Fraud: A Stepbrother Romance (5 page)

MEGAN

I managed to get to the office, and
plopped my nicely plump ass into a nice, expensive leather chair. Just as I was
getting ready to enjoy my first sip of coffee, the damned phone rang.

I didn’t recognize the number at first,
then I realized it looked familiar.

It was that ‘unknown’ number I’d been
getting sales calls from.

Well, enough being Ms. Nice Gal, I am
going to rip this asshole a new asshole!

“Hello,” I say.

“Megan Greene, Esquire,” I add, acidly.

That should shake this dumbass up!

“Ms. Greene, this is George Tanner. I am
an associate of Mr. Robert King. Mr. King and I would like to have the pleasure
of your company for dinner at
The Clevelander
, this evening, if you can
arrange it,” says the smooth voice on the other end of the phone.

I am suddenly speechless.

I wasn’t expecting this.

Is it some kind of trap?

“Mr. Tanner, I am sure you realize the
implicit impropriety and appearance of a conflict of interest, here?” I ask.

“Surely, whatever you and Mr. King would
like to convey is best managed through the court system?” I said.

My anger suddenly decides to kick in. I am
angry more at myself, for even entertaining the thought of meeting with these
scumbags.

“Ms. Greene,” he continues, smoothly. “We
all are professionals, here. We simply would like an opportunity to clear the
air, regarding a misconception you may have. I can assure you, this is a casual
dinner, among friends…”

I cut him off.

“Friends? Are you fucking kidding me,
pal?” I yell.

“Your ‘buddy’ is behind some of the most
questionable land dealings I have ever seen in this state, and that’s saying
something!” I exclaim.

I’m furious and trying to control my
temper. 

Obviously, they’re trying to get my goat,
and boy are they getting it really well!

“Mr. King’s real estate dealings are all
public record and have been scrutinized thoroughly. In fact, many prominent
state representatives, and even the Governor himself have given Mr. King their
blessing. My friend would like…”

“You know,
George
,” I say,
emphasizing his name, “I am highly doubtful that anything that you or Mr. King
would have to say would be of benefit to me.”

There is a pause and I can hear some
murmuring discussion in the background.

“Mr. King would like to discuss a Mr.
Derek White. You know him, of course?” he says.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand
straight up.

My heart falls straight into my stomach,
and my mouth goes dry.

“What about Derek? Is he all right? You
bastards, if you’ve done anything to him…” I whisper.

My shock and anger are all a big show.

Inside, I am terrified that they are going
to tell me that he’s dead.

“Mr. White is quite fine. Are you aware he
is working for a national security agency that has a vested interest in
assuring that terrorism funding is eradicated within the borders of the United
States of America?” says Tanner.

“I haven’t seen or heard from,” I pause
slightly, “’Mister’ Greene for about three years, now.”

I try to keep my voice steady, so the
fucker doesn’t realize how much I really and truly miss Derek.

I hear another murmur, and a chuckle.

“We’ll send a limo to your office at four
p.m. sharp. I think you will find what we have to say to be very beneficial to
you. And also to your stepbrother.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to have dinner
with you, asshole…” I say, then realize that he’s already hung up.

Shit.

*****

The Clevelander
is one of those
tony spots where all the stars and paparazzi hang out in South Beach, so it’s
actually a good place to meet.

There is little likelihood of anything
sinister occurring, because it would be all over the tabloids within the hour.

One of the perks of social media fame, I
guess.

The interesting focal point of the place
is the rooftop pool.

It looks out over Miami to the west and
south, and gives a nice view of the Atlantic to the east.

It’s also famous as a watering hole for
Versace, (when he was still alive) and other icons of fashion.

I’d been there a few times over the years.

It’s pricey, and the crowd tends towards
young professional types, or the occasional group of loud girls, looking to get
drunk and laid by some pro sports team.

The decor is pretty nice.

There’s an elevator to the rooftop bar,
and to get there, you’d better be ready to drop a couple of grand. That keeps
the riff-raff out.

The limousine that picked me up was one of
those horrible Hummer conversions. Talk about gauche! I guarantee that the
owner and driver of that thing don’t have visible penises. Overcompensating,
for sure…

When I get into the limo, there’s not
anyone else waiting. I look around, and it’s a typical lux road yacht, with a
full bar, the Jacuzzi tub, and mirrors.

Flat panel televisions are plastered all
over the place, and are playing CNN, sports channels, and even some kind of
closed circuit loop. There’s also a guide on one of them that has every
late-release movie.

It looks like the marquee at the local Cineplex…all
the blockbusters from every studio.

I wonder how they get some of these
movies.

Three of the titles are for films that
aren’t due for release for months.

As the limo cruises downtown, I look at
the other traffic in the slow lanes.

I never realized that these things somehow
have their own traffic lanes, as the cars part like the Red Sea for Moses to
let it pass. I guess the police escort helps a bit…

I wonder if all that is to put me at ease,
for some reason or other.

I think over the case histories I’ve
reviewed.

I mentally check off all the no longer
alive people who were unfortunate enough to get on the wrong side of Mr. King.

