Fraud: A Stepbrother Romance (15 page)

Robert King was not a happy man.

George Tanner had completed his mission,
but it was done in a very sloppy way.

The gun battle with the Miami police
officer had meant George was no longer able to operate except covertly.

This was only a minor inconvenience, as
Tanner spoke three languages, not including English. He could be of value in
other countries. King thought about what to do.

Tanner was hiding out on the “
Disco
Inferno
”, probably fucking Floori, thought King.

Derek White and Megan Greene were now his
main focus. They had dropped out of sight over three months ago.

He had no idea where they may have gone
into hiding.

All of his contacts were reporting nothing
of value.

King puffed on his cigar.

That cunt Peg had ruined everything!
First, threatening to yank his funding, then fucking Tanner.

It was bad enough that he had to explain
that she was dead to his boss, but it was worse when it clearly couldn’t have
been pinned on Megan.

That Derek showed up had been an
enormously fortuitous opportunity that was missed by Tanner’s impulsiveness.

He had to be punished, but carefully.

Tanner was a very dangerous man, and even
though King had no doubt’s about his loyalty to him, he was also very careful.

Plus, he’d been fucking Peg. There was
that. And now, probably Floori as well.

King was not a man who forgave, ever.

He pressed a button on his phone.

“Get me Floori,” he said into the
mouthpiece.

He turned around, looking at the mess he’d
made of the escort he’d hired. The girl’s sightless eyes stared at the ceiling,
her tongue lolling out of her mouth. Her whole face was glistening with King’s
issue. Semen coated her right eye in a whitish film. She no longer minded, he
thought, grinning.

King had the cord he’d used to strangle
her wrapped tightly around his scrotum. His flaccid penis oozed a tiny drop of
cum.

He absently wiped it off, waiting for
Floori to answer.

Ah, well, he thought, looking at the dead
woman.

It was just another mess for “Floori the
Fixer” to add to his list, on top of his problem with George Tanner.

MEGAN

The days and nights at the Fontainebleau
Hotel dragged into a week and then a month.

It was the happiest time of my life, and I
spent the days trying to unravel the mystery of King’s financial empire.

When Derek was able to meet with me at the
hotel, we’d make love.

I loved slowly enjoying his body, but one
time I just grabbed him as soon as he was in the door, and stripped off his
jeans down far enough to get to his marvelous cock.

I sucked him off right there, as he leaned
against the wall.

He came, and I pulled his spurting dick
out of my mouth and sprayed his hot cum all over my face, lips and tits,
rubbing it all over with his cock, and licking the creamy semen.

It tasted so wonderful!

Derek was surprised by my need, and later
we made a more relaxed form of love.

The days went on, and I was getting a bit
antsy, cooped up in the hotel.

Still, there was nothing to be done about
it until the Alpha Team collected enough evidence to get King.

*****

I decided I needed to check up on Nigel,
so I used the privacy feature on my cell phone and called the doggie hotel
where he was staying.

“How is your trip?” asked the manager.

“Oh, you know. Lots of excitement, and
plenty of bugs!” I said, feeling a bit naughty about my lie.

“Nigel misses you, but he’s doing fine.
Would you like to talk to him?” she said.

I spent ten minutes making goofy noises
for Nigel. I could hear him panting and yipping, and the manager told me he was
happy to hear my voice.

When I hung up, I felt bad for Nigel.

He deserved a better owner, and I promised
that when this was over, I would make sure he never left again.

*****

One morning, I got a call from an attorney
that I knew handled estates.

“Miss Megan Greene, I presume?” said the
voice on the phone.

“Yes, it is I, may I ask who is calling?”
I said.

“This is William Rogers, and I am the
attorney representing the estate of the late Margaret Greene. I understand she
was your stepmother. I have some information regarding the disposition of her
estate. Do you have time to come by my offices?” he said.

I thought for a moment.

Why would Peg’s attorney have any
information at all for me? I didn’t know about any arrangements that Peg might
have made regarding her money or assets, having concluded from her last
interaction with the woman that we had no need of contacting each other ever
again.

