GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  “I’ll have the same thing, except keep the Coke and make it a single,” I told the bartender on the right.

  Harrison and I picked up our drinks and stepped toward open space away from the growing crowd.

  “Great party.”

  Harrison looked distracted, and his hands shook. He used his sleeve to wipe sweat from his forehead. “I wasn’t in on the deal to sell the company. In fact, I was hoping to make J&W a long-time career home for me.”

  Harrison apparently wasn’t in the mood for mindless party talk. It was obvious he was embarrassed by what his dad and uncle had cooked up.

  “I think the same goes for the rest of us,” I said.

  Harrison had been rumored to be in line for Paula’s job—at least it was a job and not a trust fund. I pondered how effective Harrison would have been as our general manager. It’s possible PHC could still use him as their hatchet man since he’s a member of the family on the selling end of this deal.

  Harrison’s date arrived, and he seemed relieved to have someone at his side. Then Marisa walked up and put her arm around mine. I looked down and noticed her left hand absent of a ring. As beautiful as she was, as proud as I was to have her clinging to my arm, it felt like something was missing.

  My attention was diverted by a wave of heads turning. I followed suit and looked over as Victoria Taylor stood at the steps leading into the main living area, as if she were the Pontiff waiting for the crowd to bow before her.

  She had a presence about her, although her aura wasn’t entirely festive. Wearing a black pantsuit, she looked like she’d just left a high-powered business meeting. A red, silk scarf brought out her bright-red cheeks. I couldn’t tell if that was makeup, anger, or a reaction to the cold weather. While raising her arm to brush back her hair, she exposed a dangling diamond bracelet. It sparkled like a disco ball. With her Jay Leno-like chin raised, she strode through the room, barely acknowledging anyone. This lady could be a real bitch. She was the Taylor I knew the least about. Maybe she and I could discuss our love for luxury cars. Actually, it was my love for her luxury car.

  While Harrison and his date headed off to mingle with new guests, Zoey, the J&W communications person, walked up and offered her insight into what she knew about Victoria.

  “She’s never run any of the Taylor businesses, but her work at Help for the Homeless and events like this party proves she’s organized and tough-minded.”

  Sounded like a publicist talking.

  “So, she’s straight as an arrow and was named Girl Scout of the Year?” I asked. “She appears to be stoic and not the most easygoing person in the world. I’m just wondering if she ever got laid.”

  That drew a sharp jab from Marisa’s elbow. She looked at me as if I’d already downed one too many drinks.

  Zoey raised an eyebrow. “I assumed at least some of her needs were met.”

  “Obviously, we’re to read between the lines on that statement,” I said.

  “She was married to Theodore for twenty-five years. His family owns the Carlton Country Club on the other side of town. He became the main operator of the club, and through that role, he and Victoria became even more connected with major players in the world of the rich and famous,” Zoey said. “He met Victoria when they were in their twenties, and he never lost his fondness for young women. Old Teddy couldn’t keep his pants on, so to speak. And he didn’t hide it very well. Victoria ignored his indiscretions, because everyone knew she wanted to maintain her lifestyle and influence.”

  Zoey went on to say Teddy died on the course his family owned and operated, the same one on which he finalized a number of blond and brunette transactions. “The rumor is Victoria didn’t shed a tear at his funeral but happily wore black to honor the way he treated their marriage.”

  The wait staff handed out lyrics for everyone to sing Christmas carols. We stopped briefly to listen to the carolers who’d begun performing in the far living room, but we only lip-synched for a couple of minutes.

  I was intrigued by Victoria’s history, including her rise on the social ladder. Zoey, a natural talker, never lost a beat. “Teddy left her some cash and a small piece of the club. So, of course his family fought her in court. Then, she moved back into the Taylor mansion and took back her maiden name.”

  I always wondered what inspired a grown person to live in the old family home, albeit one that had more square feet than a boutique hotel. Essentially, you’re living with the same siblings who squeezed toothpaste in your ear and whined like it was the end of the world when you snatched the last piece of bacon.

  Like any family, there were different sides to all stories. Rich, middle class, or poor, families usually had drama. That might be one of the reasons I was hesitant to permanently settle down and have a family—I wasn’t sure I wanted to raise kids who would one day blame me for their mental and emotional anguish.

  “I’m surprised she never got the chance to run a Taylor company,” I said.

  “She learned a lot from her dad before she got married, from what I’ve heard.” Zoey sounded like she’d written the Wikipedia entry for the Taylor dynasty. “Victoria’s father, Stephen Taylor, had been an entrepreneur, striking it rich in oil and gas. He was known for taking on fields that larger corporations had abandoned. He ran a private company, and taking risks—sometimes very calculated and other times based on hunches—built his fortune and his reputation. The two younger sons, who didn’t know the difference between a gas field and a soccer field, never had a desire to learn the family business. Victoria did, but given how Stephen and society viewed women back in those days, he didn’t feel comfortable giving her a formal title or job. He eventually sold the business, which allowed Victoria and the rest of the family to live a lavish lifestyle. Victoria probably resented the fact there was a glass ceiling in her own family.”

