Fatal Greed: Greed Thrillers, #1

By John W. Mefford

A tortured soul. Perverse alliances. A grisly murder.

 

Images from that dark alley haunt Michael Doyle...

 

But the forces of evil are just starting to destroy his life.

 

A corporate takeover bleeds into a private company. Behind the scenes, deadly deals erupt from the greed-filled hearts of the power brokers.

 

Can they be stopped?

 

For Michael, the thought of layoffs, of losing his own job to a bunch of arrogant assholes, feels like a kick to the jewels. 

 

Until the day Michael's life changes forever. 

 

A spiraling string of events thrusts Michael into a life-or-death fight to save a tortured soul and hunt down a brutal killer -- one who lurks closer than he ever imagined. 

 

But as Michael draws closer to unraveling the deadly conspiracy, will he be too late to stop a madman from murdering the only person he's ever cared about?

 

The perfect read for thriller fans of Harlan Coben, John Sandford, James Patterson, and Robert Crais.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John W. Mefford
• Release date: Apr 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9798224874149

John W. Mefford

Amazon Top 50 Author, #2 bestselling author on Barnes & Noble, and a Readers' Favorite Gold Medal winner. A veteran of the corporate wars, former journalist, and true studier of human and social behavior, John W. Mefford has been writing his debut novel since he first entered the work force twenty-five years ago, although he never put words on paper until 2009. A member of International Thriller Writers, John writes novels full of intrigue, suspense, and titillating thrills. They also evoke an emotional connection to the characters.  When he’s not writing, he chases three kids around, slaves away in the yard, reads, takes in as many sports as time allows, watches all sorts of movies, and continues to make mental notes of people and societies across the land. To pick up two of John's thrillers for free, copy and past this URL into your browser: http://bit.ly/20WJzqi Connect with John on Facebook at www.facebook.com/JohnWMeffordAuthor

Book preview

Chapter One

Tiffany ran her French-manicured fingernails across his hairy salt-and-pepper chest. Finally, she spoke. You scared me. More than usual.

He didn’t reply. This tryst had been especially rough. He turned his head toward her, licked her shoulder, then bit it.

Tiffany winced, her body hardened like petrified wood. A desperate, tormented scream pressed against her rigid lips. It took every ounce of internal fortitude to keep the screams within. She clenched her teeth so hard her jaw trembled, attempting to shift pain away from the lesion, where mangled flesh dangled off her shoulder.

Tiffany’s choppy, sputtering gasps matched the pace of her machine-gun pulse. Her hand was clammy from the shot of adrenaline, but she calmly moved it to rest on her hip without drawing further attention. Finally, a deeper breath.

The two of them lay totally naked on the industrial carpet, a splinter of light from the window now slicing the middle of his body, starting at his groin. Their bodies were pasted together with dried sweat—blood adding to the toxic mix, the latest wound possibly the deepest.

A mixture of scents: sour, repugnant body odor, copper, old-fashioned aftershave, and the smell of sex. She held her breath for a second, but the repulsive stench hung in the still air. It made her want to vomit. But she was used to suppressing her bile—and her emotions—around this man.

His enormous chest lifted, and Tiffany thought about how he used physical intimidation to get whatever he wanted, whenever he desired. A brief clip from the past shot through her frontal lobe—his calloused hand gripping her neck like it was a pencil, his throaty, putrid, breath spewing threats. She nearly gagged at the thought and quickly attempted to think of happier times—frolicking in the park with her mom, tossing a ball around with a neighbor, sharing ice cream with friends at the end of a hot summer day.

But her tortured, brainwashed mind couldn’t break free from the endless loop, replaying the last fifteen minutes.

A single tear escaped and slid down her cheek, hung for a second, then dropped into the open wound on her shoulder. It stung, and she chewed the inside of her cheek.

They’d left their marks on each other, like wild animals marking their territories. But they both knew the agreement—nothing visible to the public eye.