All of my father’s estate had been
settled.

I couldn’t think of any legal reasons that
Peg  may have left any instructions for her attorney that would concern me.

“May I ask for some more specifics?” I
said.

“Unfortunately Ms. Green,” said Mr.
Rogers, “your physical presence is required for identification purposes as well
as for me to present you with certain items.”

I could hear him smile over the phone as
he said the next sentence.

“Certain
key
items,” he said,
emphasizing the word key.

“I have some pressing matters to which I
must attend today Mr. Rogers,” I said. “I must apologize but I am completely
slammed today with work.”

“Would tomorrow morning be convenient for
you, Mr. Rogers?” I asked.

“That would be fine Ms. Green. I will see
you then. Say, ten o’clock sharp?” he asked.

“That’s fine. I’ll see you then,” I said.

 “Can you please give me directions?”

We spoke for a few more moments while we
ironed out some minor details.

Then, he hung up.

What on earth could this be about? I
wondered.

*****

The next morning, I went to the attorney’s
office.

I had the concierge bring me a car, and
dressed inconspicuously.

I work dark shades and a hat that hid my
features well.

The attorney’s offices were in a very posh
location, in downtown Fort Lauderdale, off of Las Olas Boulevard, along the
river.

I parked my car and strolled along the
shops and restaurants that lined the river.

It was a beautiful Florida day.

The sun was shining, and it wasn’t us
oppressively hot or as humid as could be expected, for this time of year.

I walked into the office, and was greeted
by a receptionist.

She was pretty, but seemed a bit vapid.

She was doing her nails, and chewing
bubble gum when I introduced myself.

She put down her file, and turned to her
computer, and clicked a few keys.

“Name?” asked the girl.

“My name is Megan Greene, as I mentioned,”
I said. “I’m here to see Mr. Rogers.”

Oblivious to my tone, the girl tapped on
the touchscreen of her phone for a few seconds and then looked at me.

“Mr. Rogers will see you now,” she said.

“It’s the third door on the left, and you
may sit anywhere you wish in that conference room.”

I walked to the door, as indicated.

When I saw the room, I gasped at the
opulence on display.

Marbled floors with a granite table, and
huge leather backed chairs spoke of enormous amounts of money that had been
spent to great effect.

I felt it was very ostentatious, and was
taken aback for a moment.

While I’m no stranger to money, I
typically find this manner of wealth display vulgar and crass.

“I see you don’t approve of my decor, Ms.
Green,” said William Rogers, as he entered the room.

 “Not at all Mr. Rogers,” I lied.

“Megan Greene, pleased to meet you,” I
said as I extended my hand.

“Ms. Greene, please sit down. I have only
a few things to review with you, and it shouldn’t take long,” he said.

We sat and he straightened himself up and
leaned towards me.

“But first, a mere formality,” he said.

“Yes?” I asked.

“May I please see your identification?”
asked Mr. Rogers.

I fumbled in my purse for a few moments,
until I found my driver’s license, and presented it to Mr. Rogers.

He looked at it and frowned slightly, and
then set it on the immaculate surface of the granite table.

“Might you have your passport with you, or
another form of government issued identification, preferably with a photo?” he
asked.

I took a moment to look at William Rogers.

He was an older man with graying short
cropped hair, dressed impeccably in a double-breasted herringbone pattern suit.

He wore very expensive looking shoes, and
a huge golden watch which was possibly a Cartier.

His eyes were deep brown, hooded, and
piercing. His mannerisms were very calculated and deterministic.

I looked through my purse, and came up
with my passport.

I handed it over to Mr. Rogers, who gave
it a cursory glance and then snapped it shut. He placed it next to my driver’s
license on the table.

“May I see your left wrist please?” asked
Rogers.

“What on earth for?” I said.

“Humor me, please?” he said.

He grinned, and I could tell he was
amused, but also there was a serious look in his eyes, almost as if he knew
something that made him a bit uncomfortable.

