GREED Box Set (Books 1-4)

by John W. Mefford

  “I believe they have, Turug,” Chuck said, attempting to maintain a rational tone on the call. “I’m not a gypsy, so I can’t predict they won’t uncover something I’m not privy to, but we believe the worst is behind us.”

  “How close are we to getting the final paperwork completed through the zoning office? How quickly can we start the drilling process?” Victoria asked.

  “Because of a motivated Tom Newhouse, we should have the green light to proceed in just a few days. From there, it could take up to six weeks, depending on a number of factors, including how quickly Turug’s team can empty the building,” Chuck said.

  “Six weeks? That’s intolerable,” Victoria shot back. “I’ve watched you men do everything in your power to take my plan and screw it up. I’m the architect of this entire operation, and you know it. I expect accountability at all levels. Delays like this are unacceptable.”

  “Victoria, we know you don’t get another dime until we start pulling gas from the ground,” Chuck said. “None of us do. We all signed the same personal services contract. We know this could be one of the largest gas reserves in the region, so a little patience will allow all of us to reap the rewards.”

  Victoria wouldn’t let it go.

  “Turug, it’s your company that’s taking so long to vacate the property. Why can’t you speed up the process?” Victoria asked.

  “My dear Victoria. I have an international technology business to run. We know the faster we can adjust the cost structure of J&W, the faster we at PHC can turn a profit, which, in turn, further helps this operation by vacating the targeted property,” Turug explained. “You may not have the aptitude to understand the process, but I assure you we’re moving at a quicker pace than anyone on the J&W side is aware of.”

  Chuck could envision Victoria’s nonverbal response. Her stare could burn holes through steel. His two scotches almost allowed a chuckle, but he held it back.

  “We don’t need to snipe at each other like we’re siblings,” Chuck said and forced a chortle. “We’ve each brought different strengths to this effort, so let’s try to be respectful and not make personal attacks on each other.”

  Chuck wasn’t sure how far he’d have to go to squash the threatened exposure of his spirited bunch. He wrapped up the call without further arguments, although it was apparent the group’s collective anxiety was growing.

  “Team, I look forward to seeing you in person as part of the OG board meeting next month. Until then, we’ll have calls like this one as needed. Thank you for your support,” he said.

  ***

  Harrison waited until he heard the others hang up, then he followed suit. His hands trembled, causing him to fumble with his iPhone as he attempted to press stop on the recording app. He couldn’t believe what he’d heard as he huddled next to his bed in the family mansion.

  He would not allow Aunt Victoria and these men to soil his family’s reputation. He pondered with whom he should share the recording.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  I scooted closer and touched Marisa’s leg with mine. It was reassuring. For our peace of mind, we’d spent one more night in the Como Motel, not wanting to chance further interaction with Tony “The Neanderthal Bastard,” as Marisa had called him.

  When the newspaper appeared just inside our door, I eagerly rolled out of bed to read the latest headlines.

  I sat on the edge of the mattress, and Marisa leaned over my shoulder and kissed my neck.

  “Hold on missy, we actually have to work today,” I said, laughing and clenching my shoulders.

  “I know, I just didn’t want you to forget how my lips felt touching your skin,” she said. “We’ll finish this up later, mister.”

  “Focus,” I said.

  The main section was almost exclusively dedicated to the Tiffany Chambers murder investigation and multiple related storylines. We first read the sidebar story where Marisa told the world what she’d experienced as a gullible fifteen-year-old, tying the now-CEO of Omaha Gas, Chuck Hagard, to another loathsome act more than eighteen years ago. Stu’s story superbly illustrated the emotional abuse and intimidation Chuck used well before he’d orchestrated Tiffany’s murder and the entire fraudulent operation. Marisa dabbed her eyes and gave a relieved smile.

  “Now that the world knows the secret I’ve buried for all these years, I can finally let it all go.” She squeezed my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head.

  The main story focused on the plethora of information uncovered from Tiffany’s notebook and recordings.