Chapter Two

It wasn’t even noon yet, and as I approached the front door to our offices, I could feel pressure building in my frontal lobe. An all-morning, off-site customer meeting had drained me. A single brainstorming session had morphed into a full-on customer bitch session. The kind that makes you examine your career path. The kind that makes you question your ability to resist the urge to jab a pen in the eye of the asshole CIO as he spits out expletives quicker than an auctioneer.

I paused at the double doors, closed my eyes, and rubbed both temples, seeking a calmer state of mind. There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home... I repeated for no reason, although I chuckled internally.

I swung open the door and stopped two steps in. Something had dramatically changed. The typically fast-paced offices of our IT services company resembled a funeral home. The few people I saw moved in slow motion, their eyes glazed over like a bunch of zombies. I hadn’t seen such a lifeless, nonproductive group since a couple of months after I was hired, during the aftermath of 9/11. 

I took out my phone and noticed I’d missed ten text messages.

One read: Whooz in Paula’s office?

Another: Are u on the inside?

The last: B-day or memorial, do u know?

One of our interns waved me to the back half of the two-story building, where it appeared most of the company’s two hundred fifty employees gathered. People leaned over the second-floor atrium railing, but no one spoke louder than a whisper. I maneuvered around the throngs of cubicles and extra chairs. Along the path, I received a number of uneasy looks and a few worried smiles.

A mini stage and lectern had been set up against the side wall. As I moved closer for a better view, a sudden blast of music startled me. At least it wasn’t hip hop. The bubbly, strawberry-blond HR lady handed me a balloon and said there was a huge cake in the break room.

Paula and four men exited her office in single file. Jeffrey and William, brothers and co-owners, I knew. But I didn’t recognize the other two suits, men who strutted as if they’d made a significant contribution to mankind, chins held high, wearing broad smiles. But like many executives, their manner lacked authenticity. Paula stood to the right, hands clasped against the front of her gray dress, head bowed, solemn, as if she were attending a eulogy. William took center stage.

Good afternoon, everyone. Today is an exciting day for all of us here at J&W Technology Services. Besides the speaker’s flapping jaw, red and gold balloons were the only moving objects in the room. Stiff necks and frozen eyes fixated on the surreal scene. In the last twenty-two years, we’ve grown this business from a three-person startup into a well-respected company. We’ve built a legacy of delighting our customers and giving back to our wonderful community. He looked at his prepared notes, apparently expecting an ovation. Muffled coughs and the hum of the decades-old furnace filled the dead air.

Jeffrey and I have had the honor of working with many of you personally over the years, watching you have families, seeing your kids grow up. It truly has been a blessing for us. I thought I heard him say a blessing for my bank account, but realized my cynical subconscious had planted words in my mind.

The time has now arrived to take this company to another level, a level Jeffrey and I aren’t capable of directing. We’re absolutely thrilled to have found a new team to take the reins of this magnificent company. With J&W attached to their other service offerings, the new company will create one of the most effective end-to-end providers in the region.

Heads swiveled side to side, as a sea of puzzled, confused, even scared eyes searched for an anchor. A couple of obvious brownnosers arched their backs to gain even the slightest political advantage. Next to me, Reinaldo, a mid-level manager peer of mine, scribbled something on paper, his thoughts presumably somewhere else. The words appeared to be in his native Portuguese.

William announced our new owner, PHC—Patel Holding Corporation. Go figure, a huge conglomerate. The chairman of the international technology company, Turug Patel, gave an uplifting speech...to the one PHC employee standing next to him on the podium. I resisted the impulse to walk out on our new leader. My radar was up, taking in every word, phrase, and gesture.

In closing, I’d like to say that, while we complete the merger of these two great companies, I can assure you we value your significant contributions and look forward to working with you to help build this arm of the business, now a part of our family, PHC. Turug led his own applause.

I felt like I’d been sucker-punched in the kidney.

The pandemic wave of corporate takeovers and pillaging had swallowed up my company. I was only a pawn in a game amongst the powerful and rich, and the bullshit promises and half-truths exponentially amplified my cynicism.

