GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  The man was holding a pistol sideways, moving closer, screaming, cursing. But Zachary couldn't stop staring. His goatee, the way his hair flopped to one side. The sound of his voice, his demanding, obnoxious voice. Zachary had heard that voice three years before...the day he'd lost his innocence. Without thinking, Zachary slid the gear into drive and hit the gas. He veered right and clipped the goateed asshole, who bounced off the hood as his gun fired into the night. Zachary then cut left across the yard and the SUV popped the curb and barreled onto the street. Two more quick gunshots, and Zachary screamed and raised his arm in defense, trying to steer and escape the barrage. The windshield shattered. He swerved and the Cadillac smashed into an electrical pole. Steam poured from the hood. The gun sounds and related chaos had ended. The only noise that could be heard was a pleasant, business-like voice: “OnStar Emergency. Your air bags have deployed. Are you okay?”

  No one answered.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Pulling out of her driveway, Emilia noticed the first signs of spring. White blossoms had just emerged from the Bradford pear trees, while a plethora of pink materialized from a green-leafed rose bush. She shifted her smooth Lexus LS 600h L into drive and took in the scenery. She gained pleasure from the little things in life, and coasting down historic Mission Street—lined with spectacular homes and towering oak trees as the sun and shadows danced on her hundred-thousand-dollar car—was one of them. She knew that each of these old houses had a special story...especially her home.

  Two turns later, she began to think in a more serious mode, focusing on the strategy she'd employ in her upcoming business meeting.

  Emilia felt a trace of guilt for lying to Marisa and Michael about why she'd had to leave. She worked at the hospital, on average, only about once a month. She wasn't fond of the work, but enjoyed chatting and catching up with some of the older women. She shared some common interests with a couple of the white-haired volunteers. They were members of the Blue Willow Club, an organization that collected and traded a certain type of dishware, one of Emilia's many hobbies.

  She pulled her Lexus into the parking lot at the local Starbucks. She had been told to look for someone with a blue handkerchief protruding from his front shirt pocket. She peered around the coffee shop, but found no one fitting the description. She ordered her usual—decaf non-fat mocha with whip. Just as she pulled out her chair, she noticed a well-groomed, attractive man removing his sunglasses as he entered the store. She immediately spotted the blue handkerchief. The Latin man's gait was smooth as he smiled and exchanged pleasantries with the staff and ordered his beverage of choice.

  A drink in hand, he sauntered to the far corner table where Emilia sat, away from all other patrons. “Good morning, Emilia?” he asked and offered his hand.

  “Enrique. It's a pleasure.” Emilia nodded, and they shook hands gently.

  He removed his blue sports coat and draped it over his chair before finally taking his seat and sipping his beverage. He was suave. She just wondered if his brains matched his good looks and charisma.

  Emilia knew that her appearance was probably shocking from her business partners' perspective. Too many gray hairs poked through her dark head of hair, and her height wasn't exactly intimidating. She'd grown a bit self-conscious about her thicker midsection, thanks to her affinity for the tasteful San Antonio Mexican food. All looks aside, though, everyone eventually learned not to take her lightly. She had a soft-spoken, even refined exterior, but if provoked, she could get mean, downright nasty. Very few had seen that rougher side, and she hoped it wouldn't be needed with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.

  “I understand you are in the initial stages of establishing your operations here in the states,” she said directly.

  “Yes, indeed. I'm busy on many fronts. I've been meeting with prospective business partners across several states,” the well-proportioned, dark-haired man said. “I've heard of your reputation, and I understand you run a tight ship.”

  Emilia nearly blushed, or at least she wanted him to think so. She had thought about her desired role in this new startup. She was getting up there in age, but part of her wanted to be more involved instead of less. The increased cash infusion would enable her to travel the world, possibly buy a vacation home or two along the way. She would want to share some of it with her daughter and her family. But she also thought about the additional work...and, of course, the liability.

  Emilia explained her modus operandi, the importance she placed on security, and the value of keeping her name and reputation intact.

  “I wish all of our partners scrutinized their procedures as much as you,” Enrique said with a teethy grin.

  Emilia sipped her coffee but didn't return the smile. “That's why I'm different.”

  “Indeed. It's no surprise that your location is ideal for our industry.”

  “Which is why I draw top dollar. That's the only reason I'm here.”

  Enrique rubbed his thick stubble. “I'm willing to secure this deal today, if you are willing as well.”

  “It all depends on what's on that paper.” Emilia glanced at his left hand.

  He unfolded the paper then slowly slid it across the table. He tapped it once, as if he was giving it his final blessing.

  The conditions and terms were printed on the paper, similar to a formal corporate offer letter. Emilia studied the numbers. Her facial expression didn't change. She did the math in her head. Over a year's time, her income would increase approximately thirty-five percent, tax-free of course.

  “I think we have a deal, Mister...?”

  “Castillo, Enrique Castillo.”

  Even his name just rolls off his lips, she thought.

  Emilia folded the paper and slid it inside her purse.

