No Good Deed

By Francis Bruneault

YOU WANT THE BEST WHEN THE WORST IS OUT TO GET YOU

Help. That’s what Matt Pearson, his wife Dana, and the rest of their team at the Pearson Group do every day: protecting the life of strangers at the risk of their own.

Guillaume De LaCroix helps as well. His company helps sick people get better; his foundation helps women in need. He has it all. Success at work, the respect of his community, and a beautiful family. But when someone launches a terror campaign against him and his loved ones, he turns to the Pearson Group for protection and to discover who is behind these attacks.

As the case evolves and suspects come and go, discovering who is behind the threats leads the Pearson Group down a path far worse than they ever could have imagined. Matt, Dana, and the team must tread carefully to avoid becoming the next target.

A powerful, contemporary novel with engaging characters and intertwined story lines, No Good Deed carries the reader through the dark side of human nature and back.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886939217

Francis Bruneault

Francis Bruneault is a Montréal author with a passion for crime and mystery. His style challenges stereotypes and offers intertwined storylines to captivate a large audience. He’s a thirty-year veteran in the IT industry and world traveler who enjoys life with his family and friends. No Good Deed is his first novel.

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About the Author

Francis Bruneault is a Montréal author with a passion for crime and mystery. His style challenges stereotypes and offers intertwined storylines to captivate a large audience. He’s a thirty-year veteran in the IT industry and world traveler who enjoys life with his family and friends. No Good Deed is his first novel.

Dedication

For Martine

Copyright Information ©

Francis Bruneault 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized 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.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Bruneault, Francis

No Good Deed

ISBN 9798886939194 (Paperback)

ISBN 9798886939200 (Hardback)

ISBN 9798886939217 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023916157

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

Special thank you to Annie, Marie-Joëlle, and Daniel for their time and insight, Stephane for his artwork, Martine for her inspiration, and all my friends and family for their support.

Prologue

Stargazing in the greater Montréal can be challenging. Even on a clear night like this evening, the bright lights from lamp posts and tall buildings shined far outside the city limits, making it difficult to spot the tiny dots hanging in the darkness like motionless fireflies out of reach.

While the forecast called for the warm temperatures to last for at least another week, the leaves had already started to turn from green to orange, yellow or brown in the city’s outskirts. It won’t be long before the good people of suburbia will be out raking leaves, closing their pools, and turning off the sprinkler systems. Fall is knocking at the door, again.

At this time of night, the light traffic allowed the silver 2017 Bentley Mulsanne to quickly make its way out of downtown, heading west on highway 40.

Comfortably seated in the back seat, listening to Yo-Yo Ma’s 1992 Grammy award-winning performance of Brahms: Piano Quartets on the Naim for Bentley sound system, Guillaume De LaCroix, tried to catch up on the day’s emails and voice messages.

His tired mind kept wandering to his options for his next vehicle. Time had come to trade in the Bentley. He had it for almost three years now. The new car smell disappeared a long time ago, his butt left an indentation in the seat, and it needed new tires for the winter. All good reasons to get rid of it while it still had excellent resell value. He considered himself a Bentley man, but when the company announced they stopped production on his favorite model, he took it as a sign to explore other makes. If he could, he’d go with an electric model this time. Maybe the Porsche Taycan or the Tesla Model S? He trusted life to come up with the answer at the appropriate time.

At sixty-two, his slender build, a full head of shiny black hair, combined with a baby face helped remove a decade from his true age.

A younger wife and two teenagers helped keep him on his toes. On the other end, the pressure at work pulled him in the opposite direction of the age continuum. When people told him he looks younger than his age, he usually answers not to judge a book by its cover.

Over the years, he had built himself a solid reputation as a shrewd manager. There’s no place in the world he won’t relocate to if the price is right.

When Andrea Stone, Panda Pharma’s founder and CEO, decided to step down and take the role of chairwoman seven years ago, she personally traveled to his home in the south of France to convince him to take the role. It implied the family had to move again. Canada was the longest he’d been in one place, outside of France.

