Conscientia

By Scott Callum

Detective Lieutenant Moorland finds himself ensnared in a chilling escape room, a twisted reenactment of a past he’s struggled to forget. As he navigates this deadly labyrinth, he’s haunted by an unsolved case: a string of gruesome murders where each victim bears a violent message and suffers horrific mutilation. But is this all a smokescreen designed to mislead him?

As Moorland delves deeper, he uncovers a disturbing pattern. These acts of savagery aren’t new; they’re part of a horrifying legacy. He must grapple with a lethal blend of morality and methodology to unravel the mystery. But the clock is ticking, the bodies are piling up, and the stakes are skyrocketing.

Engulfed in a web of dark secrets and manipulation, Moorland faces suspects as cunning as himself. Will he discover not just who is committing these heinous crimes, but also the puppet master behind the curtain? Navigating this perilous path could be the most harrowing journey of his career, leading him to a truth so soaked in blood it’s indelible.

Time is running out. In a game of intellect versus malevolence, will Moorland’s keen mind be enough to bring a killer, and whoever is pulling their strings, to justice?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035832088

Scott Callum

Scott Callum is a prolific writer of short stories and novellas which explode with mystery and intrigue. He delves into the human psyche and bends the fabric of reality, creating twists and turns in his stories. He leaves the reader guessing right to the very end, creating a unique climax to the story and continuing the suspense past the final chapters.

Book preview

About the Author

Scott Callum is a prolific writer of short stories and novellas which explode with mystery and intrigue. He delves into the human psyche and bends the fabric of reality, creating twists and turns in his stories. He leaves the reader guessing right to the very end, creating a unique climax to the story and continuing the suspense past the final chapters.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my amazing wife who believed in me to write Conscientia and help me share the story with others.

Copyright Information ©

Scott Callum 2024

The right of Scott Callum to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author 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 9781035832071 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035832088 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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E14 5AA

Chapter 1

After a lot of time and effort, money and resources, to get everyone where he wanted them. Gill Adams, a well-known member of Congress, had constructed the perfect plan. He stood watching in the monitoring room of his huge mansion. Various CCTV cameras were scattered around the complex, and the ones he was most interested in were pointing at the four rooms, labelled Physical, Mental, Intelligence and Observation. His biggest interest was the man in the mental room. He watched as Detective Lieutenant Tymen Moorland awoke from the deep sleep he’d found himself in.

Rise and shine, detective, he said over the announcement system wired to all the rooms. This is fun, isn’t it; how is our brave hero going to get out of this one, more importantly, what happens when he reaches the door? Gill Adams laughed in excitement as a commander of the situation.

I know why you killed those women, using someone else to kill for you. It’s pretty cowardly, Moorland retorted in a low, mumbling, angry voice, looking for a way out of his room. What this has to do with me, God only knows.

Moorland stood staring around the room, made to look like the interior of a church, his eyes were struggling to see completely, the drug used to knock him out was still working out of his system. He made a few shuddering noises, trying to speak more.

You need to speak up more clearly, detective.

Moorland ignored him for the time being, as his eyes became more focused on his surroundings, wondering, why this room had been made to appear like this. The feeling of this reminded him of death, like being at a funeral. The altar on the far side of the room had four overly large glass chalices resting on the altar.

Walking over to the chalices, he could see that they’re accompanied by a shiny copper penny. He noticed the glass chalices hold a clear liquid; the smell of the liquid allowed Moorland to deduce that the liquid was not water.

Careful, detective, you’re going to need your strength for this challenge. I would hate for you to dissolve into nothing. Gill couldn’t help laughing at his planned joke. Moorland was far from blind to the fact that the liquid is more than what it appeared. He dropped the shiny penny into one of the chalices. Looking down at the liquid, he watched the penny dissolve in the liquid. Corroding the metal into bubbles of copper and silver. Confirming his suspicions, he realised the liquid is acid.

So, what, you expect me to drink this or something?

Something like that, detective. You see, the key around your neck, you’ll need that to unlock the door. A blinding light caught the corner of Moorland’s eye, the door showed in a triangle of light, the elaborate lock built into it. Across the door were four thick metal bars of strong steel. Moorland knew he was going to need his intelligence to escape from this room.