I extended my left arm and pulled back the
sleeve of my blouse, showing him my wrist. He took my arm lightly in his hand
and gently rotated the wrist back and forth so that he could see both sides.

“Excellent!” he said.

“Well, I guess you can see that I am not a
drug abuser,” I said dryly.

Rogers chuckled.

“My dear girl,” he said, “I wanted to be
sure that it was indeed you. You see, your stepmother Peg left very explicit
instructions as to how to identify you. I note that you do indeed have a small
pockmarked scar on the inside of your left wrist. Do you remember how you got
that scar?” he asked.

Now, it was my turn to feel uncomfortable.

“Yes,” I said dully. “Peg did that.”

I remembered when Peg had struck out at me
blindly, one afternoon.

I had been complaining about Blaise, when
she snapped.

She threw an ashtray against the wall. It
shattered like a bomb, striking me with glass fragments.

One of them stuck in my wrist, and it put
a small, deep cut in my skin.

It required three stitches.

Peg apologized, later, and had gotten me
an ice cream float.

She told me that it was only an accident.
She made sure to get me to promise not to tell my Dad what had happened.

“Miss Green, your stepmother was not very
fond of you,” said Mr. Rogers. “I am sure you don’t find that very surprising,
given your history with her.”

“I’m not sure that’s any of your business,
Mr. Rogers,” I said.

“Nonetheless, I have something here for
you, that Mrs. Greene wanted you to have,” he said.

His eyes watched me closely.

I tried to hide my emotions, but it was
not easy to think of Peg, after that memory, as being benevolent to me.

He reached into his inner coat pocket and
extracted an envelope.

He placed it carefully on the smooth,
shiny surface of the granite table, and slowly slid it across to me.

I picked it up.

“Open it, please,” he said. “I must
confirm that you are in possession of the contents before you may leave.”

“Oh, really?” I said.

He just sat there, looking at me, and
making me feel like I was in grade school, with the Principal.

I slipped a nail into the crease, and ran
it down the paper.

It opened.

I upended it, and a key fell out.

I saw there was a business card in the
envelope, and fished it out.

“Excellent,” said Mr. Rogers. “Thank you,
Ms. Greene, we are finished here.”

With that, he stood and walked out of the
room.

The nerve! I thought.

I looked at the key.

It appeared to be to a safety deposit box.

The business card said “First Centennial Bank”
with an address that was only two buildings away.

I walked out of the conference room,
through the lobby, and across the street.

Then, I went into the bank.

A half hour later, I knew I had all the
ammunition I needed to put that slimy bastard Robert King away for the rest of
his miserable life.

*****

When I had discovered all the evidence
that Peg had left in her bank box, I almost had a heart attack.

Peg had managed, over the years, to
collect documents, computer files, and digital photos of a number of illicit
transactions that involved Robert King. There were two external hard drives and
four sheets of neatly typed notes, plus a hand-written note that Peg had
written to me. I guess she thought this was her insurance in case King had any
ideas.

The notes were thorough, and as I read
them, I suddenly had to stop.

A few tears fell, as I took in the
enormity of her effort to do right by me.

In the notes, she apologized for her past
behavior.

She was being used by Robert King, and her
son, Blaise, who had manipulated her into a fraudulent scheme to bilk millions
from the socialites in Palm Beach.

Worse still, she had tried to get away,
and I surmised that she was trying to reach me that day at Bayside.

I stifled a sob, when I read that she knew
that Blaise had tried to rape me when I was a teenager, and that Derek had beat
Blaise up because of it.

She told me that Blaise threatened to kill
the both of us if she didn’t make sure we never saw each other again.

When Derek had announced he was going into
the Navy, it was a huge relief to her.

My leaving for college removed the final
lever Blaise had over her, until he came to her one day with Robert King in
tow.

He asked her to sign over her interest in
the armor manufacturing company, so that he could take it over and serve as the
CEO.

Sam Parker told her that my Dad would have
wanted her to do this, and that she would never have to worry about money ever
again.