Cash

  Cash

  Scott Hildreth

  Contents

  AUTHOR’S NOTE AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Prologue

  ONE - Kimberly

  TWO - Cash

  THREE - Kimberly

  FOUR - Cash

  FIVE - Kimberly

  SIX - Cash

  SEVEN - Kimberly

  EIGHT - Cash

  NINE - Kimberly

  TEN - Cash

  ELEVEN - Kimberly

  TWELVE - Cash

  THIRTEEN - Kimberly

  FOURTEEN - Cash

  FIFTEEN - Kimberly

  SIXTEEN - Cash

  SEVENTEEN - Kimberly

  EIGHTEEN - Cash

  NINETEEN - Kimberly

  TWENTY - Cash

  TWENTY-ONE - Kimberly

  TWENTY-TWO - Cash

  TWENTY-THREE - Kimberly

  TWENTY-FOUR - Cash

  TWENTY-FIVE - Kimberly

  TWENTY-SIX - Cash

  TWENTY-SEVEN - Kimberly

  TWENTY-EIGHT - Cash

  TWENTY-NINE - Kimberly

  THIRTY - Cash

  THIRTY-ONE - Kimberly

  THIRTY-TWO - Cash

  THIRTY-THREE - Kimberly

  THIRTY-FOUR - Cash

  THIRTY-FIVE - Kimberly

  THIRTY-SIX - Cash

  THIRTY-SEVEN - Kimberly

  THIRTY-EIGHT - Cash

  Epilogue

  Also by Scott Hildreth

  To Erin.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This book contains scenes of criminal acts, some that are typical of gangs and motorcycle clubs, and some that aren’t. The fictitious club name, Devil’s Disciples, is in no way tied to the real-life club, Devils Diciples. Different spelling, different club. The acts and actions depicted in the book are fictitious, as are the characters.

  Every sexual partner in the book is over the age of 18. Please, if you intend to read further than this comment, be over the age of 18 to enjoy this novel.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.

  CASH 1st Edition Copyright © 2018 by Scott Hildreth

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at designconceptswichita@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights

  Cover design by Jessica www.jessicahildrethdesigns.com

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  Prologue

  I wrapped my arms tightly around my mid-section – hoping to ease my pain. Crying was inevitable, I simply hoped I could keep the tears at bay until I was alone.

  “You’re telling me that someone hacked into my accounts, took all my money, and didn’t leave a single trace?” I murmured.

  He lifted a one-inch-thick pile of paperwork from his desk and held it firmly between his thumb and forefinger. “We’ve got the account number that the money was initially transferred to, but the funds aren’t there any longer.”

  “There’s got to be some record of where the money went. Right?”

  “There does,” he said with a slight nod. “And, there is. But…”

  My heart fluttered with hope. There had to be a way to find it. There simply had to.

  He set the stack of paperwork aside and shook his head. “I’m sorry to say the account no longer exists. The money was moved several times. At one point, the funds were split into multiple accounts. Then, they were converted to cash. From that point, it’s impossible to trace where the money went.”

  My father’s intelligence coupled with a little luck in the stock market had built the fortune, and I’d spent my lifetime acting as if it didn’t exist. To think that someone managed to get to my accounts, drain them of several million dollars – and do so without my knowledge or approval – was incomprehensible.

  “But, there’s a name. There must be a name,” I muttered. “An account can’t be opened without a name and a social security number.”

  His blank expression confirmed my fear.

  “Tell me you’ve got a name, John,” I pleaded. “My dad hired you because you’re the best.”

  He laced his fingers and lowered his chin. “Neither my abilities – nor the firm’s security measures – should be in question. Our system of checks and balances were met. Passwords were prompted and entered. Mother’s maiden names, high school mascots – everything seemed legitimate. On the surface, it appeared that you were the one transferring the funds. Your presence today, however, indicates you weren’t. I’m truly sorry, Kimberly.”

  My eyes thinned. “This was someone who knew me?”

  “It’s difficult to say.”

  “You said they had my passwords…”

  “It could be someone you know, or it could be someone who used computer software devised to obtain such information.” He lifted the stack of documents that he’d previously set aside and flipped through the pages mindlessly. “The FBI will be conducting an investigation. I’ll forewarn you to reserve little hope the funds will be found. This isn’t a common occurrence, but I have seen it happen before. Cash is impossible to trace.”

  Impossible to trace unless someone knew where to look. I had my suspicions that it was someone I knew.

  Someone I’d loved.

  The son-of-a-bitch probably started planning to rob me right after he swept me off my feet. I should have known better than to ever let my guard down. Confiding in him that I had the nest egg was a mistake I’d undoubtedly regret until the day I died.

  Admitting now that I once loved him made me feel ill. Thoughts of my future reminded me of how bleak life would be without the interest income from my investments.

  I owned a cute little shoe boutique. It was my pride and joy, but it produced virtually no revenue. The earned interest of my inheritance was my main source of income. Without it, living day to day – even in my modest home – would be impossible.

  I stared blankly at him, waiting for something to change. For him to tell me that there was something left. A crumb. A few thousand dollars.

  Something.

  He stood and straightened his tie. “I’m sorry, Kimberly. I know Isaac and Janet are turning over in their graves about this.”

  Fearing my legs wouldn’t hold me if I stood, I chose to remain seated. As he came around the corner of his desk, the sorrow he wore caused my stomach to twist into a knot.

  “Whoever did this was a professional?” I pressed my forearms tight to my mid-section. “Someone who knew what they were doing? Someone who didn’t leave a trail?””