  Enrique nodded and gave a cordial smile. “We will speak soon.” Appearing like a typical corporate salesperson who had just secured a major sale, Enrique floated out of the shop. Emilia remained seated in the corner of the coffee shop, calmly sipping her coffee while staring aimlessly through the windows. She noticed the innocence of the first birds of spring, which had gathered on a tree. She wondered if Enrique was just as innocent, possibly naïve. The thought made her anxious. She didn't want to go through the upheaval of changing business associates, only to find out that her new partners were gullible. She knew that any sign of weakness would open the door to others challenging their power, or possibly worse, a coup—and it would not be without bloodshed.

  But money spoke volumes, and though the sophisticated cartel leader's cash flow was based upon projections from his network of distributors and dealers, the dollar signs he'd flashed were significant. He said the first load could arrive in the next two weeks. She knew the exit strategy for weaning her current business associate off the use of her home would need to be carefully thought out. In this industry, you couldn't burn a bridge; otherwise, you'd get burned right back, sometimes with a bullet in the back of your head.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  My work at the office had taken longer than expected. Meetings tended to multiply like fungus on certain days, especially when I had to be somewhere. Earlier that morning, Marisa and I had compared our days, and Marisa—who'd recently been promoted to managing the bank's loan business—won the "importance" battle. Now, I was racing to get home, hoping I wouldn't miss the bug-zapper guy.

  A consummate multitasker, I pulled out my cell phone as I drove, found Arthur's phone number, and hit enter.

  “Hi, Michael. Good timing. I was just about to dial you.” Arthur's voice was raspy, as if he'd been leading a twelve-hour filibuster.

  “I'm running late, on my way home. I have to meet the bug man,” I said.

  “I have a bit of good news. My broker just called, and he's finally liquidated the funds for the ransom. I had to pay some fees to get out of some long-term investments, but we have it.”

  “Arthur, if you don't mind coming over to my house, we can make the call from right there. No one will interrupt us.
I really want to be there for you.” I hoped my sincerity was evident.

  Arthur agreed to swing by, and I gave him directions as I pulled into my driveway. I ended the call as the pest control man approached me just outside of my car. I had to make a quick mind shift.

  “Hi there. Mr. Doyle? I'm Frank. You guys have any recent bug problems I need to know about?” he said with a Southern drawl. He took a final puff of the cigarette dangling from his lips, threw it on the driveway, and snuffed it out with his boot. I didn't say a word, although I had a few choice ones in mind. “You want me to start on the inside first?” he asked.

  “Yes, that's fine,” I said, wondering if his smokiness would smell up the entire house. “But please be quick. I have a guest arriving soon.”

  As Frank did his thing, I squeezed in a quick call to the office to check the final direction for the weekend papers.

  “No problem, boss. I'll let you know our final headlines on the drug-coverage stories this weekend,” Brandon said.

  “Good, thank you.”

  “By the way, Andi has an idea that we need to discuss. I don't want to get into it now, since I have my own reservations. We'll talk more on Monday, but she's definitely thinking outside of the box.”

  “Sounds intriguing, or troubling—I'm not sure which,” I said. “One more thought. We might want to put together a feature on this latest grassroots movement for people to turn off their cell phones while in their cars. How's it affecting phone usage, texting? What do the cell phone companies think? Most importantly, what do our readers think across all the various demographic groups?”

  I heard laughter on the other end of the line.

  “I know you're going to think I have a chip in your brain scanning it for your ideas, but we're working on a feature just like you're describing.” Brandon chuckled. “Targeting it for a week from Sunday.”

  I hung up and shook my head, amazed at the way Brandon and I could interact so seamlessly. That thought lasted only a few seconds, as Frank opened the front door to work on the exterior, only to find Arthur on the other side about ready to ring the doorbell.

  “Arthur, come on in.” I extended my arm, welcoming him inside. Arthur, typically, would have commented on the nice house that Marisa and I kept or some other such compliment. But Arthur wasn't himself, and understandably so.

  “I have real concerns about all of this. Maybe I'm just a worry wart, but I'm wondering if this thievery, this extortion for my one million, is all they'll want,” he said.

  I felt helpless as I looked at Arthur. He had done so much for me and Marisa, yet all I'd been able to offer during his time of need was small amounts of advice, something any logical person could provide. Arthur couldn't relax. He sat on the edge of our couch. When he wasn't rubbing his temples, he was fidgeting with his wedding band. The dark circles under his eyes had grown larger since I'd last seen him. His dress, usually quite dapper and well ironed, was sloppy, and he had at least a couple of days of beard growth. He was beginning to look like a totally different person.

  “It's hard to predict, but I think we need to take them at face value right now, especially since they let you speak to Trudy last time,” I said, which elicited a look of hope from Arthur.

  “If you can put your cell phone on speaker, I say let's give it a dial. Keep your finger near the mute button, in case we need to talk quickly in reference to a question or comment from one of the kidnappers,” I reminded him.

  “Got it. Here it goes.”

  We heard the phone ring once, twice, three times. Then it rolled to voice mail. We looked at each other, exasperated. “Leave a calm voice mail, saying you have the money pulled together, and you're eager to speak with and see Trudy,” I suggested before the recording ended. We heard "Leave a message" in a monotone, nondescript voice, then a beep.

