Getting Even

By Crispin Robb

Alex Feldon is the proposed inheritor of his family’s company and has plans to modernise the business, much against the wishes of his father, Peter, who is both founder and chairman. Father and son have been at loggerheads ever since the terrible accident two years ago in which Alex’s mother was killed and Peter left in a wheelchair.

A mysterious, dark stranger suddenly appears on the scene, thrusting Alex into a deadly struggle for ultimate control of the business as he becomes the victim of two near-death experiences. He is baffled by the uncanny force driving his enemy, Logan, who stealthily takes both Alex’s job and his fiancée, Sanchia. Logan ingratiates himself with Peter as part of his plan to steal the company completely.

Alex fights back by investigating his foe in both UK and Malta, where he exposes Logan’s murky business connections. He doggedly pursues several leads uncovering some unwelcome family secrets, which threaten fatally devastating outcomes for many lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398400658

Crispin Robb

Crispin Robb lives in a small Suffolk town, close to Dedham Vale AONB and draws inspiration from both the community and the natural beauty of the surrounding countryside. He enjoys walking, bird watching and visiting nature reserves. Following a career in the energy industry, he has been able to concentrate full-time on writing novels and TV sitcoms.

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About the Author

Crispin Robb lives in a small Suffolk town, close to Dedham Vale AONB and draws inspiration from both the community and the natural beauty of the surrounding countryside. He enjoys walking, bird watching and visiting nature reserves.

Following a career in the energy industry, he has been able to concentrate full-time on writing novels and TV sitcoms.

Copyright Information ©

Crispin Robb 2023

The right of Crispin Robb to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398400641 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398400658 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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E14 5AA

Chapter One

Alex watched with dismay as Peter leaned forward in his wheelchair and tossed the thick dossier onto the floor.

‘For the umpteenth time, I am not going to risk the future of this business on your hare-brained scheme,’ he said angrily as he raised his walking stick and banged it on the desk in a deliberate show of disapproval. Alex retrieved the folder from the floor and resumed his seat.

‘But Dad, we’ve got to compete much better with the internet giants. Our systems are creaking at the seams and we’re losing business. Surely and gradually. These days it’s adapt, modernise or die. We’ve got to radically change our operating hours as well. Customers expect it these days. We can’t trade solely on personal service indefinitely,’ he replied.

‘We’ve been over your plan a thousand times and I’m sick of it. This is my company and while I’ve still got breath in my body, I still have the final say. You can like it or lump it!’ Peter shouted and hit the desk fiercely again with his stick.

‘Unless we invest in new software and state-of-the-art IT, this company will die a long, lingering death,’ Alex pleaded. ‘Can’t you see that?’

‘It’s too expensive, too risky and too ambitious,’ said Peter in a more measured tone.

‘You’re making a big mistake here, Dad. Do you want this company to end up in liquidation?’ Alex questioned with an almost mocking tone in his voice.

‘Mistake!’ Peter shouted.

‘But Dad…’

‘My decision’s final,’ Peter interrupted, ‘and I don’t want to hear any more about it. Do you understand?’

Alex knew there was no point in continuing with this conversation and shrugged his shoulders as Peter put his glasses into his breast pocket, turned his wheelchair towards the door and was soon gone from the office. Alex stretched his tall, slender frame back into his plush executive chair, cradled his hands around the back of his head and sighed. After a minute or so, he reached into the top drawer of his desk and took out an old family photograph, the colours now fading slightly with age.

In it, Peter, his wife, Susan and Alex aged about eight were posing happily around a Christmas tree, together with Susan’s sister, Gwen, her husband, George and their two young sons. All of them were wearing paper hats. Alex smiled as he remembered the event from more than twenty-five years ago. The seasonal visit to Aunt Gwen’s home was the highlight of many of his childhood years.

Alex wiped a tear from his eye as he remembered his loving mother, taken from her family in the dreadful accident. He had carried on as best he could and now, with plans for his September wedding to Sanchia, well-advanced, all that seemed missing was one thing: his father’s blessing for the business expansion he had meticulously planned for three years.

Initially, Peter had been all for it, encouraging his son at every turn and giving him solid support. Then two years ago, the tragedy had changed everything including, so Alex was convinced, his father’s personality.

