Big Money

by James Hudson

  Big Money

  A Global Financial Thriller

  James Hudson

  Copyright © 2020 Aleksandr Shulginov

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, please email the author at:

  jameshudsonfiction@gmail.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  1. Amnesia

  2. A Trap

  3. The Secret Recordings, July 14th

  4. The Secret Recordings, July 16th

  5. The Secret Recordings, July 19th

  6. The Secret Recordings, July 20th

  7. The Secret Recordings, July 21st

  8. Three Letters

  9. Escape

  10. Chase

  11. Nowhere to hide

  12. Alleviation

  13. Trip to North Korea (Part 1)

  14. Trip to North Korea (Part 2)

  15. What happened after North Korea?

  16. Trip to Saudi Arabia

  17. Trip to Yemen

  18. Secret meeting with a Russian oligarch (Part 1)

  19. Secret meeting with a Russian oligarch (Part 2)

  20. Who is Mr. Hartley?

  21. Responsible Mission

  22. Sarah

  23. Abduction

  24. Philosophy of a Financial Market Manipulator

  25. Nature Can Talk

  26. Hotel

  27. Out of the Shadow

  28. Ambush

  29. At the Edge of Doom

  30. No Way Out

  31. Crazy ideas

  32. A Reckless Girl

  33. It all Started Three Years ago…

  34. Birthday Present

  35. An email

  36. Run

  37. A New Friend

  38. Corner of Happiness

  39. Simple things

  40. Kids

  41. An Unexpected Turn of Events

  42. Exiled to India

  43. Who actually did all that

  44. Speculation of the Century

  45. No Time to Sleep

  46. Betrayal

  47. Successor

  48. The War Begins

  49. Defeat the Devil

  50. Seduction

  51. A New Crazy Plan

  52. Death Trading

  Epilogue

  Thank you, dear reader!

  1. Amnesia

  George Hartley opened his eyes and realized that he’d lost his memory. However, it didn’t scare him. He whispered, “Mother!” and smiled. His brain worked, and he didn’t forget how to speak. Although George couldn’t remember who he really was, he was absolutely sure he’d had an extremely unordinary life. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be lying on the cold marble floor, surrounded by almost complete darkness, with his arms and legs tied with ropes.

  George moved his right hand. I wonder what I’d been doing with this hand all my life, he thought. Clicking a computer mouse, controlling an airplane, or stabbing young women in the dark streets? He grinned. I could be anyone at all. Probably, nothing is more intriguing than revealing the mysteries of my past.

  George looked around, peering into the darkness. He could barely discern a huge round desk and a few high chairs in front of him. A ceiling was invisible. George was not sure whether it actually existed. The only source of light came from the windows to the left.

  George wriggled like a snake, then rose to his knees and finally jumped to his feet. The ropes crunched. George felt dizzy. He felt muscle weakness all over his body. How long have I been lying here? He tossed his head and started jumping toward the window until he stumbled over a chair and fell with a bang.

  George swore, helplessly rolling on the floor. Suddenly he realized that the chair was unnaturally heavy. He cast a glance at it, and at the moment, pale moonlight lit the room.

  “Holy shit!” George screamed, crawling away from the chair. “Who are you?”

  A young naked woman was sitting in a wheelchair. She stared at him with a frozen grin on her lips. Chestnut hair fell on her narrow shoulders. Her skin was as white as snow. When her plump breasts glistened in the moonlight, George nervously swallowed. He couldn’t see her eyes, and couldn’t say whether or not she was watching him.

  At last, he said, “Excuse me. miss, I am sorry to intrude on your leisure, but… Oh, this is ridiculous! Of course, she’s dead! And this is not a joke, and we didn’t have a great party, and everything went too far, and we didn’t drink too much, right?”

  The naked woman remained silent.

  George rose to his feet again and jumped to the window. The view was magnificent. A city of blazing lights spread out below him. Hundreds of parked cars looked like little ants. Two or three people were slowly moving down the street.

  “It must be one of the highest viewpoints in the city,” George muttered. “Almost no traffic. The middle of the night.”

  He sat on the floor leaning against the wide radiator and started to rub his wrists, trying to ease the rope. He managed to do that. Having released his palms, George untied his legs. The person who had tied him up did his job as if being in a great hurry. Probably, someone wanted to kill me but had no time. Or… forgot about me and disappeared! George chuckled.

  He slowly approached the woman in the wheelchair and touched her forehead. It was cold as marble. His hands started trembling, but he touched her huge breasts. No heartbeat.

  Most likely, they killed her after they raped her. George shuddered at the thought. I remember nothing, but at least I know what’s good and what’s terrible. Although she was gorgeous, to rape a disabled woman is just… George winced.

  Anyway, did they poison us? I survived, but the woman died. Most likely, I shouldn’t have survived. I was supposed to die too. And if they find out that I’m still breathing, I’ll be dead too. Or… they wanted to frighten me because I knew something very important.

  They must be mighty – my killers. I’m quite sure that that was not just a maniac or a burglar. I’m in a skyscraper… in the office. My office? Was I a big wig?

