Fatal Greed (2 page)

The visit had been all too brief, abrupt even, but Karina Silva squeezed her brown eyes shut and hugged the pillow against her curled-up, naked body. She took in a slow breath and caught a waft of black orchid and amber, tantalizing scents from the perfume she’d recently given to the one and only person who’d captured her heart—wholly, completely.

This evening was supposed to have been special.

She shuffled her feet under the thousand-count, white, cotton sheets, which soothed her feeling of loneliness. Clutching the down pillow against her chest, the thirty-something editor of the
Times Herald
turned over and took notice of the elaborate burgundy-and-gold pattern on the paneled drapes, fashionably clinging to the plush carpet.

The soft, green glow of the clock radio illuminated the room inside the swankiest boutique hotel in the ’
burbs
—albeit a full county away from her home base. But it had to be that way, considering she had succumbed to an unavoidable attraction that had clawed at her moral compass ever since she gazed across the green lawn at her husband’s client-appreciation party and locked eyes with her future soul mate. It was a moment she would never forget. A rush of emotion had engulfed her body, as a realization set in as to who she really was. The true Karina.

A smattering of distant car horns could be heard six floors below, but Karina glared off to the darkened corner of the room, recalling the sparkle of her lover’s blue eyes and the resulting flutter of her own heart. Karina had peered into those eyes and had found more feeling, more depth, more of a bond than she’d ever thought possible with another human being.

Her friend, her lover of the last three months, had arrived at the hotel two hours prior, and after a single embrace and two warm kisses, it ended before it really began. A familiar jingle had interrupted their intimate moment, noting the arrival of a new text on her lover’s phone. Karina never saw the words, but the response told her their rendezvous was over. Rigid movement, an instant detached demeanor, and a quick explanation about an emergency at work, followed by the sound of the door clicking shut, had left Karina alone in a king-sized sleigh bed.

A feeling of emptiness crept back into her conscience, a tiny seed of doubt sprouting inside her gut.
Could this life-altering affair be nothing more than a one-sided mirage?
She couldn’t keep her journalistic instincts from attempting to connect dots. She recalled every possible aversion of her lover’s eyes, each word of affirmation that may not have been as sincere and heartfelt as the previous.

And now this.

Karina released an audible breath and brought her hand to her head. She felt the sharp edge of her one-quarter-karat, pear-shaped diamond engagement ring, and thought about Reinaldo, her Brazilian husband of the last ten years. There had been some good times … moments she’d always remember. But as she recalled the hikes up Pikes Peak, the mountainous bike rides, and games of pool while drinking a few beers, she admitted that Reinaldo had been nothing more than a friend—a convenient friend at that. But one who had helped her produce two kids, two adorable little rug rats.

Would they ever look at Mommy the same way, if they found out who the real Karina was?
When they found out.

Karina couldn’t let her insecurities question her new path in life—a path she’d ignored far too long. Determined to make this relationship work, her mind sharpened, and she leaned over the side of the bed and snatched her
smartphone
from the back pocket of her khakis. No sweet text messages. She licked her lips, then scrolled to her contacts and tapped the cell number.

“Hi, Karina. Miss me already?” the voice on the other end asked.

Karina couldn’t help but smile. “I just wanted to hear your voice again before I packed up my things and strolled back into my old life.”

“I know what you mean,” Karina’s lover said.

“You don’t have a spouse and two kids,” Karina said with a tone more harsh than she’d intended. “Oh, sorry.”

“Not a problem. I get it. I really do.”

A wave of emotion overcame Karina. A single tear bubbled out of the corner of her eye and she sniffled.

“Are you okay, dear?”

“I …”

“You can tell me, Karina. We share everything.”

“I just wanted our evening together to be special. You mean so much to me … how I see myself. How I see our future.”

“I’m so sorry my work got in our way. Just know that you hold a special place in my heart.”

Karina could hear sincerity, which warmed her heart. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Karina.”

Muffled sounds broke Karina’s concentration.
Was that another person’s voice?

“What was that noise? Where are you?” Tension rippled up her spine.

“Oh, I just walked in my door. I’m exhausted, dear. Let’s make plans for early next week. We can both relax and have some fun at my new place. We can talk about our future.”

The pressure in Karina’s head eased. They kissed into the phone as they hung up. Thankful to hear the validation of their relationship, she paused and said a prayer to give her the resolve to fake it a little while longer.

***

Tiffany dropped her phone on the travertine tile next to the sloped, acrylic tub. As limber as a professional dancer, she raised one leg into the air and coiled it around her
bathmate
. He wasn’t into waiting or foreplay. He grabbed both of her hips and thrust himself inside her. Her eyes popped open, her head snapped back. She relinquished control, per the rules he’d established. Their relationship was mutually beneficial on many levels. But neither understood to what degree.