  Headline: Murdered Girl Speaks from the Grave

  Subheader: Chambers’ Diary Reveals Sadistic Relationship with Possible Killer

  Stu had written a separate story focused solely on what Tiffany had discovered with OG’s poor environmental record: the internal company documents, the pending lawsuits, details of Rosemary’s condition that could be due to contaminates from the gas well near her home, and the bribery of government officials to cover up their illegal activities.

  “I’d still like to talk to Karina. It’s hard to imagine that Tony didn’t kill Tiffany, given everything we heard on the tapes. But I’d feel better if we could finally clear Karina’s name once and for all.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Marisa said.

  “I’ll give her a call later. With all of this coming out about Tiffany, the framed seductions, Karina might just open up.”

  I held up the paper to take it all in.

  “I’m not sure if I want to frame it or burn it,” Marisa said.

  I folded the paper and handed it to her. “Put it in the trash—that’s where these assholes belong.”

  ***

  A quick kiss and a shower later, I headed to work the day before the first layoff, a day fifteen percent of our workforce would never forget. I walked into the office and was greeted by my colleagues, some of whom had heard of my connection to the murder coverage. A few patted my back. My anxiety increased, picturing the scene twenty-four hours later when I’d have to sit across a table and tell them they were no longer needed, as disposable as a snot-filled tissue. I’d be labeled the hatchet man, my face the last thing they’d remember before their lives were turned upside down. “Hey Michael, nice to see your face,” Paula said.

  I hesitated, unsure how much of her comment was sarcasm.

  “It’s okay. Greg told me everything,” she said. “It’s shocking. No, it’s beyond shocking when such a sleazy scandal can go on in our city without most of us knowing a thing about it. I’m just so glad you and Marisa are okay.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate your support.”

  I heard a noise to my left and turned to see Kamal clearing his throat while standing at his office door. He nodded, so Paula and I followed the little rat into his office to review the script for tomorrow’s layoff. You would have thought Kamal was planning a wedding. He bubbled with excitement like this was a joyous occasion.

  “Let’s review the actual script you’ll be reading to each employee.” He was more upbeat than I’d ever seen him.

  “You mean former employee,” I said.

  Kamal raised his head and glared but didn’t comment.

  We dissected each word of the fabricated letter we’d be required to read. Paula challenged Kamal on every phrase. Back and forth they went, like a tennis match. At one point, Kamal called his HR person in Mumbai, waking her up in the middle of the night to ensure the wording was legally sound.

  Hours later, with Paula barely able to keep her eyes open, Kamal ordered in a late lunch. I wondered if that might be the last ten-dollar perk we’d see from PHC.

  After a two-hour break to focus on our real jobs, we gathered back in his lion’s den. He walked us through a mound of papers—a career counseling service brochure, a sheet explaining access to a resume writing service, and a number of legal papers proving we weren’t discriminating. Then he shared the actual severance. If the person successfully completed turnover to their counterpart in India in two weeks,
they would receive one week of pay for every year of service at J&W.

  “This can’t be right,” I said. “Our HR handbook clearly states each employee will receive two weeks of pay for each year of service.”

  “Michael, those rules changed when the deal closed and PHC took ownership. There is no J&W HR handbook any longer.” Kamal folded his arms slowly and sneered at me.

  Paula stiffened but said nothing.

  “Here is our final list. Get this done tomorrow by lunchtime, so we don’t make the others sit around in agony,” Kamal said, as if he had compassion buried in his body somewhere.

  I saw several people on the list who hadn’t been on the slate Paula and I approved.

  “Kamal, this is not the list we agreed to,” Paula said before I could speak up.

  “We’ve had some last-minute budget challenges from corporate in Mumbai, so we must combine rounds one and two,” Kamal said.

  “I see George Hastings’ name on here,” I said. “This can’t be right. He’s been here almost as long as J&W has been in business. He’s far too valuable to let go. If he goes, this place will crater.”

