Fem-igarch

By Gina Star Pollack

Fem-igarch is a mystery novel that exposes the primal urges transforming LA's elite from human to beast as the price for a decadent lifestyle. From the luxurious heights of Wilshire Boulevard penthouses to macabre trapeze events and celebrity galas set along the Pacific Ocean, a Beasti-Jewel Killer is terrorizing the city's wealthy and notorious. A metaphor for life and death, the tumultuous trapeze is the thread weaving a web of deceit, ensnaring the illustrious citizens with fear.

As stunning, wealthy Russian diva Natalya Principova blackmails her influential neighbors at The Rembrandt, a posh Los Angeles Wilshire condo icon, to promote her nouveau imperial jewelry line and reality show, visions of stardom and opulence fill her mind. Yet she is unaware of the evil schemes lurking to silence her forever to prevent scandalous secrets from scorching the tabloids.

While the FBI and LAPD scramble to solve the international puzzle and halt the escalating jewel thefts and murders, amateur sleuth Camille Truesdale, a resident of The Rembrandt, uses her intuitive HR skills to assist and annoy the professionals at her peril. From psychics to entertainment psychos, the suspect pool includes Russians, Arabs, Mexicans, Turks, and Koreans, all hiding shocking secrets they would kill to protect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350920420

Gina Star Pollack

Gina Star Pollack had an amazing career as a Human Resources executive. She currently writes mystery novels and her amateur sleuth, Camille Truesdale, solves mysteries using her skills and intuition based upon her experience as an HR professional. Ms. Pollack's debut novel, "Star Spangled Villains," is an exciting political thriller with a 5-Star review from Readers' Favorite. Her new novel, "Fem-igarch," is the first in a mystery series following the exploits of Camille as she helps the police and FBI solve murders and jewel thefts.

Book preview

BK90080993.jpg

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, 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 or locales or business establishments is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2023

ISBN (Print): 979-8-35092-041-3

ISBN (eBook): 979-8-35092-042-0

"Lo! Death has reared himself a throne

In a strange city lying alone

Far down within the dim West,

Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best

Have gone to their eternal rest."

Edgar Allan Poe

‘The City in the Sea’

Contents

Chapter 1

Two Days Earlier Wednesday

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Thursday

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Friday

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Saturday

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Sunday

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Monday

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Tuesday

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Week 2 Wednesday

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Chapter 113

Chapter 114

Week 2 Thursday

Chapter 115

Chapter 116

Chapter 117

Chapter 118

Chapter 119

Chapter 120

Chapter 121

Chapter 122

Chapter 123

Chapter 124

Chapter 125

Chapter 126

Chapter 127

Chapter 128

Chapter 129

Chapter 130

Chapter 131

Chapter 132

Chapter 133

Chapter 134

Chapter 135

Chapter 136

Chapter 137

Chapter 138

Chapter 139

Chapter 140

Chapter 141

Chapter 142

Chapter 143

Chapter 144

Chapter 145

Chapter 146

Weeks Later

Chapter 147

Chapter 148

Chapter 149

Chapter 150

Chapter 151

EPILOGUE One Year Later

Chapter 152

Chapter 153

Chapter 154

Chapter 155

Chapter 1

The incandescent sapphires sparked rays of light across the sky. Natalya’s future was as bright as those glittering gems. The crescent moon waxed as she walked the spaniel along the cobblestone path. Natalya’s long blond tresses fluttered around her face as she stared at the ring set with a dazzling ten-carat Ceylon sapphire. She laughed, giddy with visions of a lifetime filled with stardom, opulence, and passionate love.

The cell pinged, and Natalya dropped Tsaritza’s leash, pulling the phone out of the small beaded purse. The spaniel ran into the bushes, yapping with joy. A text from Cousin Olga waiting in the penthouse cautioned, ‘Be careful!’ Natalya stamped her foot, tired of dire warnings meant to hold her back. No one would spoil her incredible prospects.

The palm trees shivered in the cool breeze, and the fronds cast eerie shadows across the hi-rise building. Natalya’s shoulders trembled, and she wondered if the icy chills were an evil premonition. As a child, her Godmother Nehama would lull her to sleep with cautionary tales forewarning, "The devil will spew his curse upon your soul when victory is near." Natalya spat for luck. She would not let the old crone’s barbaric Russian prophecy ruin her future.