  Arthur began to leave a message but his phone clicked midsentence. He looked at the screen. Someone was calling in, and it was international. Arthur and I connected eyes, and then he answered the call. “This is Arthur Spanarkel.”

  “Do you have the money?” asked a Spanish-accented, male voice.

  “Yes, I've been able to pull together the entire sum you demanded. I must say it's exorbitant,” Arthur said, who with his lack of sleep and overall anxiety level could hardly contain himself. “But I'll do whatever it takes to get my Trudy back.”

  Arthur glanced at me and winced, realizing he'd probably said a few words he'd rather take back, but I gave him a supportive thumbs-up.

  “If you do what I say, then nothing will happen to your wife,” said the man. “You must listen carefully.”

  Arthur turned his head, his facial expression tense and unmoving.

  “Write down this routing number and account number,” said the man, who then recited the numbers. ”We need for you to deposit five hundred thousand into that account within the next forty-eight hours.

  “Once we have confirmed the money has been deposited, we will then provide you with further details for a cash drop-off.” Arthur and I both were caught off guard a bit, expecting them to ask for the entire one million up front. Arthur stayed in the moment.

  “Okay, I hear you. Any requirement for the size of the bills?” he asked, maybe hoping to lengthen the conversation as he and I both thought through this new twist.

  “No requirements, just US dollars,” said the voice. “You will board a plane, deliver the money, and fly away with your wife—once we have all the money we asked for...I mean all the taxes paid.”

  Once again, Arthur and I traded stares. It was happening so quickly.

  “As I said, more instructions will follow. Goodbye, Mr.—”

  “Wait!” Arthur interrupted. “Can I speak with Trudy please?” His shoulders were slumped, but his eyes were wide. No, you spoke with her last time. She is safe as long as you do as we ask,” said the voice. “We will call you at this number with the flight details once the initial deposit is confirmed in the account. You have forty-eight hours.”

  The line went dead. Arthur leaned back on the couch. He let out a deep breath and put his hand on his chest.

  “I don't know, Michael, part of me thinks this is good news—the part about the plane. It will allow me to feel like I'm doing something by personally flying down there to pick up Trudy.”

  I scratched my chin, thinking about the phone call, what was said, what wasn't said.

  “It's hard to understand why they wouldn't want it all up front, electronically deposited. I'm beginning to wonder if these guys aren't accustomed to this type of crime,” I analyzed outwardly. “On the surface, yes, it's good that you get to bring Trudy back. I've been wondering how that part of the arrangement would work. But this just doesn't make a great deal of sense. This is one business I just don't get.”

  I ran my hands through my hair then popped two knuckles on my right hand.

  “Arthur, I know nothing is going to keep you from flying down there to pick up Trudy. But I have to tell you this...I'm nervous for you. You'd have no one there to help you. Who says they won't take your money and never let Trudy go, or you for that matter?”

  “I thought the same thing, my son,” said Arthur, more subdued now. “I simply have no choice. How can I be afraid to fly down and pick her up, knowing how frightened she must be for all these days and nights? That thought just breaks my heart over and over again.”

  Arthur's emotional strain had hit a new low. Tears formed in his eyes. He reached for his handkerchief. I leaned over and put my hand on his shoulder.

  “You've been here for me, and now you're forced to watch an aging man tear up like he's two years old.”

  “It's understandable, Arthur. You will get through this. We will get through this.”

  Arthur shut his eyes for a minute, breathing deeply as if to collect himself. Just then, the doorbell rang. The timing couldn't have been worse. I knew it wasn't Marisa. She would have simply walked in, and her presence would have only helped lighten the mood. I wasn't ple
ased as I walked to the front door.

  “Surprise! It's your mother-in-law.” Mama Emilia spread her arms wide and high, like she'd just sprung out of a cake.

  She immediately looked around my shoulder, noticing the additional person in the room.

  “I'm sorry, Michael, do you have some important work going on right now?”

  “Mama Emilia, this is Arthur.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Noticeably uncomfortable with his frayed physical appearance, Arthur fumbled with his handkerchief, gathered himself, and struggled to get to his feet. I was concerned that his stress had started to affect his overall health, including his balance.

  “Good day...Emilia, I believe you said? I'm Arthur Sparnakel.” He offered his hand.

  “Yes, I'm Marisa's mother.” Emilia seemed embarrassed at her timing and turned toward me after shaking Arthur's hand.

  “Michael, I really had no idea. I thought about calling ahead, but I figured you and Marisa would be here and wouldn't mind the surprise. Apparently, I've interrupted something important. I'm sorry. I'll be happy to leave.”

  She turned and reached for the front door.

  “Emilia, please stay. As a member of Michael's family, you're certainly not an interruption from my perspective. Marisa and Michael have become close friends in the last year. I'm not sure if you're aware of what I'm going through lately, but Michael has been my most trusted confidante.”

  Emilia smiled graciously and put her gloves in her purse. Her timing grew more curious with each step she took toward the living room. I was beginning to wonder if she'd developed another personality.

  “Emilia, would you like something to drink? Arthur? I'll make a drink for everyone. What would you like?”