This latest argument about the direction of the business was but another in a long line of disagreements on the recurring theme and now, Peter was more opposed than ever. Alex was becoming more perplexed by his father’s behaviour. Perhaps he needed some professional help to manage his irrational outbursts of temper which were becoming more frequent and more intense? Perhaps he had developed schizophrenia or some other similar problem? Alex remembered with affection, the enthusiastic and mild-mannered father Peter had once been. The stark contrast with the disagreeable, short-tempered shell of a man who now seemed so cold and distant, troubled him greatly and he had no idea how to deal with this situation.

Sad though he was for the death of his dear mother, Susan, it was partly as a tribute to her efforts in helping to build the company and her constant guiding support throughout his life, that Alex was so keen to complete the new development.

It would, he believed, haul the Feldon Enterprises belatedly into the 21st century. It was Susan who had originally advocated making better use of the internet and the necessary warehouse extension to accommodate a major increase in turnover which at the time, all three of them agreed was vital to the continued success of the company.

Alex wiped away another tear and put away the photograph. He looked at his watch which showed five minutes past six. The door opened and warehouse manager, Ray Perkes, poked his head around it.

‘I’m about to lock up. Are you stopping late?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. I’m not quite ready. You go, Ray. I’ve got something to do,’ Alex answered. ‘Leave the keys with me. I’ll open up in the morning.’

Ray entered the office and duly put a large bunch of keys on the corner of the desk. Alex picked them up.

‘Anyone else about?’ he asked.

’The new bloke Cameron’s taken on for a few weeks. Err… Logan Carter, is it?

‘Yes. Cameron ran his CV past me.’

‘He’s still here. He seems very keen. Everyone else left half an hour ago.’

‘Cameron usually gets these staff appointments right,’ Alex nodded.

‘Anyway, he’s still in the warehouse. Says he’s finishing some special stock control check for him,’ Ray explained.

‘Cameron’s not mentioned it to me. I’ll have to ask him.’

‘We could do away with so many manual checks if we can get the new IT system installed,’ Ray commented. ‘Any progress with that?’

‘No. I’m afraid not. I’ve not yet persuaded Dad to agree. We’re talking a lot of money here, Ray. Most of it would need to be borrowed. He’s just not the same man since the accident, I’m afraid,’ Alex sighed.

‘I might be talking out of turn, but I’ve noticed it as well. Most of the older staff have too. I remember when he first came here. I don’t think Highdale had ever seen a man with so much enthusiasm. This place was not much more than a building site. Peter soon got things moving. He had so much energy. Insisted on employing only locals. He reckoned that was the key to building loyalty and, in my opinion, time has proved him right. Mind you, everyone pitched in. I remember the week before we opened, me, him and Ken Bailey worked forty-eight hours non-stop. Not to forget your mother of course. I’ve never been so tired,’ Ray recounted. ‘Do you think there’s any chance he’ll get back to how he was? Walking, I mean.’

‘Who knows? I wish he could but all we can do is live in hope.’

‘Well then, here’s hoping,’ said Ray he left the office.

Alex stood up, put his jacket on and slipped the bundle of keys into his pocket. His latest idea of reviewing the expansion plans by somehow cutting the borrowing costs as part of yet another attempt to gain Peter’s approval was pushed to the back of his mind as he put the bulky file into the drawer and locked it away. He now doubted his proposals would ever see the light of day and began to fear for the future of the company. He was curious about the new temporary employee who he had barely met but who seemed unusually keen and therefore needed checking out.

Outside in the corridor, Alex glanced up and down the office block which was situated at the front of the huge, rectangular complex, home to Feldon Enterprises, the biggest building on the out-of-town Highdale industrial estate. A large sales office took up most of the front of the three-tiered building whilst administration, accounts and senior staff offices separated by old-fashioned glass windows occupied the remainder. His plans included a large office extension and a complete modernisation of the now ageing building. After today’s latest setback, Alex now thought that a large question mark was hanging over the future of the business and wondered how he would make a living if the company eventually failed because of his father’s intransigence.

A few minutes later, he was in the giant, characterless warehouse, stacked to the roof with all manner of small electrical goods, PCs, and other computer accessories. Several forklift trucks were parked neatly at one side of the massive doors. He stood still and listened but heard nothing and wondered whether Logan had left the building. Alex called out Logan’s name but there was no reply, so he secured the doors along one side of the warehouse and made his way towards the end of the building to the loading bay. On his left was the despatch room. In effect, this was an open two-tier platform structure holding all items picked from the racks and now packed, labelled, and awaiting despatch.