  George discerned the light switch in the moonlight and approached it. Stop! If they are watching me, and I’ll turn the light on, I’ll be dead. Or they have a plan to set me up? And the police will come and charge me with murder?

  George came up to the oval desk. Obviously, negotiations had been held here. He glanced at the huge flat widescreen hanging on the wall. What if these people come tomorrow to work here? I have a few hours before dawn.

  In the corner of the room, there was a computer desk with a laptop. George fumbled for the power button and pressed it. Nothing happened. Then he dared press the light switch. No reaction again. There was no electricity.

  George headed for a single door in the room. It led to a narrow corridor. The moonlight couldn’t reach it, and George had to grope his way along the wall, keeping his ears open.

  However, something sharp hit him in the knee. George jumped, instinctively raised his hands to the chin. Then he stretched out his palm and touched something metal and cold. It hit the floor with an ear-splitting clank. A coat rack! I’m in a cloakroom! Then something flashed in George’s mind. He had a feeling he had been here before.

  He took three steps forward and walked into a metal cabin. An open elevator? Might be. No electricity – it’s not going down anyway. It’s stuck here. I need to use stairs.

  George searched for another door and found it. Pushed it. The moon in the window appeared again,
flooding the slippery marble steps with light.

  Downstairs. No way up. I’m on the top floor.

  George started slowly descending, straining his eyes, and soon reached the lower floor. This can’t be the ground floor!

  He pushed the door, and a sudden wonderful smell made him smile. Freshly baked bread!

  The room turned out to be a canteen. George dashed to a counter, having felt a sharp hunger. Nobody was there. No need to pay! George ate three marvelous dinner rolls. They were still warm.

  Probably of all the people who worked here, the cooks were the kindest ones, George thought. They didn’t let me die of hunger. Perhaps, they wouldn’t kill me. However, this is very strange that the rolls were baked a few hours ago. For whom?

  Having eaten at least a dozen dinner rolls, George felt comfort and warmth all over his body. He sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes for a second and instantly fell asleep. He wasn’t afraid anymore. Meanwhile, London started waking up.

  2. A Trap

  It was a bright morning when George opened his eyes. The sunlit canteen now looked nice and cozy. George jumped on his feet, confusedly looking around. Everything remained quiet and calm.

  The anxiety returned to George. Run? Where to? What’s my home address? Who will ever believe me that I can’t remember my name?

  He walked back and forward and noticed a newspaper on the floor. Thank heaven, I didn’t forget how to read! He glanced at the headlines. Some boring economic news. George was about to yawn and throw out the newspaper, but suddenly his attention was drawn to a column ‘A well-known investor died from a heart attack.’ The death of George Hartley shocked the traders and investors all over the world. They remembered him as a decent, active, hardworking man who had never had any health problems. The forty-two-year-old man ran his own hedge fund. However, he had never displayed his activity, rarely appeared in public, despite numerous invitations for different talk shows and interviews. Mr. Hartley kept his private life private as well. For some reason, the burial ceremony was secret. It took place somewhere in London. No reporters were allowed. Ex-colleagues of George Hartley are about to choose a new head of the fund.

  George took a close look at the man in the picture. About thirty-five, cheeky eyes, clean-cut hairstyle, a wry half-smile on thin lips. George felt that his hands were shaking. He looked around and noticed a door to the restroom in the far corner of the canteen. He dashed right there. He flung the door wide open to let in the daylight and eyed himself in the mirror. Although his face changed a bit – he didn’t look haughty anymore, and he had spooky eyes – it was definitely him. George Hartley. One of the most influential men in London, and probably in the world.

  How is it possible? They put me here first, poisoned me, then ‘buried’ me, and wrote it in the newspapers. Why did they leave this newspaper on the floor? Someone wanted me to read it? Who did it? My deputies or my enemies?

  He remembered the young woman in the wheelchair. Cold sweat covered his forehead.

  I shouldn’t leave this place without searching. I must find out something that would shed light on all this shit!

  He returned to the stairs.

  Floor 36. What? This is ridiculous! He ran up the stairs. Floor 37. No stairs down! Is this a joke?

  He pushed the door open. A small hallway with three doors. ‘Office maintenance supplies,’ ‘Utility room,’ Server room.’ “Great! That’s what I need,” George grumbled.

  As one could expect, he found nothing of interest except a tiny MP3-player he picked up in the server room. It had been connected to one of the computers through a USB-cable. The MP3-player had no screen and no speaker, although it was charged, and the indicator blinked when George switched on the device.

  “Even if I die of hunger here, I won’t be able to listen to music, because I don’t have the goddamn headphones!” George sighed.

  Floor 38 turned out to be more interesting. Apparently, it was a local lounge zone. Luxurious furniture stood along the perimeter. A marvelous fountain was in the middle of the room. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. The water was dark and still. A bar counter was located in the far corner of the room. George found a couple of beer bottles there. He didn’t touch them.

  “I doubt they would help me recover my memory,” he grinned. “Lonely… This place is so freaking lonely. No gorgeous women, no loud dance music, no life.”