  Marisa and I stayed for the last Christmas carol, then said our goodbyes. She drove as I stared at the Christmas lights flashing through the trees on the side of the road. You always think people with money have an easy life. It’s partially true, I suppose. But the more I learned about the Taylors’ dramas, the less envious I grew.

  Marisa startled me by rolling down my window, nearly taking my forehead with it. I snapped my head to the left, only to see her smiling in her special way. She raised her eyebrows for a second and then drew my eyes down to her legs. She started inching her dress up her thigh.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  My hand glided along Marisa’s silky leg, slowly moving up her right thigh as our car slowed to a stop at a red light absent of other cars. Our bodies slammed together over the console like teenagers who hadn’t been alone in weeks. In seconds, her dress was hiked up to expose her red panties. She moved her hands down my chest and unbuckled my belt. She yanked up my shirt and clutched my back, her manicured fingernails scratching for a firmer grip. My hands massaged every inch of her satiny skin. Our lips remain locked as our intensity heightened.

  A whoop-whoop sound startled us back to our senses. Our heads turned to look at flashing lights out the back window.

  “Ma’am, I need to see your license and registration.” The police officer used his flashlight to look around the inside of the car while Marisa dug under the seat for her purse.

  He was an older fellow and had probably seen just about everything in his years on the force. “Looks like you’ve been to a Christmas party. There was a big one down the road at the Taylor estate.”

  “Yes sir. That was the one we attended.” Marisa offered only basic responses.

  The officer eyed her ID. “I thought I had caught a couple of teenagers who couldn’t control themselves. I didn’t expect to find a couple in their thirties.”

  We gave him embarrassed, short-lived smiles and nodded.

  “I was going to give you a ticket, but I think you’ve suffered enough. Get on home now, and keep this personal stuff behind closed doors. One more thing—don’t forget to call your parents to let them know where you are.
” He let out a belly-jiggling chuckle, handed Marisa her license, and walked back to his car.

  We let the police car drive off first. Marisa and I looked at each other, then broke out laughing. We replayed the entire event on the way home, guffawing more hysterically with each recollection. “What would the ticket have said?” I asked. “One count of fooling around?”

  The incident changed the mood, but it reminded us how much of a connection we shared. This might be one experience we recall when we’re up in our years, sitting on the front porch in matching rocking chairs.

  I thought more of us growing old and wondered if two people could spend the rest of their lives together and never actually say vows in front of a minister. I realized I was trying to find middle ground on spending the rest of my life with Marisa.

  She’d shown a great deal of patience with my hesitancy to fully commit. She loved me with all of her heart, and it warmed my soul. But her love wasn’t blind, and it would come with conditions—eventually. Even without her saying the words, I needed to decide—either I’m in it with her all the way, or I’m not.

  While I’d given us certain goals over the last three years, I recognized they were excuses. Now, I had unfinished business to resolve. I had thought the PHC acquisition would take all of my focus and emotional fortitude to get through. That paled in comparison to stumbling across Tiffany’s body.

  Just when I thought I’d be haunted forever, something had touched me when I told my story to the police detectives. My purpose in life had gained unexpected clarity. I couldn’t describe it, but I was convinced somewhere between life and death was a state where Tiffany existed. It manifested itself to me in the alley that day.

  I didn’t know if Tiffany’s murderer was just a drifter who randomly selected her and killed her, then moved on, like one of those serial killers. Or perhaps, it was more of a domestic issue that turned violent. With the Times Herald acting as a mouthpiece for the police department, I wondered if anyone was motivated to find Tiffany’s killer.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I awoke with Marisa’s right leg draped over both of my legs, as if she was claiming me as her own. Last night, we arrived at home more tired than energized. We took off our clothes, jumped in bed and held one another, promising whoever awoke first would wake the other in his or her own sensual way.

  I caressed the curve of her hip, running my fingers across her sexy belly, and then up her chest, circling her nipple. She started to move. A slight smile parted her lips, an indication she wanted me to continue.

  I turned on my side, licked her breast, and then slid my tongue across her torso. I moved my hand down the crease at her hip, and slowly, rhythmically massaged the warmest part of her body. Like a jockey steering her horse, she guided me on top of her. I moved my hands to the top of the headboard to gain more leverage. We both groaned and the pace quickened. We screamed at the peak of our excitement. We collapsed, but our bodies remained locked.

  The look in her radiant eyes was pure love. No words were spoken. None needed to be said.

  We lay together for a few minutes. Our heartbeats returned to normal.

  I turned to roll out of bed, and Marisa leaned over to pinch my bottom. I twisted around just as I took my first step onto the slick wooden floor. My foot landed on a stiff shoe, causing me to lose my balance. I put my other foot down, but it landed on a second shoe. I did my best impression of a first-time ice skater, as shoes went flying and I fell straight on my ass.

  Marisa leapt to the side of the bed. “Oh my God, baby, are you okay?”

  She held up the red shoes that had launched me. “Here’s the problem.”

  I leaned up, embarrassed at my awkward landing. Marisa tried to cover her giggle. “No pain, no gain.”