As he neared the outer door, he looked up. A large, heavy square package hurtling towards him at speed. Instinct took over. He threw himself forward onto the floor with outstretched arms and the package hit the floor a few inches from his head with a thud.

He had narrowly avoided a possibly fatal accident and turned to see Logan running down the stairs from the top of the despatch room. ‘You all right?’ he asked as he helped Alex to his feet.

‘Just about,’ Alex replied as he brushed himself down and tried to regain his composure. ‘What the hell are you doing up there?! And why didn’t you answer when I called?’

‘Called. When?’

‘About one minute ago.’

‘Sorry, Mr Feldon,’ Logan said with a faintly Antipodean twang in his voice. ‘I didn’t hear you. I was in the despatch office.’

‘Did you drop this on purpose?!’ Alex said accusingly as he looked at the crumpled package now split open and, obviously, its contents ruined.

‘No! Of course not. Must’ve been badly stacked by someone from the despatch team.’

‘We’ve got rules about that sort of thing. No one in despatch would’ve left a package in a dangerous state. It could’ve killed me.’

‘Are you saying it was me? Are you saying I was trying to injure you?’ Logan replied indignantly.

‘Well, how did it fall?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You didn’t see anyone else around?’

‘No.’

‘Or anything out of place?’

‘No.’

‘Well, there must be some explanation. Surely?’

‘Search me. I’m just trying to do my job,’ said Logan and looked blankly at his accuser.

‘What’s Cameron asked you to do up there anyway?’ Alex asked.

‘He’s asked me to do a stock check on goods awaiting despatch. I suggested it was best to do it after hours and he agreed,’ Logan answered.

‘Put it out of the way and report it to Cameron tomorrow. He’ll get someone to sort it,’ Alex said as Logan moved the broken package out of the walkway and placed it up against the wall. Alex felt his chest tightening and quickly removed his inhaler from his pocket. He took a couple of deep inhalations watched intently by Logan who then came over.

‘Asthma, is it?’ he asked as he ran his fingers through his shoulder-length curly black hair.

‘Yes. Had it since I was born. I just avoid the triggers,’ Alex replied and put the inhaler back into his pocket.

‘You mean stress and that sort of thing?’

‘Dust, pollen, any pollutant in the air.’

‘Smoke?’ Logan asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Must be a pain?’

‘Not really. I’m so used to it. I hardly ever think about it. Look, you can call it a day. I’ll take it from here. Leave everything and I’ll square things with Cameron in the morning.’

‘Right. If you say so, Mr Feldon.’

‘Alex. We don’t stand on ceremony here. I know Cameron likes a bit of formality from the staff and I’m afraid he’ll never alter.’

Logan turned and walked towards the door. Alex collected his thoughts and decided to investigate the apparent task given to Logan of which he knew nothing. He climbed the stairs to the upper tier and looked around. In the gangway he soon spotted a clipboard apparently dropped by Logan when he rushed down the stairs. He picked it up looked at it with interest. It was headed Lower Tier Despatch Room Stock – 5th April and against a list of order numbers were written the corresponding despatch note references which Alex presumed Logan had written with the pen attached by a piece of string to the clipboard. He was puzzled by this.

Logan had been on the upper tier, but the stock check was supposed to be for the lower tier as the stock sheet clearly stated. A list of questions for Cameron to answer in the morning was already writing itself in Alex’s mind. He descended the metal stairs to the lower tier and went over to the tiny despatch office in the corner. He went over and tried the door. It was locked as he would have expected, but Logan had claimed he had been in there.

He selected the appropriately labelled key from the bundle in his pocket and opened the door. Alex looked around but there was nothing out of place and he was puzzled. How had Logan got into a locked office?

The only keys for this office were held by Cameron, the despatch manager, Eric Theobald who would have left the premises taking his key with him more than thirty minutes earlier and those on the set of master keys now in Alex’s hand. Another discrepancy had manifested itself. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. It was quite possible there was a simple explanation, but this was not the time to dwell on the subject. He decided to go home and a few minutes later he had secured the building and was speeding home, glad to get another frustrating day over with.