He looked at the gold key hanging around his neck, rubbing his fingers over it, he hoped to find something—scripture, a code anything he could use to get out of this place. He’d already seen that this game was full of riddles, codes and cyphers. There had to be something, he thought.

OK, Adams, how do I get out? Moorland knew who his captor was, he had the pleasure of meeting him at the Adams’ estate when Moorland was a young officer from before he arrived in Albany. He was part of the security detail assigned to Gill Adams’ home. He didn’t really have much contact with the man himself, but he did meet a woman he fell in love with there. They raised a beautiful child together, called Katie.

You need to think of your age, detective. Moorland was growing tired of being swathed with Gill’s words, one more ridiculous comment after another.

What are you trying to prove here Adams, what do you want with me? demanding an answer to why the end of his investigation had led him here.

The fabricated light, coming from the other side of the wall, shone through the four stained glass windows inside the room over the altar. Each window was an image; depicting the age of Man, not in time but in age; a new-born baby boy, a middle-aged woman, a large older man and a young teenage girl. Moorland recognised the painting of the teenage girl. It was Katie; he could see it was his daughter.

Gill Adams noticed that the detective had seen what he wanted him to see, he had recognised the imagery of the family he knew so well. The voice became angry and Moorland felt the voice reverberating through his head. You have no idea, what it’s like to lose a child!

Moorland looked puzzled and focused on getting out of the room.

Think, Ty, he said to himself. His attention moved off from Gill and back to the escape room, this could be his demise. He was thankful that time didn’t seem to be a factor in his escape.

Unfortunately, he spoke too soon. Gill pressed a button and a monitor showed the timer counting down. With fifteen minutes on the clock, the race was on to now get free from this room.

A sweat bead started to form on Moorland’s forehead and it ran down his cheek.

He returned to the chalices and decided the measurement of liquid in them is related to the images from the stained glass windows. At first, he thought he could break them, but after smashing one mosaic piece of glass, he could see a plastic sheet behind, most likely break-resistant, he thought.

He ripped the arms off his cotton white shirt and began to wrap them around his now sweaty palms. Soaking the cotton shirt in acid, he removed the liquid from the one chalice with the most liquid held inside. Wringing it into the one with the smallest amount in. Slowly one of the bars retracted from the door, moving the pressure pads built into the altar. Moorland began to move liquid from one chalice to another.

Each chalice represented a person and each amount of liquid inside acted as their age. It was easier to start with the last chalice which had the most liquid to move to the rest—symbolising the eldest. Moving the liquid from the eldest along the line of age to the youngest was how he was going to get out of the room.

Now he’d found what he believed to be the answer, he reviewed his theory and argued the solution in his mind, moving liquid from one place to another, eventually releasing the bars.

His now burning hands were almost lacking the strength to remove the key from his neck. The clock almost reached three minutes as he managed to take the key to the lock, turning the key caught on the lock mechanism and he pushed open the door.

Waiting for the other doors to open, he saw one person enter the room and he couldn’t believe his eyes when he realised who it was.

My god.

Chapter 2

Several Days Earlier

The trip to Jaden was about sixteen minutes as the crow flies. And the roads were quiet enough this time of night, so manoeuvring through traffic at these speeds was easier to do. Moorland was racing to the scene he’d been called to by his sergeant.

Jaden is a small town, just before the outskirts of Albany, home to about 16,000 people, this part of town—the high-class dominate. Most of the citizens are business tycoons, doctors and celebrities. Albany, in general, is home to the upper echelons of New York built on academia, agriculture and commerce; many wealthy families live here. A city 135 miles north of the ‘Big Apple’.

The global positioning system on Moorland’s silver Audi A4 all road vehicle showed him the way. Entering the new coordinates from what he’d been given from Detective Sergeant Malcolm ‘Mac’ Raines. Moorland had just returned from a case involving a missing child, who he found lying in a concrete tube on a building site. The last place in his GPS was the home of the father of the little girl.

The little girl was so scared of her father that she’d run away and it was Moorland who put the pieces together. A sense of satisfaction filled Moorland’s body as he and an officer arrested the man at the little girl’s home.

