Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4), Brian Shea [free reads .txt] 📗

State Street corner office. He'd long ago stopped appreciating the view of the harbor peeking out from between the tight cluster of buildings surrounding his office, which was set in the iconic 1.24-million-square-foot space known as Exchange Place. Today, his mind wasn't occupied with the financial empire he'd built. Not after yesterday. Somebody leaked the names of the victims from yesterday's bomb attacks to the press. Two stood out from the rest. His past had finally caught up with him.

Kevin Doyle had known this day might come. It was always in the back of his mind. He'd approached business as he approached life: with great caution, meticulous care, and as much foresight as he could muster. His data-driven approach to market analysis had landed him at the top of the investment game.

But after reading the newspaper, and recognizing two of the names, he didn't need to be a rocket scientist or statistician to know that the numbers were lining up, and not in his favor. Doyle measured each decision, calculating risks versus rewards. He knew it was always a possibility, but figured it had such a low risk of actually happening that over the last twenty-three years he'd nearly forgotten, or at least pretended to forget, the threat lurking in the shadowy darkness of a past he'd disassociated from completely. He looked at his watch. It was half past nine. The investor meeting down the hall had already started. Doyle was intolerant of tardiness from his employees, and silently admonished himself for his hypocritical disregard of his biggest pet peeve. But as much as he hated being late, some situations—or flare-ups, as he liked to call them—needed to be addressed. This morning’s flare-up was priority one.

He'd never be able to concentrate on the meeting until he made the phone call. Doyle pushed back in his two-thousand-dollar plush leather high-backed chair. The chair’s soft contours normally worked to ease his stress but now did little to mitigate the tension he felt as he reached for the locked drawer in his mahogany desk.

His office door swung open and his secretary, Ginny Pearson, entered without knocking. The lines of their employer/employee relationship had blurred when Doyle engaged in an extramarital affair with the woman. Pearson made the top of a long list of secret lovers he'd accumulated over the years. She also managed to last the longest, nearing the one-year mark. Doyle had made promises to the attractive twenty-eight-year-old.

Doyle wasn't delusional. He knew she was less attracted to him as a man than she was to his money and power, but he didn't care. Things were wearing thin and he was beginning to tire of her, as he did all the women in his life. He had gone so far as to tell her he had plans to leave his wife for her, even though she was young enough to be his daughter. He regretted the words as soon as they fell from his mouth, but he was drunk when he said them. Deep down, Doyle believed Pearson had to know he would never risk losing even a fraction of his fortune for a young, tight-bodied woman.

She was a plaything to him, a toy, although one of his better ones. Even though he was growing tired of her, he hadn't finished with her yet. As soon as he did, Doyle would find cause to relieve Pearson of her position, as he did with all of his past “secretaries” over the years.

Pearson had become clingy in recent weeks, a little too comfortable with their relationship. She was making their transgressions a bit too obvious. Doyle had heard the grumblings from some of the others in the office, and it was starting to annoy him. Her clothes were becoming a bit tighter and more revealing. Today was no different. Pearson wore a tight black skirt bordering on inappropriate. Doyle knew she wore it for him. And he knew why today, in particular, she'd selected the tantalizing wardrobe ensemble. Today was Kevin Doyle's wedding anniversary.

Pearson took care of all of Doyle's needs that were deemed beneath the busy financier's time and effort. That meant purchasing gifts for birthdays and special occasions, like anniversaries, fell squarely on his secretary’s shoulders. Pearson had bought that skirt for Doyle's wife, then bought one for herself, on Doyle's dime, just to show off the difference, serving as a visual reminder of the physical disparity between the two women. As good as she looked in it now, he realized things were going too far. The last thing he needed was Pearson stirring the pot and disrupting Doyle's seemingly perfect life.

People Magazine was interested in doing a feature on him, and he knew any impropriety would taint and do irreparable damage to his image. Things Doyle couldn't afford. He needed to control Pearson as he'd done with others in the past. A severance package that included a very unique non-disclosure agreement was secretly being drafted by Doyle's most trusted attorney. But he would hold onto it for a little bit longer, because damn she looked good today.

Pearson closed the door and approached with the morning's mail. Atop the pile was a package the size of a small shoe box. She set the items on his desk, leaning over and intentionally allowing her blouse to reveal just a hint of her ample breasts.

"Here's what you asked for. The Jenkins proposal is in here, as you requested. It arrived this morning with this." Pearson tapped the top of the box.

Doyle eyed it. The return address wasn't visible and there was no postage stamp. "That came in the mail?"

"It was in the mail room with your name on it. Do you want me to see if I can locate where it came from?"

"It's fine." Doyle shook his head. He looked at his watch again. "Tell the board I'm going to be late this morning."

Pearson gave a coy smile and started to unbutton her blouse. This wouldn't be the first time he missed a meeting to