  Kamal sat even more erect and crossed his hands on the desk.

  “George’s salary is too high. We can’t get to the cost structure needed for long-term sustainability if George and others like him are on the payroll,” Kamal said.

  His statement resonated. I thought about my situation for a moment and wondered if Paula was doing the same.

  “The slate is not going to change, so save your words and turn around your attitude. That’s the kind of person PHC wants: someone who will help make this company profitable,” Kamal said.

  I wanted to ask what he was smoking, but he might take it literally.

  Following a daylong ass whipping, Paula and I trudged into her office. I held up my arms in disbelief.

  “I don’t know what to say, Michael.”

  “You’ve done everything you can. I’m calling it a day.” I felt like I needed to take another shower.

  Just before I made it to the back door, Harrison grabbed my arm and took me to the side of the breakroom.

  “I need to share something with you,” he said, shaking his phone. “I have something here. It’s fucking unbelievable. I recorded a conversation last night between my Aunt Victoria, the CEO of Omaha Gas, and a couple of others. I know you’ve been helping out the folks at the paper to uncover all of this new information.” Harrison looked over my shoulder. “I really think you need to listen to this.”

  I was intrigued, but my mental capacity had hit its limit.

  “Harrison, I appreciate you telling me this. It’s hard to imagine there’s more out there.” I pressed the bridge of my nose. “But I need a break. I need for you to call Stu Owens, the reporter. Please share this with him.”

  Harrison looked disappointed but took Stu’s cell phone number.

  “I’ll call him right now.” He turned down the hallway toward his office.

  The fresh air instantly cleansed my mind. I picked up a smooth stone and tossed it at a tree on the other side of a rotted fence. I nailed it, and the rock ricocheted off a rusted metal storage shed. I pulled out my phone and tapped Karina’s cell number as I unlocked my car.

  I closed my car door and before I could put the key into the ignition, a bulging arm snapped my neck backward and restricted my airflow. Something sharp jabbed my rib cage. I couldn’t move or breathe. Grunts from the back seat made me look in the rearview mirror. Marisa lay across the backseat, mouth, feet, and hands duct-taped. Her left eye was purplish blue and almost swollen closed. Blood trickled from her lip onto her ripped blouse. Most of her left breast was exposed. My first thought was murder—I’m going to peel the skin from that asshole’s face for doing this to Marisa. I struggled to free myself from his chokehold.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  I awoke sprawled across the stump of a large tree. Marisa lay off to my left, still bound with tape, just as I was. My head throbbed. My side felt like it had been cut, but I thought I could run for help if given the chance.

  Tony’s metal-toed boot landed precisely on the cut near my ribs. I groaned and thrashed my legs. He walked to my car a few yards away, opened the hood, and leaned over the engine. Then he reached inside the car. He walked slowly back toward us, the sticks and leaves crunching under his giant boots. Even padded with layers of clothing, his enormous frame still formed a V, his shoulders broad, his chest and arms immense. A fire illuminated deep lines on his face, revealing his age more than his chiseled body.

  I could see Marisa twitching like a fish out of water, likely from fright. The chill in the air caused our breath to create a rhythmic fog rising out of our noses, as if our bodies were instinctively sending SOS messages. But we were alone and couldn’t rely on anyone to save us.

  “You couldn’t stay the hell out of our business,” Tony said.

  He snatched my neck and tossed me backward, allowing me to get a better view of him leaning over Marisa. He grabbed her hair and smelled it, then ran his hand down her blouse, across her exposed nipple.

  “I ought to fuck her right here in front of you.” He snickered.

  Marisa’s expression showed revulsion.

  I shook my head, trying to shout through the duct tape across my mouth, “Please no, please no!”

  “Ah, shut up.” He slammed her head off the base of the tree. I choked on my saliva as I heard the thud.

  “Nosy shits. You think you have it all figured out,” he said. “I guess you know I killed that pretty little blonde, Tiffany. Too bad, she was a fine piece of poontang.”