Needing to feel a bit of the Christmas spirit, or possibly just desperate to escape the unfolding drama at work, I wrapped an original Marisa-created, red-and-green-striped scarf around my neck and checked out the store windows around the historic downtown Franklin square. I strolled past meaningful displays and shameless advertisements, making my mental Christmas list and trying to keep the work stuff out of my head.

Halfway down the second block, I heard a repetitive jingle at the opening into the jewelry store and saw golden autumn leaves swirling in front, as if their choreography invited customers to enter the high-end merchant. I gazed through the window and saw an amazing presentation of diamond bracelets and engagement rings, all set in platinum. One day, I would have to crack open my piggy bank and shock Marisa with some major bling.

I ignored an instant tightening in my chest, and noticed a few of the leaves skipping into the store, as if part of the dance. Over by the far counter, a little boy wearing an aviator hat that covered his ears, twirled around his mom, Karina, our neighbor. I guessed Ricky was about three or four years old now, at least a couple of years younger than his brother, Brent. But it was Ricky’s fireplug shape and plump cheeks that most resembled my colleague and friend, Reinaldo.

I was reminded of
Reinaldo’s
withdrawn, unapproachable demeanor at the merger announcement the other day, and he had been nearly mute since then. Most of the time, you couldn’t get Reinaldo to stop talking, usually about his beloved Brazil national soccer team. In fact, when it was announced that Rio de Janeiro would host the FIFA World Cup, he literally broke down and cried. He certainly had that Latin emotion churning inside him—it was obvious.

I took a step toward the door, but paused and eyed Karina’s body language. She studied and pointed at several items in the showcase, but her expression wasn’t entirely festive. Her face appeared tense, and she hardly noticed little Ricky darting around. She scrunched up her wavy, brown hair behind her head as she looked in the mirror, holding a dangling earring.

I got so close to the window my nose touched. I could have sworn those were diamonds, the size of ping-pong balls no less. Unless they were fake.

Not likely at this retailer.

Karina’s recent promotion to editor withstanding, she’d always worn
JCPenney
, never Neiman Marcus. And her jewelry collection, from what I’d seen, consisted of simple stud earrings.

I recalled earlier that morning spotting a For Sale sign in the Silva’s yard. Either Karina’s paycheck had doubled and they were “moving on up,” or a nasty rumor that I’d caught wind of had an element of truth—the
Silvas
were splitting up. They’d been friends with me and Marisa for years, and I couldn’t imagine having to choose sides. They were good people, and even better as a couple.

Karina appeared stressed, possibly edgy. I’d seen warning signs like that from girls over the years, and I’d learned avoidance was the most appropriate response. At least for me.

***

“Ma’am, we’ve looked through almost every variety of earrings.” The sixty-something salesman enunciated every syllable with exaggerated care.

“I’m not good at making these types of decisions,” Karina said, moving her eyes back and forth. “The ones on the left are nice. I’ll go with that pair.”

The well-coiffed salesman lowered his specs. “Would you like for me to wrap it for you?”

“Yes, thank you. But I need it fast. I have an important appointment I need to make.” She felt a tug on her coat.

“Mommy, we go now?” Ricky’s eyes were half shut. He’d missed his afternoon nap, and Karina knew he’d either conk out on the jeweler’s floor or throw a hissy fit if she didn’t get him home quickly.

“Ricky, we’re almost done. Want a candy cane?”

His eyes popped open with anticipation, and she dug in the bottomless pit known as her purse.

“Here you go!” She unveiled the bribe.

Ricky grabbed the red and white sugar stick, and within seconds, his face and hands were coated with a sheen of stickiness.

Karina turned back to the counter as the salesperson tied the last red bow. He slid the bill across the counter.

She paused momentarily, then set down her plastic, hoping the card wouldn’t be rejected. She knew she couldn’t afford the jewelry, but she’d convinced herself Tiffany was worth it. She fantasized how Tiffany would reciprocate with her expression of love.

Claps of thunder rattled the window frames in our rented home, jarring me awake. Marisa still slept peacefully, her hands folded across her flat belly, a crescent of skin exposed just above her black panties. She could sleep through just about anything.

The lightning and thunder ignited a spark in my brain. I replayed the life-changing announcement at work, William, the airbag, and the PHC leader,
Turug
Patel, practically speaking in tongues, sugar-coating the fact they’d get rich and fat off this deal while the rest of us would be downgraded to a simple number, what they called an FTE (full-time equivalent) in the business. Any of us could be dismissed, all in the name of profit. I drifted in and out of sleep, struggling to keep my runaway mental engine in check.

Uncontrollable laughter splintered the quiet. The alarm was tuned to The Ticket, a sports radio station where the morning crew was engaged in a funny bit. I punched the clock silent. Darkness still blanketed our bedroom. Marisa had early meetings at the bank, but I jumped out of bed first, my brain already in overdrive. Intent to learn more about the J&W purchase, and the resulting impact, I debated which colleague I’d talk to first—possibly the son of the airbag himself, Harrison.

