her lasagna recipe.

Cynthia closed her laptop then tucked it in her cross-body bag. She grabbed her purse from the bottom desk drawer. The photograph contained within flashed in her mind again. Evidence that Jason wasn’t perfect. But nobody was, were they?

She’d thought Jason was the love of her life. Fire churned in her gut. It wasn’t fair that he had died, and it wasn’t fair that she had found out about the affair after he was gone. She had so many questions. Questions that would never be answered. Questions that overflowed into her current relationship where they didn’t belong.

She’d only known Warren about six months, and they’d been dating less than a month. Warren had been married before, and he had a son who died as an infant. He never talked about his ex-wife and only rarely about his son. Cynthia never asked about them, assuming it was too painful for Warren, but was there another reason? He would never do anything like Jason had, would he?

3

By the time Cynthia arrived at Mom and Dad’s place in Briar Hill, a light dusting of snow covered their driveway—enough that the snow crunched under her shoes as she walked to the door.

She barged in like she owned the place, even though she was constantly telling her parents to lock their doors when they were home. She knew they never did. She’d give them a bad time, and they’d lock the door for the next few days then revert to old habits. They were far too trusting. Nothing ever happens in our neighbourhood, dear.

Cynthia used to think that about her neighbourhood too—just twenty minutes southeast of Mom and Dad and just as safe—until she found Luke’s cat cut into pieces and spread throughout her yard one day. Thankfully, Luke never saw any of his beloved Snuffy. As far as he knew, the cat had run away.

Opening her mouth to nag her parents once again, Cynthia thought better of it when Mom glanced at her from the living room, a big grin on her face.

Hi, dear. How was your day?

Uneventful, Cynthia said with a grateful sigh. Uneventful was just the way she liked things. She enjoyed routine and being able to get things done ahead of time. Finished my file for the police, so I’ll be back to finding more consulting work to fill my days. She shrugged. Until the police need me again.

Dad practically leapt off the couch, meeting Cynthia at the door. She hadn’t bothered taking off her shoes or coat, like she usually did, since she and Luke had plans with Warren. Staying for a visit wasn’t an option tonight, and Mom and Dad knew that.

I’ve got just the thing, Dad said.

Cynthia was starting to regret giving her parents a stack of her business cards. Bob and Gayle Roberts were proud parents, and they weren’t ashamed to show it. She was thankful for that, but sometimes Dad went a bit overboard. 

Mom got off the couch too. Luke. Your mom’s here. She headed down the hall, presumably to the spare room that had become Luke’s over the years, since he’d spent more and more time with his grandparents after Jason had died and Cynthia had become