The suits keep you hooked just long enough to make the integration as seamless as possible. A few employees would survive, but only after new management turned us on each other, like mice eating their young.

Chapter Three

I heard the news, Michael, Marisa said. I’m so sorry Jeffrey and William sold out.

My shoulders sagged, and my spine slumped, carving at least a couple of inches off my six-foot-one frame. I dropped my keys on the nearest table and put my head on Marisa’s shoulder, like an innocent child clinging to his sympathetic mother.

I know, I know. 

I’d never evaluated my personal investment in J&W, especially the relationships developed during my twelve-year run. Surprisingly, my heart ached when I thought about the connection with my colleagues, and the customers, even the tough-minded ones like Jeanne Greenberg, who owned the city’s largest accounting firm. Those would all be swept away, just like our jobs.

Marisa and I sat on our cushy plaid couch and stared at nothing, lost in our own thoughts.

I’d been using our lack of financial stability as the main justification for not leaping into marriage, convincing Marisa we’d know when the time was right, once we cleared enough hurdles. Now, the falling dominoes had hit an impediment. This one was obvious. The one that I’d buried long ago was not.

I had trust issues. I’d been scarred by a woman. And not just any woman.

My mom.

Years ago, I had caught her in a compromising position with a man who was most definitely not Pop. A visual I would never forget, and one I would take to my grave. I never told my mom what I had seen. I never told Pop, either.

It had been a confusing time for me, one I struggled with then and now. From everything I had seen between Pop and my mother, there was true, strong love there. And then, in that one moment of arriving home when I wasn’t expected and peeking into my parents’ bedroom, I questioned if such a bond really could exist at all. So, I just kept it to myself, not wanting to disintegrate whatever was actually left of my parents’ relationship, or at least what Pop thought was there. Even after her passing, I couldn’t—wouldn’t—bring myself to say a word. I couldn’t put Pop through any more suffering. And so I kept it to myself and didn’t tell a damn soul.

Buried but never forgotten, that image had manifested into something much deeper, and I was almost certain it had filtered over to my bond with Marisa. I damn well knew it wasn’t fair to her, but it was just something I had to work through. Continue to work through. Hopefully I could.

For now, I would stick with our lack of financial stability as the reason for my delay. J&W’s acquisition actually made it more realistic than ever.

You know I love you, don’t you? I hoped my affirmation would ease her concerns.

I know. Ditto. She stared straight ahead.

The silence in the room became thick with expectations. I began to perspire just thinking about what she was thinking about.

I pulled a loose thread on the seam of the cushion.

She turned her entire body toward me. We had a plan, she said. And now?

More silence. I could feel my heart beating against my chest. I could never tell her what a chickenshit I was. Or why. That would mean dealing with my most guarded weakness: commitment.

I, uh...

Look, I don’t mean to box you into a corner.

It’s not you, Marisa. I just... After pulling at the loose thread some more, I cleared my throat, hoping more oxygen would reach my brain, which was grasping to find solid ground.

Marisa rested her hand on top of mine and we locked eyes.

Oh, those honey-colored eyes.

I’m not going anywhere, she said.

I’m not either.

We’ll figure it out. Together. Are you game?

I’m all in. And thanks for being...you.

She kissed me and then nestled her head against mine.

Reassured and comforted that my foundation was intact, I knew I needed to address my reservations toward commitment...eventually. For now, I had to face the fear of the unknown in my career path.

Chapter Four

The visit had been all too brief, abrupt even, but Karina Silva squeezed her brown eyes shut and hugged the pillow against her curled-up, naked body. She took in a slow breath and caught a waft of black orchid and amber, tantalizing scents from the perfume she’d recently given to the one and only person who’d captured her heart—wholly, completely.

This evening was supposed to have been special.