The small pharmaceutical company rolled out the red carpet. Giving him everything he asked for. He paid it back in full. His vision, coupled with his bold strategy, brought the company from a minor player to a top contender in the industry in record time.

He made the cover of three industry magazines in the last year alone. His regular appearances on the BNN Bloomberg Market Call show made him a star on the business news channel. He knows it’s his moment, his fifteen minutes of fame.

Six weeks ago, during their regular meeting, De LaCroix confirmed the water cooler gossip that Clinton-Brax was indeed in talks to acquire Panda Pharma. The merger, he prefers the term to acquisition, would create a new number one in the industry. Panda Pharma would need to make adjustments, like stopping the production of Tentradoxine. The opioid coming from the factory in Malaysia became expensive to produce. Besides, he pleaded that Clinton-Brax has a better, more popular product on the market.

However, Stone made her opposition to the project loud and clear. Yelling to his face from across the desk. Accusing him of betrayal, of destroying her legacy. Going as far as threatening to fire him.

De LaCroix couldn’t understand the resistance, much less the violent outburst. The aging chairwoman told her CEO about her plans to retire on more than one occasion. This merger would garnish the chairwoman’s retirement fund with a few hundred million dollars.

Excuse me!

Steeve’s voice from the driver’s seat brought him back to reality. With only two weeks on the job, De LaCroix already knew he would have to replace his new chauffeur. Again. He stopped counting how many he had laid off since he decided not to drive himself anymore.

How hard can it be to drive me around? He asked himself.

As the front gate swung open to let the Bentley through, Steeve repeated, but louder this time, Excuse me, but you are home.

More annoyed with his driver’s tone of voice than with the actual words, De LaCroix extricated himself from his daydreaming to tell his young driver to pick him up at ten tomorrow morning.

He was about to add, I’ll take my early calls with the Asia division from home, but decided he didn’t need to justify himself to the help. Especially someone who won’t be around much longer.

Steeve stopped at the front door and De LaCroix waited for his driver to come open the door for him. After a few seconds, even more irritated, he finally decided to let himself out, slamming the door behind him.

Jerk, Steeve said once he knew his boss couldn’t hear him.

He parked the Bentley in the six-car garage, got out, undid his tie, took his jacket off and climbed in his 2001 Honda Civic hiding behind the door at the far end. The damage from the sun and the dirt on the poor car gave it a brown tint rather than its original shiny red color of olden days.

Mr. De LaCroix didn’t want to see the piece of junk in his driveway, so he told Steeve to park it in the spot customarily reserved for overnight guests.

Once in his car, the young man drove home for the night, planning to return in the morning at the agreed time.

Standing on the stoop of his ten thousand square-foot mansion, De LaCroix glanced at his watch before pushing the front door to enter his palace, his kingdom.

He had bought the domain from Andrea Stone herself when they moved here from France. He fell in love with the style on the first visit.

Ten, he told himself, definitely not a decent hour to come home.

Dalia, the family’s two-year-old chocolate lab, rushed over to welcome her master home. He enjoyed this sort of homecoming. Someone ecstatic to see him at the end of a long day. Someone to make him feel appreciated.

Earlier in their marriage his wife, Lianne, would greet him at the door with a glass of red wine and the two would share the highlights of their respective day.

Later, the kids replaced Lianne, but his young cheering squad stopped showing up when they morphed into teenagers.

Could it also be that his arrivals moved from dinner time to bedtime that no bipeds in the house cared to greet him anymore?

Nice to see you too, he whispered to the cheerful canine while petting her behind the ears.

His family ate already. He was sure of it. He could hear Lianne busy upstairs, in their bedroom, he assumed.

The kids had their own rooms on the west wing’s first floor. He imagined them playing video games with their Internet friends or watching cat videos into the wee hours of the night. He had no idea. He felt like he didn’t know his own kids anymore.