This was the most compelling of cases he found himself investigating. There was the unusual suicide or rewarding drugs raid he found himself on, but most of his investigations were around missing children and homicide. The latter was more uncommon in Albany, but the call he received from Mac was just that—a homicide.

The address he was being led to was the home of Mr and Mrs Walker; he’d recognised the name but couldn’t be certain why.

Arriving at the home, he was presented with a large white steel gate blocking the driveway entrance. He could see a large amount of people here, media, officers, medical personnel. A lot of civilians seemed to be interested in whoever lived here.

The Albany Investigations badge Moorland held up to his windshield was enough to let the local officers know this was the lead detective on the case. Such emotion and atmosphere were building around the scene. Busying reporters and vloggers swarmed the detective’s car, hoping to get a comment.

Who lives here, a celebrity? He thought to himself.

The loud sound of the gate opened as the jaws of the left and right sides pulled open. This wasn’t the only gate to the house, he spotted another gate, a wrought iron medieval one, for access to visitors on foot—noticing the gate required an access code, he moved forward slowly, careful not to run into the many people swarming the area.

The Audi slowly moved forward down the driveway, Moorland looked in his rear-view mirror and could see officers pushing back the public and paparazzi behind the gate. Arriving at the end of the driveway, there’s a series of high-performance vehicles, there was clearly an idle rich person’s party here.

Stepping out of the car, he could see a member of the paparazzi, who had managed to get in somehow, past the officers on watch.

Detective, have you found a body? a busying vlogger shouted out as the Lieutenant made his way out of his vehicle. He pointed over to an officer, to signal him to remove her from the scene.

Yellow crime scene tape was spread across the entranceway to the very large house’s entrance. He pulled the crime scene tape over his head, gliding over his jet-black leather duster. He took a stick of gum out of his pocket and put it into his mouth.

More officers were waiting by the main door of the house, he looked to the side and could see a lavish pool. Certainly, there’s money here, he thought. Pulling back his duster, showing his black cotton jeans and the badge he’d attached to his belt; the officer waved the six-foot-tall detective through.

Mac, you in here? shouted the Lieutenant.

Yeah, Chief, up here, you’re going to want to see this, Mac shouted down from over the upstairs balcony down to the hallway below. Moorland looked up at the grand ceiling and could see the tall West African bald man looking down at him from above.

There’s a blood trail leading from the kitchen and it showed the trail continues up the grand white staircase. A forensic expert asked the Lieutenant to mind the blood as he walked to the staircase. The blood was not only the odd thing he noticed but the number of ‘congratulations’ cards which were laid down. Donning his blue forensic gloves, he reached into the wastepaper basket and retrieved a card laid flat at the bottom.

Making his way up the staircase, he was greeted by another one of his sergeants, a young female officer Moorland respected greatly. Boss, are you OK?

Detective Sergeant Anna Barge, a beautiful blue-eyed, blonde-haired officer. Her background in forensic psychology had proved to be a valuable asset for Moorland, not to mention her Taekwondo skills.

Barge was pointing out that Moorland had been treated for a wound recently, it looks like glass shards had cut his firm face and grazed his chiselled jaw. Yes, I’m fine.

Moorland changed the subject and moved back to the crime scene he’d been brought to.

Hey, Chief, over here, Mac shouted out over the hallway to him; he was standing over the body of a young woman.

Chapter 3

The victim, a small stout young woman, laid naked on the floor. She’d been removed from the hatch she was hanging down from. Her chest and abdomen consisted of a large number of knife wounds.

We need to get a better look at her, Mac said, not disturbed by what he can see. This was not unusual for someone like Mac. He’d been a part of the special crimes division in Los Angeles. A very disturbing department of the LAPD. He was used to this sort of crime and claims he’d seen everything.

Moorland, on the other hand, was not used to this, well not for a long time. He’d moved away from this kind of investigation, excessive stabbing, young people as victims. This was not why he had moved to be part of this disturbing world again. He looked down at the poor innocent girl at his feet, reminding him of what happened when he worked for the NYPD homicide squad overseen by the borough investigative chiefs. His patrol route was Manhattan South and he saw his fair share of young people murdered, one of whom he was closely related to.