She shuffled her feet under the thousand-thread-count, white sheets, which soothed her feeling of loneliness. Clutching the down pillow against her chest, the thirty-something editor of the Times Herald turned over and took notice of the elaborate burgundy-and-gold pattern on the paneled drapes, fashionably clinging to the plush carpet.

The soft, green glow of the clock radio illuminated the room inside the swankiest boutique hotel in the ’burbs, albeit a full county away from her home base. But it had to be that way, considering she had succumbed to an unavoidable attraction that had clawed at her moral compass ever since she gazed across the green lawn at her husband’s client-appreciation party and locked eyes with her future soul mate. It was a moment she would never forget. A rush of emotion had engulfed her body as realization set in as to who she really was. The true Karina.

A smattering of distant car horns could be heard six floors below, but Karina glared off to the darkened corner of the room, recalling the sparkle of her lover’s blue eyes and the resulting flutter of her own heart. Karina had peered into those eyes and had found more feeling, more depth, more of a bond than she’d ever thought possible with another human being.

Her friend, her lover of the last three months, had arrived at the hotel two hours prior, and after a single embrace and two warm kisses, it ended before it really began. A familiar jingle had interrupted their intimate moment, noting the arrival of a new text on her lover’s phone. Karina never saw the words, but the response told her their rendezvous was over. Rigid movement, an instant detached demeanor, and a quick explanation about an emergency at work, followed by the sound of the door clicking shut, had left Karina alone in a king-sized sleigh bed.

A feeling of emptiness crept back into her conscience, a tiny seed of doubt sprouting inside her gut. Could this relationship be nothing more than a one-sided mirage? She couldn’t keep her journalistic instincts from attempting to connect dots. She recalled every possible aversion of her lover’s eyes, each word of affirmation that may not have been as sincere and heartfelt as the previous.

And now this.

Karina released an audible sigh and brought her hand to her head. She felt the sharp edge of her one-quarter-carat, pear-shaped diamond engagement ring, and thought about Reinaldo, her Brazilian husband of the last ten years. There had been some good times, moments she’d always remember. But as she recalled the hikes up Pikes Peak, the mountain bike rides, and games of pool while drinking a few beers, she admitted that Reinaldo had been nothing more than a friend—a convenient friend at that. But one who had helped her produce two kids. Two adorable little rug rats.

Will they ever look at Mommy the same way if they find out who the real Karina is? When they find out.

Karina couldn’t let her insecurities question her new path in life—a path she’d ignored far too long. Determined to make this relationship work, her mind sharpened, and she leaned over the side of the bed and snatched her smartphone from the back pocket of her khakis. No sweet text messages. She licked her lips, then scrolled to her contacts and tapped the cell number.

Hi, Karina. Miss me already? the voice on the other end asked.

Karina couldn’t help but smile. I just wanted to hear your voice again before I packed up my things and strolled back into my other life.

I know what you mean, her lover said.

You don’t have a spouse and two kids. Karina’s tone was harsher than she’d intended. Sorry. I’m just...

Not a problem. I get it. I really do.

A wave of emotion overcame Karina. A single tear bubbled out of the corner of her eye, and she sniffled.

Are you okay, dear?

I...

You can tell me, Karina. We share everything.

I just wanted our evening together to be special. You mean so much to me...how I see myself. How I see our future.

I’m so sorry my work got in our way. Just know that you hold a special place in my heart.

Karina heard sincerity in these words, which warmed her heart. I love you.

I love you too, Karina.

Muffled sounds broke Karina’s concentration. Is that another person’s voice?

What was that noise? Where are you? Tension rippled up her spine.

Oh, I just walked in my door. I’m exhausted, dear. Let’s make plans for early next week. We can both relax and have some fun at my new place. We can talk about our future.

The pressure in Karina’s head eased. They kissed into the phone as they hung up. Thankful to hear the validation of their relationship, she paused and said a prayer to give her the resolve to fake it with Reinaldo a little while longer.