The scent of bitter sulfur filled the air. Natalya coughed and struggled to breathe while a shadow enveloped her. The cell screen grew dark, and her arms and neck hair prickled. It was too late to scream when she sensed someone behind.

The shadow crept closer, enticed by the cloying perfume. Muscled arms crushed Natalya’s body until she stopped fighting, then smothered her mouth with one hand and pinched her nose with the other. The killer licked her ear, counting the seconds until her pulse stopped beating.

Ripping the shimmering necklace from Natalya’s neck, the killer panted, ravenous with desire, then wrenched the sapphire ring from her finger. The little dog barked in the bushes while the shadowy figure escaped into the black night.

Natalya’s lifeless body lay on the cold stones while the spaniel, like Cerberus, stood guard. The seismic force of retribution ignited by her murder would send shockwaves altering the world.

Two Days Earlier

Wednesday

Chapter 2

P romise you won’t use my name. Promise!

Camille leaned forward and clasped her hands on the desk. You’re putting me in an awkward position, Alyce.

I can’t risk getting fired for telling you what happened.

You won’t face retaliation for coming forward. Camille held up the sexual harassment policy she printed after Alyce had told her about the incident.

Alyce shook her head, the blond ponytail swaying. You don’t understand. You’ve worked here for eight years, so you’re safe. But I’m a new Associate. They can use this as an excuse to fire me and make sure I can’t work in any reputable finance company.

I’ve worked with the executive team on many sensitive HR investigations. They’re committed to providing an ethical work environment free from harassment and retaliation. Camille explained.

You think they’ll believe me? Alyce’s mouth stayed open, her brown eyes wide in disbelief. She picked up her sparkling pink studded cell. Here, show them the texts. It’s proof!

When I bring your complaint to the committee’s attention, they will request that I start a thorough, objective investigation immediately.

Totally secret? Without using my name? Alyce insisted.

Camille held back a sigh, trying not to show her exasperation. It will be a confidential investigation. Only executives who need to know will learn your name.

Well, let me think about it, okay? Alyce turned to make sure no one was looking in the glass panel.

As Vice President of Human Resources, I’m an officer of the company. Since you revealed a complaint of sexual harassment, I’m obligated to move forward. Camille said.

I only told you because I trust you.

Camille nodded. I appreciate your faith in my professionalism.

Some employees think you’re too rigid about enforcing policies. But I’ve seen how nice you are when anyone has a problem with the medical plan or payroll. So, I felt comfortable telling you what he did to me.

Camille smiled at the backhanded compliment. That’s why you should trust me to proceed with the investigation. Strict adherence to company policies will work in your favor.

Alyce exhaled and smiled. All right, go ahead. I’m relieved you believe me and will make sure he leaves me alone.

It’s my job to ensure employees can pursue a career at our firm without any uncomfortable or illegal intrusions. The company is committed to fostering a work environment free of harassment.

Will you fire him? Alyce opened her eyes wide.

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Camille held up her hand. First, I’ll conduct the investigation. Then I’ll provide a summary to the executive team. They will decide upon further appropriate action.

And you’ll tell me what happened? Alyce leaned forward.

I’ll keep you informed at appropriate intervals. If the investigation determines that harassment in violation of company policy has occurred, we will take effective remedial action.

Alyce stood and picked up the copy of the policy, a satisfied look on her pretty face. You’ve given me hope, Camille. Thanks for listening and knowing what to do. Opening the door, she turned and waved. Have a great evening.

Camille stood and smiled, glad Alyce was back to her bubbly self. You too. And don’t forget to send me screenshots of the texts.

Chapter 3

Camille closed the door, leaned against the sturdy wood, and exhaled. Emotions collided in her brain like clanging cymbals, and she gazed around the office to regain composure. The laptop pinging on the desk and the bookcase filled with HR manuals and business bestsellers gave her courage. Paintings of serene landscapes and framed diplomas hung on the cream-colored walls creating a tasteful refuge for employees.

Being confronted with contemporary HR issues in a top Los Angeles financial firm was challenging. Camille presented herself as a politically correct role model for the executives and staff employees. She worked 24/7 to achieve an executive title and professional respect. But even in this age of women’s empowerment, all females knew the naked truth. Ascending to the executive floor was rare, so Camille worked harder than the male professionals and fought the stereotypes. Alyce’s allegation highlighted Camille’s concerns that employees disregarded sexual harassment seminars. Some people would never get the message.