Etienne, the youngest, had become more distant since the beginning of the year. He buried himself in his bedroom only to come up for air when hunger overtook him or go to the skate park to meet his friends. De LaCroix swore the kid hated him, although he couldn’t understand why since he gave the boy everything he wanted. He missed the days he’d go in the backyard to play tennis or shoot hoops with his son. Back when he was a hero. Now, he felt like a zero.

Romy, on the other hand, had always been Mommy’s little girl. She was into shoes, purses, or anything that glitters; the more superficial, the better. She dreamt of one day becoming a significant influencer with tons of followers.

De LaCroix had no interest in what he called anti-social media. When he joined Panda Pharma, the public relations firm they hired for him forced him to create accounts on Facebook and Twitter. His last posts dated back to three years ago. He certainly didn’t care how many friends or followers he had.

When Romy talked about likes or clips or hair products, his mind wandered to his next meeting or some other work-related tasks.

De LaCroix walked through the dimly lit house making his way to the kitchen. He turned on the lights to find a note waiting for him on the gigantic marble countertop island in the middle of the chef’s kitchen.

Dinner is in the oven. Turn to 250 for 20 minutes to reheat.

– J

He didn’t feel like waiting twenty minutes for his meal, so he took the plate out of the oven to a place already set for him in the breakfast nook.

During the day, the view on the sunlit backyard was magnificent, but for now, he’d be eating alone gazing in the dark, imagining what it all looks like when people sit here at a normal hour.

Thank you, Jasmine, he whispered, chewing on his first bite.

Jasmine was the housekeeper. It meant she answered the door, cooked, cleaned, plus took care of the children. She started working for the family as soon as they moved into the house shortly after arriving in Canada.

She usually went home around seven after serving dinner. Although, going home meant retiring to the east pavilion, in a two-bed, one-bath apartment reserved for the lived-in help. She loved it. She didn’t have to commute; plus she saved a bundle on rent. However, the downside of living with her employers meant they thought she was on the clock 24/7. As a result, it’s not uncommon for Mr. De LaCroix to request a shirt be pressed at eleven in the evening or for Mrs. De LaCroix to order a snack before going to bed.

De LaCroix ate his dinner alone at the table. A chicken breast prepared in a balsamic reduction served with roasted vegetables. He ate the dried dinner imagining what the feast would taste like had he been home earlier. Nevertheless, at least he enjoyed a nice glass of wine from his family’s estate in Bordeaux, south of France.

Every year, De LaCroix privately imported over a hundred cases of wine from his family labels but also other vineyards in the region. He drank French red wines exclusively, rejecting all other vintages. He considered American wines too obnoxious, while Italian wines were too loud. He won’t even taste Australian wines and avoided conversations about Canadian wines for fear of offending his adoptive country.

Last Christmas, he offered a case of his family’s Bordeaux Premium to his direct staff. To show his appreciation for the hard work, but primarily to mentor the mere mortals on what noble wine is. He couldn’t resist providing his wine tasting tips to anyone wanting to edify themselves to the art of wine tasting.

A scream coming from the bedroom upstairs abruptly interrupted his serenity. Recognizing his wife’s voice, he knew it wasn’t her happy-good-news scream. It sounded more like something had terrified her to the bones. He dropped the crystal glass on the counter, shattering it to pieces.

Fearing a home invasion, he looked around for anything he could use as a weapon. His search for a cooking knife took too long, so he settled for the marble rolling pin sitting on the counter.

Running as quickly as possible, taking the steps two at a time, he entered the bedroom, ready to protect his wife against whatever intruder he would meet.

Instead, he found Lianne sitting on their bed in her night gown, alone, mouth wide open, face bright red. She held a letter in one hand and a series of pictures spread out on the bed, by her side.

Confident no one had entered the house, he walked over to Lianne. His eyebrows rose and wrinkles appeared on his forehead. He tried to speak, but nothing came out. His wife’s horrified expression was like a punch to the stomach.

Guillaume! she said. Look at this! Right now!