Agreeing with Mac, the medical examiner and other forensic experts, moved the body for a closer look, the blood had become a pool and the hatch was still dripping. Turning the once white runner to arterial red.

What have we got, doc? Moorland looked at the round, cantankerous, bearded gentleman he knew as Doctor Albert Skyler.

Looks like a frenzied attack, no defensive wounds. Normally, I would have expected to see the victim’s arms covered in knife wounds.

Mac knew what was coming next, but Moorland was not ready to hear it. Before the coroner could continue with anything, Mac added his thoughts.

So, this was post-mortem?

If I could be allowed to finish, the doctor rebuked. As I was saying—however, these wounds look post-mortem, he continued as the doctor goes into more chilling details about the untimely demise of this poor young lady. Bruising to the mandible suggests she was punched—and with considerable force. The group looked shocked, listening to every word.

Doctor Skyler went on to say how bruising rising to the top like this meant she was thumped and he’d expect her jaw to be broken. He would know more when he’d completed the autopsy, but he seemed to think the hit was so strong it severed her occipital bone from the cervical spine.

You mean her neck is broken, Barge added, trying to make sense of this attack.

Any ideas why she was naked? Any sexual interference? Moorland said, keen to get the investigation underway.

Lieutenant, I know as much as you do, but she was naked and stabbed after she was killed.

Mac listened like a lion cub getting ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey—he did not say a word. Being used to this growing list of heinous crimes was not unusual to him.

Are you certain? Moorland asked, not wanting to break Mac’s concentration.

Yes, Lieutenant, I am certain.

The doctor had explained what had happened and is making his way away from the scene, to begin his own investigation of the body.

What did you see when you arrived? He looked over to Mac.

He told him that they found the body, hanging from above the hatch, with Hayley Walker standing next to the victim. The Lieutenant recognised the name and listened to what Mac was saying, however his eyes ran over the body. Moving around the body as Mac was talking, he thought he could see a word diagonally slashed into her abdomen. It was hard to tell from the number of inflicted wounds but needed to know for certain. Hold up, doc.

Moorland pointed at the body and explained what he thought he was seeing; they all tried to see if they could make a word.

Haples, Barge tried a hand at guessing.

Hepples, a guess from Mac.

The blood was pouring over the possible letters forming in Moorland’s mind. He looked over to the doctor, who had returned to the victim.

I will have a better idea once I have completed my autopsy. Doctor Skyler was anxious to get away. He’d already been there longer than he would have liked. Waiting for Lieutenant Moorland to arrive.

Before Moorland could ask where the witness was, Hayley approached the detectives and said just what they wanted to hear.

I know what it says.

Chapter 4

4 hours earlier

Hayley was getting ready for a big night; it was a huge celebration. Invitations went out to her friends, some she considered friends, but others she didn’t know that well at all. The make-up was just as important as the outfit when she noticed they clashed.

It was fair to say her look wasn’t overly important to her, but she wanted to go the extra mile tonight and made herself look prettier if she could. She wasn’t going anywhere but she wanted to be the ‘Belle of the Ball’ at her luxurious home. Her long black hair was straightened to perfection and her complexion was being hidden by the assorted conservative colours in her makeup.

If she could feel a little bit sexier than before she would, her on-again-off-again relationship with Kurt was making her want to heighten her sexuality tonight. Looking over her outfit choices, which were mostly black-on-black, worried her that she had gone backwards in time, becoming a superficial teenager. Hayley celebrated her 21st birthday a few months ago.

Kurt was of similar age to Hayley and they had some great times together, from road trips to cosy nights in, although most of his time was spent working for the Internet Crimes Against Children and their paths crossed when she worked on her thesis in college.

She was more intelligent than most, recently she had been accepted to complete a doctoral degree in forensic psychology. After already completing a bachelor’s degree in forensic psychology, she now had been given the scholarship to study criminal psychology at CUNY John Jay College of Criminal Justice.

This was what the celebration was all about.

RING RING.

Hayley looked at her phone and pulled up all the cameras in the house from the app installed on her phone. An advanced system that controls all the security of the house. No one could gain entry without a passcode. She would give her friends the code to get through the visitor’s gate, but you would need a code to access the front door.