  While George was going up the stairs, he thought, They wrote they’d buried me somewhere in London. What if they meant… this skyscraper? This is my grave… He was seized with fear.

  There was nothing interesting from Floor 39 to Floor 46 – lots of office rooms with dozens of computers which didn’t work without electricity.

  Floor 47 surprised George. Unfortunately, it was a bad surprise. Having passed the reception, he entered a cozy office room. A huge window, a big conference table, a little leather sofa and… “Holy shit!” George exclaimed. “Tell me that somebody spilled the tomato juice!” A giant stain of blood was on an expensive cream-colored carpet.

  “I bet all this involved big money,” George exhaled.

  Floor 48 was the top floor. George hesitated to enter. He didn’t want to look at the dead naked woman in the daylight. But he had no choice – the worst thing was he still didn’t find the exit!

  He slowly opened the metal door and slipped in. At the moment, he barely restrained himself from screaming. Three coats were hanging in the cloakroom. Were they here yesterday? Shivering with horror, George walked toward the room. Nothing changed since yesterday except the distinct smell of death. Of course, his attention was drawn to the woman in the wheelchair. Her skin was unnaturally grey, horrible.

  What have they been thinking about? George thought. Why did they leave her here? They killed her like if they wanted me to see it.

  He returned to the cloakroom and searched the pockets of the coats. He found a lipstick, a cigarette lighter, a little iron key, a small cookie, and headphones.

  “I can’t believe my luck,” George grinned. “I’ll be able to listen to music now.”

  He walked inside the elevator cabin and lit the lighter.

  “Floors from 48 to 36. This is impossible!” George cried out. “How did anyone leave this goddamn place?” He went to the stairs and headed for the canteen again. “No decision without breakfast!”

  He plugged the headphones into the MP3-player and started listening. Before he reached the lower floor, he completely lost his appetite. What he heard just blew him away.

  3. The Secret Recordings, July 14th

  My name is Jason. I’m doing these audio recordings hoping that one day I would take revenge on one man. I do believe that one day this horrible man would find himself being incarcerated. Solitary confinement would be great. Or no… he would have neighbors… someone like fat, hungry rats or creepy cockroaches. I guess you understand how I loathe him. As a matter of fact, this man is my employer, my boss. He’s the head of the investment fund. I work for him as a system administrator. Many people think that I just solve computer problems. That’s why nobody would ever suspect me of being a spy.

  Yes, I started collecting information about my boss recently. I live in my country, and I believe in justice and law. If I didn’t suspect anything wrong with the activity of our fund, I would never start digging up dirt on my boss. I feel that I must reveal some facts that I managed to find out. In case if something bad happens to me, somebody would find these recordings and know the truth. I realize that it’s a high-risk activity. But I’m ready to give my life for that. Sounds ridiculous, right? I guess you’ll change your opinion when you hear my story. My hatred toward him is connected with this story. So, let me tell it – the story about me and my boss George Hartley.

  Two years ago, I’d been a poor guy. I was young and knew nothing about life. The only thing I loved was the computer. So, I started thinking about studying to become a programmer. That would take several years of my life before I would start maki
ng money. Taking into account a lot of competitors in this field, I would have to devote a life to this profession in order to achieve success. And yeah… I was ready to spend thousands of hours in front of a computer. Anyway, I was ready to begin studying. Actually, I needed some money.

  By the time, I’d been an orphan for a year. My parents had died in a terrible accident. Since they were gone, I became much more unsociable, uncommunicative, and sad. My friends stopped hanging out with me. I realized that I became boring. I couldn’t sincerely enjoy my life. Everything seemed stupid. I thought I should do something serious because I could feel that my parents were watching me. I mean, I had nightmares often. The wrecked car, their bleeding bodies, my mom’s arm on the wet, dirty asphalt… After that, I felt I shouldn’t smile anymore. I felt sorry when I was doing something funny. I swear they were watching me looking down at me disapprovingly from heaven.

  Oh… I was distracted… Sorry! So, I loved working with computers more than communicating with people. But of course, I desired to find someone who would understand me. A girl. A lonely girl who’d probably overcome the loss of her parents too. And I found the girl.

  I was invited for the job talk. I thought I got lucky. I was just searching the web and suddenly saw the job vacancy announcement. The salary was ridiculously high.

  George Hartley… He interviewed me personally. He was rude, arrogant, and presumptuous. I didn’t like him from the first sight. Obviously, he noticed that as I answered his questions in an unfriendly way. I didn’t want him to be my boss. Even if I didn’t have to meet him every day, I would feel that I made the wrong decision. So, I just couldn’t hide my disgust… I didn’t care what he thought about me. I didn’t lie and told him the truth. The bitter truth about me. That I was not communicative and stress-resistant. But he asked me suddenly whether or not I would be ready to be patient. He said that patience was the most important thing for him. I said that I kinda got used to suffering. He smacked me on the shoulder and exclaimed, “Welcome, Jason! You’re the man I need!”