Chapter One

The CBC Radio morning program softly echoed throughout the master bedroom. Every morning, the alarm clock went off at six-thirty. Every morning it wasn’t required. It looked as though the bed hadn’t been slept in—the blankets neatly arranged, the pillows fluffed up with the cushions displayed like in decoration magazines.

While Matt Pearson was already out for his morning run, his wife, Dana prepared herself a flat white using the fancy coffee machine her husband offered her for Christmas last year. He used the gift as much as she did, if not more. Leading her to believe he really bought the appliance for himself.

The couple had this habit of setting the alarm, although they rarely needed one since their internal clock woke them up by five most mornings.

Running a global company meant calls at all hours of the day. Technology may have removed the need to travel, but no one solved the time zone dilemma yet.

Matt came in through the mudroom of their Saint-Lambert four-bed, three-bath bungalow they’ve owned since they got married. He stopped by the kitchen to grab himself a water bottle with electrolytes he prepared the night before when he heard Dana already at work in the home office.

Dana had the idea of turning a spare room in a home office when they started the Pearson Group. The couple found it convenient to take early calls from overseas or to catch up on work at night or during the weekend. The room became the unofficial off-hour company’s headquarters.

"Good morning, ma chérie. What’s our schedule for today?" Matt asked as he walked in the room sweaty from his usual 5K run around town.

Dana anticipated the question. It came up every morning, but today, as the keen observer he is, Matt noticed his wife wore her gray business suit with bright red lipstick and her hair was all done up. Instantly, his hopes for a quiet moment reading the paper before going into work went out the window.

We received an urgent call from a client on retainer, Dana started. Anil took the call around three-thirty, then dispatched level-three surveillance until we decide what’s next. He told the client we’d meet first thing in the morning for a full-threat assessment, so get ready, we head out as soon as you’re good to go. Dana instructed, pointing to the master bedroom.

Even after six years of working with his wife in the company they founded together and twenty-one years in the Protective Policing Operations at the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Pearson still had butterflies in his stomach when a client needed help. Then again, that’s why they got in this business: To help.

"Oui, madame," he replied, kissing her gently on the cheek before turning around, heading to the master bedroom.

You stink, she added as he disappeared in the corridor. Next time, take a shower before you come to kiss me!

I love you too, he yelled from the bowels of their master bedroom.

Matt’s first protective duties go all the way back to elementary school when a young girl he liked was getting bullied. He offered to protect her even though he was smaller than the tormentors. She paid him back with a kiss on the cheek. Later, he joined the RCMP and protected a multitude of dignitaries and two prime ministers but left four years shy off a full pension following an incident in Calgary that left him confused, questioning his beliefs and full of doubts. Thank God Dana was there to support him during this ordeal.

* * *

Ready in five! Matt shouted sitting on the bed to put on his polished brown leather shoes. He looked spiffy, sporting a crisp white dress shirt with a navy wool suit. His traditional on-the-job attire.

If it were up to him, he’d wear a plaid shirt and jeans to work, but Dana insists on him dressing the part, so they agreed he’d let her buy the work wardrobe, if he didn’t have to wear a necktie.

After leaving the RCMP, he swore never to wear one again. Ever. Neckties serve no purpose other than a decorative one. The French invented the fashion article, and it should have stayed in France for all he cared.

He fantasized about burning his collection in a bonfire in the backyard, but Dana convinced him that throwing them in garbage still counted as an effective ritual.

Once in the vestibule, he grabbed a black trench coat. Although it was sunny now, he remembered running in the cool weather this morning.

Are you ready to roll? he gently inquired.

I am! Dana replied, walking briskly by him, her blue raincoat on her arm and the iPad in her hand.

You drive while I brief you, she added, climbing in the passenger seat to program the GPS on their Mercedes GLE Coupe.

We’re meeting with Guillaume and Lianne De LaCroix, she continued, reading from the profile in front of her. They signed up for the platinum service two years ago but never needed it until today. I met with them at the signature to offer a home security system with basic coverage, but they only wanted to keep us on retainer at the time. I remember Mr. De LaCroix as narcissistic, but I sensed he was a devoted father and loving husband, providing only the best for his family. Moreover, he has the means since Money magazine evaluates his personal worth at just over two billion American dollars.