The doorbell was ringing not only from the sound echoing around the house but also from the noise coming from her phone. Pressing the camera associated with the doorbell, she could see the coloured image of a person, she couldn’t see the person behind the flowers they were holding, but she knew it was Kurt.

Before de-robing, she made her way downstairs to answer the door to him; she knew her friends were arriving momentarily and wanted to hurry him along. Coming! she shouted from upstairs.

She briskly walked down the stairs, carefully, trying not to slip on the marble stairs leading down to the main door. Opening the door with her phone and to no surprise Kurt was standing there with the big bunch of beautiful, coloured flowers.

Kurt was very handsome, clean-shaven, with short hair and his central European looks made his age similar to Hayley’s, even though he was a few years older than her. He was very well-spoken and Hayley’s father adored him. Her father helped him finance his major in law. Kurt did not continue his pursuit as a lawyer and instead, with his skills in technology, he became an officer in the I.C.A.C.

He too made a name for himself, as he helped uncover a paedophile ring hiding themselves in the Consortium. The group was made up of child online modelling agencies, the mothers of the children contacted these agencies, only to discover later their children were interfered with. The leader of the group was yet to be caught, but Kurt had been helping with the case. He told Hayley that Congressman Gill Adams helped him in finding some of the men hiding inside the Consortium.

Hayley felt affectionate and flung her arms around him. His masculine jaw brushed against her cheek and he held her close to his chest.

You remembered, she said, as she kissed him on the cheek for the flowers.

What he remembered was, today was the day they met and every year he brought her some flowers. She didn’t tell him she was having a party tonight.

I did, he said, staring into her green eyes. They reminded him of the Albany countryside, so deep and mysterious. He could look into them all day. I’m afraid I can’t stop, I’ve got…Um—some work to do.

OK— Hayley said, a little confused.

Have a good night though, won’t you? Hayley looked at him yet again, confused he wasn’t aware she was having a party.

Gena said you were having a party with the guys, congratulations on your acceptance, by the way, he said smiling, knowing she could do it.

She was concerned about Gena, she made many advances towards Kurt, making the girl’s relationship more acrimonious than it should be. Kurt kissed her thinking about her and only her, he was not interested in Gena, but he felt attached to her when Hayley became distant. After kissing Hayley on her luscious red lips, he made his way down the driveway to his black Shelby GT.

The street Hayley lived on was very quiet, her house was one of three large homes set around the main street. Each home was a few yards away from the next and to gain access to this road wasn’t easy to find. It was found somewhat off the beaten track and hidden behind quite a large row of trees. The Walker’s home was very different to what it once was, before it was an empty plot of land and after some tough negotiations, the land became available to build upon.

Her mother owned this house, but her parents own more than this property, not only in upstate New York but in other places in the world too. Her father was currently away on business and he’d left the home for Hayley. He trusted her to not wreck it and he knew she seldom had parties.

This house was modelled on the famous Robertson mansion in Albany a 1900s, home far advanced for its time and a plot of land was bought in Albany, whereupon the building was erected. After a number of modernisations, the house had been extended a number of times. Nothing in this neighbourhood was what it once was since the moguls visited from New York and stayed.

Hayley felt a cold shiver run down her spine as she watched him leave. She couldn’t help feeling like someone was watching her in the distance. Feeling a little bothered and bewildered, she shrugged her shoulders and shut the door.

The bouquet of flowers had all her favourites, she could smell the different aromas coming off them, she walked into the kitchen and filled a patterned vase with cold water and placed the bouquet into the vase. The water made the stems tingle and more pungent and aromatic smells came off the beautifully arranged flowers.

Taking the small envelope from the centre of the bouquet, she opened it to reveal a card. It said, I’m Sorry. Kurt had many things to be sorry about, but she felt this was something more, something she couldn’t put her finger on.

Walking past the congratulations cards laid out on the side, she picked up the one that meant the most to her. The one from her father.

The way has been black and now it is white.

The start was so wrong and now it is right.

You’re never alone, your heart is your home.

Now take this new car into your future so bright.

She had removed the key earlier; a black and silver key was attached to the card. The key unlocked an ash-black Porsche Boxster Spyder 78. Complete with leather seats, all the mod cons, even its own Pythia voice-controlled entertainment system.