Camille stretched her neck and shoulders, watching the last rays of sunlight filter through the immense windows. Sitting at the beige lacquer desk, she checked emails. By the end of the day, her brain, eyes, lower back, and shoulders ached. It was time to go home and race on the torturous treadmill that kept her from going bonkers.

Proofing a message advising employees about the private equity fund meeting set for next week, Camille clicked send-all and shut down the laptop. She retrieved her leopard print purse from the desk drawer and locked the HR files like a good warden. Relieved, she sprinted out of the office, eager to boost her endorphins with a blood-pumping cardio sweat.

Night, Meghan. Camille waved at the gorgeous, raven-haired receptionist. She marveled at the former model whose ruby lipstick and styled hair still looked fresh at the end of the day. Sneaking a look at herself in the bright lobby mirror, Camille was embarrassed at her unruly hair and smudged makeup. Visible proof that her stressful position was taking a toll on her energy and youth.

Standing straighter, Camille boarded the elevator down to the vast marble lobby. Located in Century City, a high-profile business district in West Los Angeles, the office building had strict safety protocols. Sailing past the security desk, she nodded at the uniformed guards, who never smiled, then rode the escalators down to level four of the parking garage. Settled in her shiny silver Mercedes coupe, Camille navigated upwards, rounding the circular concrete ramp.

Chapter 4

Camille relaxed while maneuvering through the side streets on the short ride home to Westwood. Executing a quick right onto Beverly Glen, she gulped and slammed the brakes, surprised at the traffic jam. Her mind raced through a million frightening scenarios as she inched forward. Was there an accident on the 405 freeway, a fire, or a demonstration at the Federal building?

The three-minute commute to her condo turned into ten, twenty, thirty minutes. Frustrated, Camille drove up and down streets south of Wilshire Boulevard feeling like she was playing bumper cars at the Santa Monica Pier. Panicked, she spied yellow police tape blocking the road to turn onto Wilshire for the driveway to her hi-rise condo building. Camille lowered the window and waived to the policeman guiding traffic away from the boulevard.

Hello, officer; what’s the problem? No response. Officer, I live on Wilshire. Please tell me what’s happening. Camille’s voice rose an octave.

Go back the other way, ma’am. The officer shouted. No cars allowed on Wilshire.

But I live here. Camille pleaded. Look at my driver’s license. She waived the plastic card out the window. I need to get home. What’s the problem?

Lady, turn your car around and leave. The cop yelled red-faced. There’s a bomb in one of these buildings!

Camille gasped, picturing terrifying scenarios. Is it my building? Hera and Hercule are in the condo, trapped! What if my kitties jump off the terrace? Tears rolled down her face.

Honk! Blaring horns forced Camille to turn the car around and drive back to Beverly Glen. Pulling into a vacant spot, she turned off the motor and pounded the steering wheel. Desperate for information, Camille called the building concierge and listened to the recording.

To all residents of The Rembrandt. We are sorry to inform you of a bomb threat. We have evacuated residents and employees, and the FBI and LAPD will advise when it is safe to return to the building. Please check back periodically for updates. Max Powers, General Manager.

Using a tissue to fix the mascara that pooled around her eyes, Camille leaned back and contemplated her options. Scrolling through new texts, she saw a message from Celia Diamond, a close friend and neighbor. It was an invitation to join a group of Rembrandt residents for dinner at Palmetto Restaurant in Beverly Hills. Camille took deep breathes until her heart rate decelerated. She was desperate to protect the cats but helpless to rescue them. It would be cathartic to commiserate with neighbors.

Camille texted Celia: ‘What a great idea, see u soon.’ Maybe she would indulge in dessert tonight. A bomb threat evacuation ranked high on her list of excuses to eat chocolate cake.

Driving to the restaurant, Camille tried to make sense of the mind-boggling terrorist event. Which of her wealthy, sophisticated neighbors was behind this heinous act? Camille prided herself on having amateur detective skills and enjoyed imagining people’s motives behind their actions. Her skill set as an HR executive included interpreting nonverbal signals from employees and job candidates. Camille knew she had a knack for making people feel at ease and divulging secrets.