They have been in the country for seven years. Before, he held significant jobs in Japan, then in Germany, and back to France before finally moving here. However, it’s the first time he’s appointed CEO.

Panda Pharma hired him to grow the company, she added, which he did. As a result, their stock has gone up by more than 300% in the last three years but dove lately on rumors of a merger with a larger competitor. The last part didn’t come from the report, she remembered reading it in the news a few weeks ago.

As they pulled out of the garage to get onto the street, the automated voice instructed Matt where to go, but it didn’t help with traffic or construction detours.

She is the president of the De LaCroix Foundation, Dana continued reading, scrolling down the page. "Every year, the foundation raises over five million dollars for various organizations in Canada. It primarily funds shelters for abused women.

"Lianne De LaCroix is personally involved in the foundation. She got some press last year when she criticized the government for the lack of resources granted to abused women.

"Her foundation tries to bridge the gap, but she pleaded with the authorities to enact better laws to protect women from their abusers. Being outspoken, she made a few enemies along the way.

She must work hard for her place in the couple. Her husband likes the limelight; he casts a long shadow—maybe the foundation is her way of making a name for herself? Dana wondered.

The perfect couple, Matt said, until you start opening closets to find the skeletons.

Dana didn’t react because she agreed with him. They had yet to meet a client with nothing to hide. Good or bad, everybody has secrets they want to keep from others. In most cases, it’s called privacy. Regrettably, confidentiality has become a challenge in the digital age when everything we say or do end up recorded for all to see or hear.

The kids have a huge presence online, she continued scrolling, it could be a problem for us later. Mom and Dad hired private tutors to make sure they stayed on track with their studies.

Add parents of the year to the list, thought Matt.

They have two permanent employees. The housekeeper, Jasmine and a driver. De LaCroix seems to go through chauffeurs like you do tissues during allergy season. The corners of her mouth rose slightly while she turned to look at him.

She made a mental note to complete the profiles later if they took on the case.

Most of all, today they need our help, she added while she spent the rest of the ride going over what happened last night.

* * *

As the GPS announced they’d just reached their destination, Dana noticed the company’s Ford Escape in the driveway. the Pearson Group owns a fleet of these nondescript SUVs.

She recognized the guard standing next to the door but, for the love of God, couldn’t remember his name. The young man waved as the Mercedes pulled up in front of the SUV. Matt acknowledged by waving and producing a polite smile.

Mark. His name is Mark, he said, knowing his wife drew a blank. She turned to smile at her husband. After twenty-four years of marriage, he could read her like an opened book. This page said: Damn it! Dana! You should know your employee’s name.

Dana gasped when she lifted her sight from the iPad to look outside the car window at the lush landscape design. It reminded her of the French gardens maintained to perfection she and Matt saw when they visited the Chateau de Versailles on their tenth anniversary. Matt saw the same stunning setting, but his mind had already turned to options to secure the premises.

The door opened as soon as Dana and Matt set foot on the stoop. Dalia came out to loudly greet the expected guests. Jasmine let them into the foyer.

Mr. and Mrs. Pearson, I will take your jackets, she insisted. If you would, please follow me, I will take you to Mr. and Mrs. De LaCroix. The housekeeper energetically walked to the right of the house.

Dana read such eagerness to welcome them as a sign of anxiety from their new clients. Following close behind, Matt wondered how to protect a place like this.

The couple couldn’t believe their eyes when they entered the recreation pavilion. They felt like they just stepped on the beach on a beautiful sunny day, but they were still inside.

At the back of the room, a natural rock wall covered in real moss and a waterfall ending in a pool with a beach entry gave the illusion they just walked in a tropical oasis.

They stepped on a patio made of natural stones. As he got in, Matt spotted the barbecue nestled in a custom-built island, complete with its own industrial fan, granite sink, and a fridge he imagined filled with champagne bottles. Private import to be sure. He remembered his cooler at home, filled with beers from the local breweries.