Her dad had got it as a reward for her acceptance into the college.

She had always been interested in criminology, her lifelong dream is to work in the FBI as a forensic profiler, preferably in Washington D.C. at Quantico. Her interest came from watching the CBS show Criminal Minds. The show centred around the B.A.U., the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI. She knew the life of a profiler was not going to be as glamorous as depicted in the show, it would be highly unlikely she would fly around in a private jet, for example.

The one thing that she was good at was writing a paper and one paper was used to capture a prolific killer, Jack Crass, who the media coined ‘The Kingdom Killer’. The paper titled ‘why we kill’, went into detail about the reasons why serial killers commit these crimes. The FBI noticed the paper and, after understanding the section about Home Invaders, they knew they had their man.

The killer invaded homes under some pretence of being a victim in a car accident or some other ruse. Once he was inside, he murdered both the husband and wife. He saw them as the king and queen of their castle and made a mortal point of removing them from their mantle.

The infamy of this man spread throughout the media, but it would be ten family killings later before he would be caught, not by the FBI, but by a detective who happened to land the case. He read her paper and connected the dots to finally draw the last line and complete the picture.

The paper was constructed by watching documentaries against fictional shows, such as Criminal Minds and comparing them from the amazing imaginations built by the fictional writers to the real officers involved in the cases. Looking at killers like Ted Bundy and Charles Manson, understanding what she could. Kurt helped her with some of the areas she didn’t have access to, along with her mother’s research.

This wasn’t like any other paper printed before, this focused on the distinction of unpredictable behaviour, making sense of why we kill when the profile of the killer didn’t match their Modus Operandi. The kill was hidden inside an act of violence not recognised by the pattern of the killer, the FBI, and or other authorities were tracking.

It was a paper she started writing when she was fifteen years old and she managed to get citations from various credible researchers and doctors. The hours spent in the library studying killers both here in the U.S. and also overseas helped her further her research before finalising her paper some years later.

Although the paper was never published, due to some legal bindings, she hoped to carry it forward into her career along with some other papers she had already started to work on. Ultimately, she would write a book on everything she learned so far.

She had the reminder that Jack Crass was caught by the young detective at the time. Springing the trap and from a hunch formed by the detective helped him and the thirty members of the Los Angeles Special Crimes department and the New York Special Investigations Division take the Kingdom Killer down.

Hayley returned to her room, locking the doors of the house she felt safe hidden away. Her security application was not only used for security but it’s also part of the entertainment system. The music became louder as she spoke the volume into her phone.

Her house was set up with Pythia, the ultramodern home security and entertainment system, it ruled the house and made her and her father feel safe inside. The voice-controlled system was programmed by Hayley and reverse-engineered by Kurt, who broke into the unit, to understand the logic. She wanted Pythia to allow full conversations to be added to the library of voice-controlled features. Kurt wanted to make it similar to the popular home device, Alexa, for her.

Pythia became, for all intents and purposes, a person, a guardian angel who watched over the home.

As the vibrations carried down the walls of the house, she didn’t hear the front door open, there was no doorbell ring, which would have interrupted the music playing around the house.

A dark figure slowly pushed the front door inwards and crept across the hall. The figure extended its arm and knocked down all her congratulatory cards. Finally, picking up the card from her father, the figure put in the wastepaper basket.

Reaching the staircase, the figure crept up the stairs, slowly trying to not make a noise. Hayley was too distracted by getting changed to view the cameras in the home.

Arriving at the bedroom door, the figure slowly turned the handle.

Chapter 5

What the fuck, Gena! You scared the shit out of me, Hayley said, almost jumping out of her skin. Her friend had adopted this animated laugh, thinking it was certainly fun to sneak in after watching Kurt leave. The strawberry blonde hair did not move an inch while she was laughing at Hayley.

They’d known each other a long time and there was friction between them both at times, but Gena respected Hayley, she also knew how rich she was and wanted a piece of her lifestyle.

You’re not ready yet, they’ll be here soon.

Thanks for coming, I know we’ve had our differences of late, said Hayley feeling a little sorry for how she could be around Gena at times. The two of them had grown together but before, they were like the unpopular girl hates the popular girl in high school.

I know, I want to put that behind us, Hayley looked at Gena