Alex hoped Peter might have calmed down and Sanchia should have arrived to prepare the evening meal. He called her. She confirmed she was expecting him home shortly. He glanced over to the passenger seat at his briefcase containing the clipboard which he had decided to show to Cameron next day. His mind wandered back to Logan Carter. This new temporary addition to the staff was already raising questions in Alex’s mind and it was only twenty minutes ago that he had met him for the first time.

Logan had already told two lies but for what purpose? It made no sense and Alex had to find out more about him. Then the most startling thought came into his head: had Logan deliberately tried to seriously injure him? The weight of the package was clearly enough to inflict considerable damage, if not death. Was that Logan’s purpose? Was this mysterious stranger innocently caught up in a series of coincidental events or did he have a malevolent intent directed at Alex?

Chapter Two

Alex arrived home a few minutes later. The large, converted farmhouse with outbuildings on the outskirts of the south Suffolk town of Highdale had been his home since he was a teenager and reminded him, once again, of the harmony of his life before the accident. He parked his car and entered the kitchen where Sanchia was busy preparing a meal. He went over and kissed her on the cheek. The sight of his fiancée’s sparkling blue eyes, blonde hair and the reassuring smell of her perfume cheered him up instantly.

‘The table’s set for two. Dad not eating with us?’ he asked.

‘Said he wasn’t hungry,’ she answered, ‘and said he’d get something later himself.’

‘Where is he?’

‘In the study. Doesn’t want to be disturbed. He’s not in a very good mood. Again. Have you had another argument?’ she asked.

‘I’m afraid so. He just won’t see reason.’

‘About the business, was it?’

‘It’s always about the business,’ he sighed.

‘It’s only pasta. OK?’

‘Fine,’ said Alex as he took a seat.

‘Oh, by the way there’s a letter for you on the sideboard.’

‘I know. It came this morning. I didn’t get a chance to read it.’

‘It’s got a German postmark. It’s not another one from Julia, is it?’ she asked with a hint of concern in her voice.

‘Looks like her handwriting.’

‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ she asked.

‘I’ll read it later.’

‘I wonder what your life would’ve been like if you’d married her?’

‘There was never, ever any chance of that,’ Alex replied with a trace of exasperation.

Sanchia served the meal and sat down while Alex helped himself to a slice of garlic bread. He was hungry and ate quickly but said nothing for a few minutes. Sanchia broke the silence.

‘You’re very quiet. You shouldn’t let this business problem ruin our evening,’ she said.

‘You’re right. I should’ve asked how your day was.’

‘We had a meeting. Vanessa reckons we should soon be able to start repaying Dad’s loan and we might even make a small profit this year, with a little luck.’

‘Well, I’m the first to admit riding stables wouldn’t have been my first choice as a business venture for you, but you’ve certainly put your heart and soul into it. Not to forget Vanessa and Annabel, of course. You deserve some success.’

‘It’s hard work. Rewarding though.’

‘We can organise a party for your anniversary.’

‘Yes. Three years. First of July.’

‘Leave it to me.’

‘Right… I’ve got some carpet samples and some ideas for the kitchen curtains. And I’ve bought the lampshades for the lounge as we said. We are going to the bungalow, aren’t we?’ she asked.

‘Sorry, darling,’ he said. ‘Yes, of course, we are. I’ll put the lampshades up.’

‘Good. I’ve had some ideas for the spare bedrooms,’ she replied with relief.

For the past few weeks, their usual routine on most evenings this spring was for Sanchia to make a meal for the three of them and then she and Alex would go over to their new bungalow situated about two miles from the centre of Highdale, often staying at Sanchia’s overnight. They had spent several weeks preparing their home-to-be after their wedding, planned so carefully for September. After a pause, Alex cleared his throat.

‘Dad’s getting worse,’ he said, unable to keep his mind on anything other than this afternoon’s argument.

‘Alex, please!’ she said. ‘We’ve got our own lives to think about as well.’

‘I’m sorry, Sanchia. I haven’t told you. He upset Mrs Parrish again. Yesterday morning. Almost knocked the breakfast tray onto the floor in temper for no reason. He won’t say why and even she’s not sure what caused it. Took all my powers of persuasion to stop her from quitting on the spot. I know we can get someone else in, but Dad relies on her and she’s very conscientious. I don’t want to lose her if I can help it.’

‘It’s all your dad and the business with you tonight, isn’t it? If you’re that concerned, speak to his doctor. That’s all I can suggest,’ she said with a frown.