It’s a pretty long list.

I’m not exactly scared, but I am uneasy. I
guess I’ll just see where this goes, and how it will play out.

I told my receptionist and two of the
other office gang that I was heading to SoBe for dinner.

Predictably, they were immediately
jealous.

At least I know that someone might get
worried if I don’t show up at work tomorrow.

*****

“Ms. Greene, how good of you to make it!”
I hear King’s florid voice as I step out of the elevator.

He’s at the bar, a gin and tonic in one
hand, and a cigar in the other.

He puffs a huge gout of grayish smoke out
of his face, and it wafts out towards the ocean.

“A magnificent view, won’t you agree?” he
says.

His smile is as inviting as a shark’s.

He doesn’t offer to shake my hand, or even
really act all that civilly.

What an entitled ass, I think to myself.

George Tanner is standing a bit away from
us, talking on his cell phone. He looks up, and nods at King.

“We have five minutes before the ride gets
here, Bobby,” says Tanner.

I find his familiarity with his boss
disturbing, for some reason.

“Let’s go, then,” says King.

“Ms. Greene, if you would be so kind as to
accompany us?” says Tanner, gently grabbing me by the elbow.

It’s not a forced gesture.

He actually seems to be trying to be
gentlemanly.

“Where are we going now? I’m not all that
inclined to go,” I say.

King looks south, at an approaching
helicopter. It’s descending towards the beach, and there are a few police
blocking traffic and beach access, and shooing some of the partygoers away.

“Up, my dear. Always up!” says King, with
a chuckle.

He gets into the elevator, and Tanner and
I crowd in behind him.

The doors close.

*****

I’d never been in a private helicopter
before.

This one was a Sikorsky S-76, according to
the safety card. It was similar to the ones for passenger planes. Except it
didn’t have all those emergency exit rafts, or oxygen mask things.

It was very quiet inside, compared to the
noise it made when it landed outside
The Clevelander.

The crowd stared at us as we rushed out to
it, and I thought I saw a couple of flashes from a camera. It might have just
been the police cruisers, though.

When it lifted off; it was kind of fun.

The ground went away, and suddenly the
chopper shifted a bit, and we were floating above the dark-blue Atlantic
waters.

It was pretty impressive, and I am sure
that was by intent.

I resolved to hold my ground, and not be
swayed by this bit of technological opulence.

We sat across from each other - King and
Tanner on one side of a small but elegant marble table, and me on the other.

The limousine was something gauche and
vulgar, but this vehicle gave the impression of power and elegance.

It was something designed for and owned by
an elite class of individual.

I found myself suddenly envious and
blushed at my obvious jealousy.

Tanner and King both smirked at me.

I thought I saw a slight nod pass between
them, but the chopper lurched slightly and I glanced out the window
involuntarily.

The ocean was dotted with small whitecaps,
and a few boats plowed through the waves, leaving long, ragged white wakes
behind.

As we climbed, and the helicopter banked
north, I wondered just what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

*****

“I am afraid that you have a poor
impression of me, Ms. Greene,” said King.

He was sitting in his seat, without the
lap belt.

I suppose one can do whatever one wants in
their own private aircraft, but it seemed reckless.

There is always the danger of turbulence,
when flying.

King sat there, his gin and tonic having
been replaced with a bourbon. Another stinking cigar was grasped in his fist.
He puffed on it, and filled the cabin with odorous fumes.

The pilots ignored him.

“I dunno, Mr. King,” I replied.

“So far, my instincts regarding you seem
spot on.”

I tried to muster some contempt or at
least derision, but I had to admit, the bastard looked confident and at ease,
as he sat there.

He mulled over my response for a minute or
so, puffed on his rancid cigar another time or two, and took a huge gulp of the
bourbon. He smacked his lips, and made a satisfied grunting noise. Then, he put
the cigar into an ashtray, and set down his drink on the mahogany table.

King leaned over towards me, his arms
resting on the table that separated us.

“Your stepbrother is of immense interest
to me,” he said. “He is currently becoming a major pain in my ass.”

King sat back.

His brow furrowed, and he looked over at
Tanner.

“What Mr. King means is that Derek has
done some things, in the pursuit of his current endeavors, that are not
precisely legal. We have reason to believe that he is involved in a scheme to
defraud Mr. King and his enterprises in Monaco and the Cayman Islands of
something like five billion dollars.”

My face must have registered my shock.

King and Tanner sat there, inside the
immaculate helicopter, observing my response.

“I am sure there is a reasonable
explanation for this,” I said. “Surely, you have some evidence you can
provide?”

“Ms. Greene, I think there is something
you should see,” said Tanner.

“It might be a bit disturbing to you, but
I feel …we feel, strongly, that you must take this information into
consideration regarding our upcoming legal action against Derek. We intend to
have him indicted for fraud. We know that you are most likely going to try to
represent him, and that we cannot allow. We are asking you to recuse yourself,
in light of the information we will show you.”

My head was spinning.

Derek indicted for fraud?

What could he possibly have done to cause
this?

“Please watch this short video, Ms.
Greene,” he said.