To each his own, he told himself.

The patio set table could comfortably accommodate eight adults. A fifteen-foot ceiling painted sky blue with sparse white clouds gave the illusion of standing out in the open. The hi-tech lighting system can recreate lighting from any time of day or anywhere in the world, from an Australian sunrise to a Hawaiian sunset. Their hosts set the temperature to a balmy twenty-five degrees with fifty-five percent humidity. Somewhere speakers played ocean sounds with the occasional seagull flying by. An air freshener set on the table provided the beach smell to complete the fantasy. It seemed the De LaCroix brought the Cote d’Azur with them when they moved in.

Someone’s put a lot of thought and money in this room, Dana admitted.

The clients stood at the end of the large table. The Pearsons went to their clients and shook hands. Dana could see neither of them slept a wink last night. Their hands were clammy: Another sign of anxiety.

Please sit, started Guillaume De LaCroix, trying to sound casual, but his voice cracked when he spoke. He appeared shaken as he stood up to greet them. Just the opposite of what Dana expected to see from a CEO running a multi-billion-dollar company.

Mr. and Mrs. De LaCroix, Dana said, we’re so sorry this happened to you.

Thank you, answered Lianne. She sounded steadier than her husband, but like the room, it was all an illusion. We don’t need to tell you this has been the worst night of our lives.

We understand, carried on Dana, that’s why we’re here to make sure it doesn’t happen again, so you can all sleep soundly tonight. Matt will run down with you what we know so far. She said, turning to her husband.

Matt looked at the iPad and jumped in, At approximately nine-thirty last night, Mrs. De LaCroix discovered an unmarked envelope in the formal living room on the main floor. Mrs. De LaCroix took the envelope to the bedroom to open it. It contained a picture of your daughter asleep in her bed, a picture of your son, in his room, playing video games on his television and a picture of you both sleeping in your bed; finally, a letter simply saying, ‘You will pay’! with a swastika over a red skull. Unfortunately, the letter had no other identifying marks to help us determine who could have sent it. We’re told neither Mrs. De LaCroix nor your housekeeper had been in the living room during the day. Neither can confirm who could have left the letter.

Correct. Jasmine has nothing to do with this, added Lianne, trying to sound convincing. Understood, Matt said, thinking the background check would confirm this later.

"Mrs. De LaCroix called her husband, who searched the house but couldn’t find an intruder. Sadly, no cameras cover the property. The only camera at the front gate doesn’t record. Therefore, it’s impossible to determine if or how he could have set foot in the house.

"We have the report of a 9-1-1 call from your residence at eleven forty-eight. The 9-1-1 operator dispatched a patrol car at eleven fifty-three. The cruiser arrived at the house at twelve-o-eight.

"The officers reported going through the residence but couldn’t find anyone. The master bedroom window stayed open all day, but the room is on the second floor, at least twenty feet from the ground outside. It seemed unlikely anyone could have come in this way. The officers informed you to call 9-1-1 if you notice anything suspicious again.

"They left at twelve forty-seven. The officers reported the incident to dispatch. At twelve fifty-two, central closed the call.

At three thirty-three this morning, Matt carried on, "our emergency line received a call from Mr. De LaCroix detailing what happened. You requested our immediate assistance, so we dispatched a guard at three fifty-one. Mark, our man outside, arrived at four twenty-four.

Upon his arrival, he inspected the premises. He’s been standing guard outside, doing an hourly round. He’s reported no incident since he arrived. A new guard will replace him in a few minutes when his shift ends.

It’s all accurate, Guillaume De LaCroix said. We called you because the police said they couldn’t do anything for us until there’s another break-in. We can’t live with the idea someone’s been in the house and might come back.

Dana picked up, Understood. Now that we all agreed on the facts, let’s talk about the next phase: Securing the premises and securing your family. We’d like to install a security system covering entry points to the house and cameras to cover the grounds outside. We also recommend VIP protection for everyone in the family.

VIP protection?