Alex shrugged his shoulders but said nothing and carried on with his meal. Sanchia talked about her plans for the wedding and how she wanted to landscape the garden, but it was difficult for Alex to raise any enthusiasm, try as he might, and he knew it was showing. Soon they had finished eating and Sanchia volunteered to do the washing up while Alex changed his clothes.

A few minutes later Alex, dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans was on the way back to the kitchen and approaching the study. Now might be a good time to hold out an olive branch to his father. There was a chance that Peter would have retired for the evening by the time he returned from the bungalow, and he did not want to leave matters in this position until tomorrow. He tried the door. It was locked.

‘Dad?’ he shouted but there was no reply and he feared something had happened.

‘Dad, Dad!’ he shouted even louder with a definite note of concern in his voice.

‘Go away! Leave me on my own!’ Peter called out from the room.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Of course, I am. I’ll thank you to leave me in peace.’

Alex knew there would not be a speedy reconciliation and felt despondent as he went back to the kitchen.

‘Best leave him. He’ll calm down. Talk to him tomorrow,’ Sanchia advised, and Alex nodded in agreement.

A short while later, Alex and Sanchia were at the bungalow. She was measuring the windows for curtains in the kitchen. He was putting up some shelving in the lounge, but he could not concentrate on the task in hand. The quarrel between him and his father had reached a new low. It was the most explosive dispute they had so far. Alex wondered whether their disagreement was becoming a threat to his relationship with Sanchia. She had been supportive and sympathetic to Alex’s domestic situation since the accident but now she had shown signs of frustration he had not witnessed in her before. The letter from Julia must have affected her current mood. He believed the subject of his brief romance had long since ceased to be of any relevance but now, out of the blue, it had risen to the surface.

He recalled how many times his commitment to and perhaps even, obsession with the business had been the root cause of the on-off nature of their relationship from the start. The accident had delayed their decision and finally, six months ago on Sanchia’s thirtieth birthday, they had decided they were ready to settle down and get married.

The recently completed bungalow on the opposite side of the town from Alex’s home was ultra-modern with five reception rooms, four bedrooms, a large, unfinished garden with a curved drive and a massive garage. It had been financed by Alex and a large contribution from Sanchia’s father, a senior bank official in Ipswich. Strangely, Peter had declined to offer his financial support in sharp contrast to his earlier promise to support his son if, and when, he decided to get married. Alex put this down, like so many other irrational aspects of his father’s behaviour, to the dominating influence of the accident. He was unable to come up with any other plausible explanation.

Alex stood back to look at his handiwork. He checked the top shelf with a spirit level and cursed under his breath when it revealed that it was slightly out of balance. A small adjustment with a screwdriver soon rectified the problem. He looked at his watch. It was nearly eight o’clock and the light was fading fast. Sanchia would be disappointed if he did not put up the lampshades as promised. He quickly went out to the garage, picked up a stepladder and hurried back into the bungalow. On his way back to the lounge, he called out to Sanchia to check her progress and then put up the stepladder in the centre of the room. He picked up one of the shades and in his haste, tried to climb up but missed his footing and went sprawling forwards, letting out a scream as he did so. He rolled over into a sitting position, drew his legs up and rubbed his right ankle with both hands. Sanchia rushed into the room and bent down to examine the injury.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘Just damn well slipped on the second rung.’

Sanchia looked at his injured ankle and gently examined it.

‘It’s swelling up already, but I don’t think you’ve broken anything,’ she said.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I was just in too much of a hurry to get the lampshades up for you.’

‘A cold compress. That’s what you need.’

Alex massaged his ankle and winced. Sanchia went out to the kitchen. Alex hauled himself over to the solitary chair in the room and she soon returned with a bowl of cold water, a compress, and a hand towel.

‘We’ll have to make do with cold water,’ she said. ‘Ice would be better but with no fridge yet, it’ll have to do.’

She proceeded to bathe the injured limb as gently as she could for a few minutes and Alex felt some relief. Sanchia told him to continue bathing his ankle and went back to the kitchen leaving Alex to reflect on the past twelve hours. He had started out with high hopes of finally persuading Peter to agree to his business plan but now this day was turning out to be a disaster, capped by a silly accident.

Sanchia returned with a piece of cloth and did her best to bandage his ankle. Alex tried to stand up, but his foot was painful. He sat down