Camille wondered which resident was hiding an evil agenda behind a mask of civility. Tonight she would reexamine her so-called friends to see what secrets they concealed. The police and FBI would be grateful for her insight. She planned to tell law enforcement her theories about suspects and motives when she was allowed back in the building.

Energized, Camille snorted, pulling away from the curb. I shouldn’t be surprised. What did I expect, buying a condo in the elite Bermuda Triangle of Westwood? Pinpointed by Century City, the Federal Building, and two famous West LA synagogues, the Wilshire corridor was a bigger magnet for the apocalypse than the real Bermuda Triangle. It was amazing there wasn’t a bomb scare every week. The exclusive Wilshire Corridor realtors should embellish their tag line: Location, location, ka-boom, location!

Chapter 5

The bus was hot, crowded, and stunk of rancid body odor. As it jerked its way down Wilshire Boulevard, Sara remembered the old, rust-coated buses she rode through the crowded streets of Istanbul. Angling her head so the long black hair hid her face, Sara tried to avoid eye contact with the tattoo-covered guy across the aisle. His creepy sneer grossed her out while he gyrated to some tune streaming in his earbuds.

Sara looked out the grimy window counting the expensive cars on the road, knowing she had made the right decision. People should be accountable for the way they treat immigrants. Sara believed it was her duty to expose the injustices perpetrated by hypocritical politicians. If the police captured her, it was karmic justice for years of indulging in a pampered, decadent lifestyle. The city of angels had blinded her from the true path.

Attending film school at USC was Sara’s dream growing up in Istanbul. Straddling the Bosphorus River, Istanbul was a unique city split by commerce and religion, half Western and half Eastern. Sara felt her soul mirrored the city’s divergence. She was a loner and never fully believed the religious dogma her parents and siblings cherished.

Sara watched films on her second-hand laptop and learned English mimicking the British and American actors. She dreamed of a life free of layers of bulky clothing and ancient gender roles. So, she searched for a way to escape her parents’ intolerable plans for an arranged marriage with strict religious observation.

Fate intervened when a local college hired an American cinematography professor to teach for a year. Desperate, Sara bribed an enrollment clerk to secure a spot in his class. At last, she could share her film-making visions with someone who didn’t mock her. Sara idolized the award-winning documentarian, and he inspired her to be creative.

Weeks flew by while Sara learned the art of writing, directing, and producing short films. Her fantasies included traveling to America to continue her film studies. At the end of the school term, Professor Adam Rosebird encouraged Sara to pursue her dream of producing a visionary documentary film. She was mesmerized by the young, confident California filmmaker/professor.

You’re a talented girl, Sara. It would be a waste for you to stay in Istanbul without an outlet for your passions. Adam moved closer and stroked her arm. I could help you achieve your dreams. I have many contacts in the film industry in LA.

Sara flushed, watching Adam’s bright blue eyes move over her face, neck, breasts, and legs. I would do anything to leave this place. She stared into his sea-colored eyes. I’ve heard so much about the film school at USC. If you help me get a scholarship, I will not disappoint you.

Adam moved closer and stroked Sara’s cheek. You could never disappoint me.

Someday, I will produce a prize-worthy documentary that will extol religious freedom and reveal the cruelty of repression. The world will know you were my inspiration! Sara moved closer and whispered in Adam’s ear. Let me show you all the passion inside me.

The bus jerked to a stop, forcing Sara back to the present. She graduated from film school but was bitter and disillusioned. Sara submitted her documentary, ‘The Sun of Enlightenment and the Moon of Repression,’ for the famed USC graduate film school prize. But instead of winning first place, the judges critiqued her masterpiece as trite and banal, shattering Sara’s dreams.

Sara realized it was time to acknowledge that her parents were not wrong. There was comfort in tradition and obedience. Maybe she would give the ancient religious principles a chance. She peeked into the black Coach purse on her lap, making sure the airline boarding pass was inside. Closing her eyes tight to keep from crying, Sara vowed to put LA, film school, phony entertainment gurus, and pretty, plastic peeps behind her.

"Ha!" She snickered, I may be leaving LA a loser, but I left a little surprise for everyone to remember me. Sara’s cell pinged with a text as the bus pulled to the curb for her stop.