***

Tiffany dropped her phone on the travertine tile next to the sloped, acrylic tub. As limber as a professional dancer, she raised one leg into the air and coiled it around her bathmate. He wasn’t into waiting or foreplay. He grabbed her hips and thrust her closer. Her eyes popped open; her head snapped back. She relinquished control, per the rules he’d established. Their relationship was mutually beneficial on many levels. But neither really understood to what degree.

Chapter Five

Needing to feel a bit of the Christmas spirit, or possibly just desperate to escape the unfolding drama at work, I wrapped an original Marisa-created, red-and-green-striped scarf around my neck and checked out the store windows around the square of historic downtown Franklin. I strolled past meaningful displays and shameless advertisements, making my mental Christmas list and trying to keep the work stuff out of my head.

Halfway down the second block, I heard a repetitive jingle at the opening into the jewelry store. Golden autumn leaves swirled out front, as if their choreography invited customers to enter the high-end merchant. I gazed through the window and saw an amazing presentation of diamond bracelets and engagement rings, all set in platinum. One day, I’d have to crack open my piggy bank and shock Marisa with some major bling.

I ignored an instant tightening in my chest and noticed a few of the leaves skipping into the store, as if part of the dance. Over by the far counter, a little boy wearing an aviator hat that covered his ears twirled around his mom, Karina Silva, our neighbor. Ricky was about three or four years old now, at least a couple years younger than his brother, Brent. But it was Ricky’s fireplug shape and plump cheeks that most resembled my colleague and friend, Reinaldo.

I was reminded of Reinaldo’s withdrawn, unapproachable demeanor at the merger announcement the other day, and he had been nearly mute since then. Most of the time, you couldn’t get the guy to stop talking, usually about his beloved Brazil national soccer team. In fact, when it was announced that Rio de Janeiro would host the FIFA World Cup, he literally broke down and cried.

I took a step toward the door, but paused and eyed Karina’s body language. She studied and pointed at several items in the showcase, but her expression wasn’t entirely festive. Her face appeared tense, and she hardly noticed little Ricky darting around. She scrunched up her wavy, brown hair behind her head as she looked in the mirror, holding a dangling earring near her face.

I got so close to the window my nose touched. I could have sworn those were diamonds, the size of ping-pong balls no less. Unless they were fake.

Not likely at this retailer.

Karina’s recent promotion to editor withstanding, she’d always worn JCPenney, never Neiman Marcus. And her jewelry collection, from what I’d seen, consisted of simple stud earrings.

Earlier that morning, I’d seen a For Sale sign in the Silvas’ yard. Either Karina’s paycheck had doubled and they were moving on up, or a nasty rumor that I’d caught wind of had an element of truth—the Silvas were splitting up. They’d been friends with Marisa and me for years, and I couldn’t imagine having to choose sides. They were good people, and even better as a couple.

Karina appeared stressed, possibly edgy. I’d seen warning signs like that from women over the years, and I’d learned avoidance was the most appropriate response. At least for me.

***

Ma’am, we’ve looked through almost every variety of earrings. The sixty-something salesman enunciated every syllable with exaggerated care.

I’m not good at making these types of decisions, Karina said, moving her eyes back and forth. The ones on the left are nice. I’ll go with that pair.

The well-coiffed salesman lowered his specs. Would you like for me to wrap it for you?

Yes, thank you. But I need it fast. I have an important appointment I need to make. She felt a tug on her coat.

Mommy, we go now? Ricky’s eyes were half shut. He’d missed his afternoon nap, and Karina knew he’d either conk out on the jeweler’s floor or throw a hissy fit if she didn’t get him home quickly.

Ricky, we’re almost done. Want a candy cane?

His eyes popped open with anticipation, and she dug into the bottomless pit known as her purse.

Here you go! She unveiled the bribe.

Ricky grabbed the red-and-white sugar stick, and within seconds, his face and hands were coated with a sheen of stickiness.

Karina turned back to the counter as the salesperson tied the last red bow. Then, he slid the bill across the counter.

She paused momentarily