The skies hovered just above the treetops, thick with clouds. Rain came down in rhythmic sheets with no end in sight. Temperatures were expected to reach no higher than the mid-thirties, thankfully with no chance of sleet or ice, according to the Barbie-like weather person last night.

Not a big fan of hats, I reached the back door of the sixty-year-old brick office building with my head drenched, chilling my entire body. Predictably, the back of J&W had flooded and box fans were out in full force, creating a buzz as loud as a small prop airplane. Mrs. Ireland, our affable yet clueless receptionist, must live up here, I thought. If nothing else, she’s dedicated. I weaved around the squadron of dusty propellers and seven drying umbrellas, but she caught me before I could remove my coat and escape behind my office door.

“Oh, Michael, thank goodness you’re here. The super won’t answer his cell phone, and the rain is leaking into the server room. I’m worried it’s going to get worse.” Her pace quickened with every word, and I stared at her mouth to make certain I understood what was creating such a panic.

She filled me in. A couple of early-arriving system administrators were taking care of the machines, moving them away from the outside wall, laying down towels to soak up the rain water, and ensuring the servers were operating at normal capacity.

“Michael, you’re such the handyman. Could you go outside to see if you can find the origin of the leak?”

I took a deep breath. Before the PHC acquisition pep rally, I wouldn’t have hesitated. Now, I actually thought about how I could avoid the cold-ass rain waiting for me outside. I looked down. Seeing my apprehension, Mrs. Ireland offered me her pink rain hat. My pride wasn’t going to get in the way of this bone-chilling event. I pulled the ill-fitting, floppy hat tightly over my head as I stepped out the back door and turned left toward the adjoining alley, not sure what she expected me to find.

I estimated the wall in the server room to be about halfway down the exterior wall. Two steps around the corner, I paused. Worn, red-brick walls bordered both sides of the dreary passage. I felt engulfed by the elements, as if the morose alley was sucking me inward like a black hole. The torrential rain blurred the opposite end of the alley, which I knew was only about fifty yards away.

I stepped carefully, but the surface was a minefield of potholes. I stumbled into one and soaked my right leather shoe. Shit!

Mud oozed into the middle of the alley, and bottles, pieces of rooftop, and a few scraps of metal were scattered along my path.
Good God
, it smelled putrid! I looked up again. The server room must be on the other side of the dumpster. Bags of spilled trash littered the area around the bin. One bag sagged over the container’s front lip, dangling about a foot over my head.

With my khaki pants, shoes, and socks already soaked, I took a few steps away from the wall and got a face full of unrelenting rain. Peering toward the rooftop, I squinted. It appeared the gutter had been pulled away from the building two to three feet. I bet water was gathering at the bottom of the building just under the break in the gutter. I’d have to walk to the other side of the dumpster to verify where the water was entering the server room.

Broken glass crunched under my shoes, and the foul odor grew worse. With only three feet of space between the fatigue-green trash container and the building, I shuffled sideways while I looked up to locate the exact spot of the gutter issue.

I tripped—fell flat on my hands and face—covered in mud and all sorts of muck.
What the hell did I trip over? And the godforsaken smell!

Huddled low to the ground, I retraced my steps, using my hands to feel in front of me. Something blended in with the dark, rain-soaked rocks and asphalt. A plastic garbage bag. I nudged it with my foot. The bag was heavy enough to trip me, yet it was pliable.

I grabbed it with both hands and used my weight to help drag the bulky bag away from the dumpster. The plastic tore open. I lost my leverage and fell back on my butt. Something slid out. I jerked forward, ensuring my eyes weren’t failing me. A human arm.

I stumbled to my feet then slipped down again, still staring at the plastic bag—and the arm—as if it could reach out and pull me back. I turned and raced to the back door, nearly tripping over bottles and other trash in the alley. My heart pounded as I skidded to a stop, fumbling through the security code.

I shouted as soon as I opened the back door, “Call 9-1-1.” My mind wasn’t aware of my surroundings, and I careened off the swarm of fans and umbrellas. The last thing I recalled was shooting pain from the thump of my head hitting the concrete floor.

“Michael, are you okay?” Lights blocked out specific images, but I slowly opened my eyes, sensing people standing around me. Paula and Mrs. Ireland were huddled next to me.

“You must have hit your head when you fell.” Paula put one hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay? Can you talk? Do you remember what you said when you ran in the building?” She helped me sit up.

Blood rushed to my throbbing head, and I became dizzy. I closed my eyes and saw flashes of images.

“I was back by the dumpster…tripped over a bag. A human arm just, just slid out and was laying there…unattached.” Gasps rippled through the throng of onlookers. “I ran inside and yelled for someone to call 911.”

I opened one eye and spotted Paula. Wrinkles between her brows showed her concern. “Mrs. Ireland, call an ambulance for Michael. Then call the police. Everyone else, stay calm but do not leave this building. It’s too late for whoever he found.”

I lay back down, draping my arms over my head, shaken to the core.