{Darlink, come 2 party 2nite! Much Dom 2 share! Cute guys for u to kiss!}

It was from that bimbo Natalya. Sara deleted the text. I sure won’t miss that diva and her blood-money Russian family. Talk about embracing capitalism. Someone should save the world from that scrawny bitch’s nouveau riche excesses. Sara couldn’t believe the Principovas owned two penthouse condos next door, one for the Slavic princess and the other for her doting oligarch father.

Well, just another upside of leaving LA. Natalya’s 2 fun party tonight might end with an unexpected pop, and not from the Dom Perignon!

Chapter 6

Camille sipped a glass of Pinot Grigio while studying her neighbors. The impromptu dinner at the posh Palmetto Restaurant in Beverly Hills distracted her from disturbing thoughts of the bomb squad searching for explosive devices at The Rembrandt. Every time a waiter popped the cork from a bottle of champagne, she jumped like a scaredy-cat. No one laughed. They were all nervous.

Thanks for including me in the dinner, Celia. Camille smiled at her good friend.

Don’t worry, dear. Those handsome FBI agents have everything under control. Remember to smile at them when we get home. Never pass up an opportunity to meet a heroic single guy. Celia patted her hand.

Camille snorted. Only you would give me dating advice during a bomb threat.

Someone must, sweetie. You spend far too much time working. Celia smiled. You don’t want to end up alone like me. Still youthful at seventy-two, Celia’s sparkling brown eyes and exuberant personality endeared her to everyone. Now retired, she loved gossiping with neighbors and was thrilled to dine with friends rather than spend another evening alone.

The sommelier opened another bottle of wine and refilled the glasses. The scent of the pricey wine mixed with garlic and herbs created a delicious aroma. Camille looked around the table, wondering if any of her companions were responsible for tonight’s debacle. Darby and Richard Youngston were seated to her right, a happily married couple with a tweenaged daughter. Darby was a successful dermatologist with a flock of patients addicted to fillers and lasers. Richard, a tall, lean, dark-haired man with serious, black-framed glasses, was a prominent divorce lawyer. His resemblance to a young Gregory Peck enhanced his reputation as a capable attorney in la-la land.

Darby was engaged in animated conversation with Harley Martin. Harley owned a fashionable hair extension salon in West Hollywood, and they enjoyed commiserating about the perils of catering to celebrities. Harley’s partner Ryan Spellman rolled his eyes at Camille. Ryan was a ruthless super-agent at POP, a top worldwide talent agency, and spent his days negotiating multimillion-dollar entertainment contracts. Short and barrel-chested, with close-cropped salt and pepper hair, Ryan was much older than the lithe and passionate Harley and was happy to let him take center stage.

Jae and Melody Park from South Korea completed the table. The Parks owned a high-end accessory import business located downtown in the California Mart. The petite couple had impeccable manners and wore elegant designer clothes to complement their accessories. Camille liked to get Melody’s advice about current trends before purchasing handbags and belts. Melody wore a bold Etro jacket, six-inch Manolo pumps, and a matching lambskin Chanel purse this evening. She styled her long black hair in a neat chignon.

Turning to chat with the Parks, Camille was startled to see they were angry and whispering in Korean. Surprised at the unusual display of emotion, Camille followed Jae’s gaze and saw Dmitry Principova wolfing down a charred filet mignon. Dmitry’s gorgeous daughter Natalya was seated across the table, texting on a glitter-backed cell, her leafy salad untouched. Camille was mesmerized by the sparks of rainbows flashing from the huge round sapphire studs decorating Natalya’s ears.

Camille wondered why the sight of the handsome Russian oligarch and his flamboyant daughter would upset the Parks. Natalya was always pleasant when they met, but Camille knew most people thought the girl was vain and vindictive. Melody confided she gave Natalya several expensive purses as gifts. Camille was curious to know if the diva threatened the Parks over a scandalous secret regarding their import business.

The Principovas are dining here tonight, Camille announced. Should I ask them to join us for dessert? Melody turned pale under her makeup, and Jae glared at her. Camille was shocked at the angry looks from everyone at the table except Celia.

Quickly regaining composure, Richard tried to be diplomatic. We’ve had enough drama this evening with the bomb scare. I’m not in the mood to hear about Natalya’s extravagant purchases and wild liaisons. We can read about them in the tabloids.

Darby nodded and linked her arm with her husband. "I agree with Rick. That nasty brat