  The first light from the morning sun filtered through our bedroom shades, allowing me to see the flawless beauty that touched my heart. Marisa helped me to my feet and kissed my neck and then my ear. My heart beat against her chest. She playfully bit my shoulder, knowing the effect.

  “You want more of that, Doyle? Then get your ass in the shower and bathe me.”

  I followed like a puppy dog on a leash. With steam rising in the shower, she turned and put her hands on the wall. Water poured over her head and down her sloped, taut back.

  “Are you ready for more?” she asked.

  I grabbed each side of her beautiful hips. I leaned forward and kissed her neck and shoulders, and gently pinched her breasts. The sound of the shower muted her moans, but the running water appeared to add to her excitement.

  Marisa ate me up…she loved me…she wanted more of me.

  We reached a united crescendo, then relief.

  She turned and put the side of her head on my chest. We kissed. As the water peppered her backside, she whispered into my ear. “I love you.”

  She had rocked my world. I had rocked her world. Now, it was time to face the world.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Oops, sorry.” Jennifer had accidently knocked my arm as I walked toward my office. I dodged another coworker walking even faster.

  People moved briskly throughout the building. It appeared the mood from the Christmas bash had carried over to Monday. I overheard conversations about the party, Christmas shopping, and plans for New Year’s Eve. Although there was no certainty the positive vibe would continue beyond lunch, it was a relief to see people with smiles on their faces. J&W might be selling us like cattle, leading to the employment slaughterhouse, but the company went all out for the holiday party.

  Hopeful for a more normal week of work, absent of concussions, dead bodies, and police interviews, I focused on work, reviewing the updated project status reports. Everything looked in order. We were green on the summary report, which I’d developed with the help of one of my project managers last year.

  I looked up from my computer monitor and spotted Reinaldo, who walked by with the collar of his jacket turned up. He and Mrs. Ireland met at his office door. After a brief conversation, he nodded then disappeared into his office.

  With Reinaldo back at work—although he appeared haggard and less social—the office had an emerging resemblance to life before the PHC-acquisition announcement. The morning zipped by. I took my last bite of a turkey sandwich and strolled into Paula’s weekly staff meeting.

  “Good Monday afternoon, everyone. Good to see we all survived the party over the weekend. I think it was a lovely event. Reinaldo, I’m glad we get to see your face this week. I hope you’re feeling better.” He only nodded. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in days.

  Paula had a knack for not allowing distractions to take us off track. I doubt J&W knew Paula’s leadership was reason number one why many of us had remained at the company for so long. But as we progressed through our regular agenda, I became annoyed. I wasn’t convinced she’d address the most pressing topic. After breaking down our monthly P&L numbers and Jennifer discussing her one resource need for an uncomfortably long time, we finally moved into the round-table portion of the agenda.

  I raised my hand as if we were in a school classroom. “I’ll go first.”

  Paula nodded.

  “Is there any new information on the PHC purchase of J&W?” I knew I shouldn’t come across too strong. I didn’t want to alienate Paula. “The longer this goes without good communication, the more likely our customers are to entertain our competitors.”

  An office clerk waved through the window for Mrs. Ireland to leave the meeting.

  “Michael, thanks for bringing this up. While I don’t have a lot of new information to share, I do know the goal is to close the deal prior to the end of the year, before Christmas if possible. And just so you know I’m not dropping the ball here, I’ve been communicating with J&W and Turug Patel about the same points you’re making. I hope to have more information in the near term. Realize we might need to work some during the holidays.”

  I looked across our meeting table. My eyes stopped on Harrison, who had been more qu
iet than usual. It appeared his comments at the party were legitimate. He was no more in the loop than the rest of us.

  The meeting concluded. A number of casual conversations broke out as we made our way out of the meeting room. Mrs. Ireland, red-faced, and mumbling something I couldn’t understand, walked up with two men. I tensed up, realizing they were the two detectives, Carl Pearson and Roger Smith.

  “Reinaldo Silva?” Carl showed his badge directly to Reinaldo, but we could all see it reflecting the light.

  “Yes, what do you want with me?” Reinaldo took a half-step back. I just noticed his left hand wrapped in a flesh-colored bandage.

  “Sir, you are under arrest for the murder of Tiffany Chambers. Please turn around and put your hands together behind your back.” Carl read him his Miranda rights.

  A growing number of people stared as if watching a car wreck, which wasn’t far from the truth. Reinaldo had been on a downward spiral for a while, and it appeared during the last week he was on an accelerated pace, missing work and acting strangely when we did see him.

  My heart sank. I lowered my head as I heard the handcuffs lock around his wrists.

  “Is it necessary to handcuff him?” Paula’s voice had a sharp edge.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to interrupt your business.” Carl took firm hold of Reinaldo’s arm.

  Reinaldo no longer controlled his own movement. He and the detectives, flanked by a group of his friends and colleagues, including me, headed toward the front door. I heard people gasp, as early morning happiness turned to disbelief. I hoped somehow, before they left the building, the detectives would realize they had the wrong person and would release him.