  Tony’s picked up another log like it was a twig and flicked it on the fire.

  “That black motherfucker, Raymond Williams. He just didn’t know when to quit. He actually thought he could beat me in a fight.” Tony smirked toward the trees. “Don’t be afraid, kids. I won’t hurt you as much as I did Raymond—before I squeezed the life out of him.”

  He whistled Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor” as he sharpened his knife, then ran his finger across the razor-like blade, producing blood. He sucked the secretion and spat it in my face. I rubbed my face in dirt, then looked around, searching for any way to escape. I could hardly move, and I couldn’t use my voice.

  He walked to another car, a white Impala, pulled something out, and brought it to his nose.

  “Did I tell you I took a little vacation last night?”

  I tried moving my legs, but they felt permanently connected at the ankles.

  “I found this cute college town up in Oklahoma and I happened to run into Karina Silva. Actually, she ran into me.” He belted out another laugh.

  Marisa and I glanced at each other, then back at the sick bastard. My stomach twisted even tighter and I hoped, prayed that Karina had avoided Tony’s clutches.

  “We had a nice long discussion about the birds and bees,” he said. “It was more one-sided than a discussion, I guess. She did a lot of crying, though. Begging, pleading…it just got too much for me to take. So, I gutted her like a pig and cut out her tongue. Then I set her car on fire to make sure more nosy people don’t screw with me.”

  I turned away and forced my eyes shut. Tony had murdered our friend, a mother of two adorable little kids.

  As it grew darker, Tony added more logs to the fire. Then he directed a flashlight beam at my car.

  “Okay, get up bitch.” He swung me up by my arm, nearly pulling my shoulder out of socket, then shoved me in the driver’s seat, my taped hands secured behind my back.

  “Do you guys know how to swim?” he asked. “Oh yeah, you won’t get the chance.” His deranged laugh echoed off the trees. “Beyond that cluster of trees, just about eighty feet straight down, there’s a lake. A really deep, murky lake. If the impact doesn’t kill you, the lack of oxygen will.”

  He rammed his elbow it into my crotch. I moaned and dropped my head.

  He picked up Marisa like she was a leaf and dragged her across the dir
t, then flung her into the passenger’s seat.

  “I can see your fuckin’ newspaper headline now—Troubled Boyfriend Commits Murder-Suicide When He Learns his Girlfriend is a Little Fuckin’ Slut.”

  Tony paced around the car, then walked over to the campfire. He opened a can of food and devoured it like a wild bear. Marisa and I looked at each other, both desperate for a sign to live. My cell phone began to buzz in my front pants pocket. I shook my hips and it squeezed out, exposing the top third. Our eyes connected, and Marisa leaned down and punched the green button with her chin. She sat back up before Tony approached the car.

  He reached in the window and turned on the ignition.

  “You fuckers ready to go swimming?” Tony said. “It all starts with a swan dive off the cliff. Make sure you hold your breath.”

  He stopped in his tracks and took another look at Marisa. He licked his lips. He leaned over and ran his tongue along her face, then bit her shoulder, nearly taking a chunk of skin with it.

  She yelled out, and I banged my head on the horn. He reached across the front seat and honked the horn four times.

  “You can do this all night, and no one will hear a damn thing.” He slammed my head into the steering wheel. Blood dripped from my forehead.

  Tony touched Marisa’s leg. “I’m just not sure I can let prime meat like this go to waste, regardless of what Chuck says.” He slowly moved his hand up her leg, reaching her thigh. He stopped, then jumped to his feet, as if he’d thought twice about interrupting his mission. It was obvious Tony wasn’t going to let this cat and mouse game go on much longer. Despite the cool air, I was sweating. My feet were strapped to the bottom of my seat, but I wiggled my right foot, loosening the tape’s grip on my shoe. I channeled my energy to pull up with my right leg muscles, jostling and twisting my foot back and forth.