  “Absolutely. It isn’t that they didn’t leave a shred of evidence, because they did.” He exhaled a long breath. “It’s more difficult than that. When the funds were turned to cash, all traceable activity vanished.”

  I drew a slow breath, and then stood. After bracing myself on the arm of the chair, I met his sorrowful gaze. “The FBI can’t trace the cash?”

  “They’ll try, but I have doubts they’ll do anything in a manner timely enough to recover the funds. Cases like this are always shoved to the back burner, so to speak.”

  “To find this guy, a person would have to move quickly. Is that what you’re saying?”

  His
gaze narrowed. “For you to find him?”

  I nodded.

  “It would require more than moving quickly. It would entail finding a computer genius who was capable of hacking deep into the bowels of a financial network designed to thwart such activity. There’s a handful of such people. They’re either employed by the government, or they’re very anti-government,” he explained.

  “A hacker?”

  “A hacker who isn’t opposed to breaking the law. They’d have to search without warrants, or cause. The person in question would have to be a criminal with experience in manipulating funds. Not simply a criminal, a professional criminal.”

  My mouth twisted into a smirk.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you know such a mastermind?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Eager to find my money – and to bury the prick who stole it – I brushed the wrinkles from my dress and straightened my posture.

  “Take your time giving the FBI any information they might need,” I said. “It’ll buy me some time. I may need it.”

  “If you retrieve the funds before they do, there’ll likely be no prosecution for the crime.”

  I chuckled a dry laugh. “If I catch this son-of-a-bitch, there’ll be nothing left of him to prosecute.”

  ONE - Kimberly

  When it comes to relationships, forever doesn’t mean forever. It means until something more exciting comes along.

  For twenty years, Marvin promised that the day would come when things would be different. For nineteen of them, I believed him. Convinced that he was going to change, I lived hoping the next sunrise would bring with it a new life. One where I lived with the man of my dreams, not the one I was married to.

  But change never came.

  My fear of being labeled a failure prevented me from leaving him. Somehow comfortable in the awkward one-sided relationship, I accepted that I’d simply be alone throughout our marriage. That fear was replaced by anger when I found out he’d been cheating on me for two decades.

  Humiliated, angry, and scared, I gathered my things and left one day while he was at work.

  Although it took time, I became comfortably independent. Confidence followed. I planted flowers. I learned to cook for one. I joined the YMCA. I ran a half marathon. I planted flowers. I developed routines. I cleaned house, repeatedly. I planted flowers. Eventually, I found new friends and developed a new way of enjoying life. And, I planted more flowers.

  Yet. I remained single.

  Not by choice, either.

  A few years passed. Several drunken idiots hit on me, often saying things like, nice tits, or do women your age give head? In my search for a new companion, I found no one who was looking for a true relationship. It seemed when people found out everything there was to find out about me, all they wanted to do was fuck me.

  I realized I may never find love. Then, I accepted it as being inevitable. Even though I’d never felt better about myself, I feared I was simply incapable of garnering anyone’s interest in the competitive SoCal singles scene.

  Initially, I blamed him for ruining my chances at living a normal life. He promised to cherish me and love me forever, despite what changes may come about in our lives. He took an oath. An oath that he broke repeatedly through dishonesty, infidelity, indifference, violent behavior, and sheer disrespect. I felt that I’d wasted twenty-five years of my life. A quarter of a century of dating and marriage, all for nothing. In the end, I realized it wasn’t anyone’s fault, it was just the way life unfolded.

  So, I accepted it as being nothing more than a speed bump on my life’s freeway.

  Now, after nearly four years, that speed bump was standing on my porch. Dressed in my pajamas and house slippers, I stood in the doorway and stared at him. He had no right to simply show up at my home, and I was prepared to tell him so.

  I stepped through the door, gave him an evil glare, and raised my index finger. “I’m going to count to three, and then--”

  “And then, what?” he barked.

  He stepped off the back side of the porch and looked me over. “You look good, Kim. I miss fucking you.”

  “I mean it,” I snapped back, my voice thick with anger. “Get off my property, or I’ll--”

  “You’ll what? You gonna scream?” A drunken laugh rumbled from his lungs. “I like it when you scream. Go ahead.”

  “I’ll call the police. In case you forgot, you’re under a restraining order. You’re not supposed to be here. Ever.” I huffed out a sigh. “It’s been almost four years. I’m over you. Get over me.”

  “You’re not going to call the cops.” He grabbed at his crotch. “You want it and you know it.”

  He was an asshole by nature. When he drank, he was a belligerent asshole. He was ten feet away, yet the smell of whiskey leeching from his pores enveloped me like a dense fog. Reasoning with him was going to be impossible. I decided to give my closing remark and return to the comfort of the queen-sized Green Tea mattress I’d purchased immediately following our divorce.

  “We haven’t had sex in five years,” I said with a laugh. “I don’t want it. Now, or ever. You’re disgusting.”

  Courage was something else that I developed after we parted. I liked my new life, and the new me. Brimming with confidence, I turned and reached for the door.

  He grabbed my shoulder and spun me halfway around, almost knocking me down in the process. I swung my arms wildly, hoping to fight him off. His massive size and drunken determination, however, prevented me from succeeding. It seemed his angry hands were everywhere, groping and grabbing places I decided he was no longer entitled entitled to grope and grab.

  “Stop it!” I screamed. Blindly, I pounded my fists into his face and neck. “Get off me!”

  “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you,” he warned. “You look like you need it.”

  If he was going to fuck me, he was going to have to kill me. I decided many years prior that he was never going to touch me again, and I was prepared to fight him like I feared nothing.

  One of my wild swings caught him right in the eye. In retaliation, he slammed me against the side of the house, knocking the wind completely out of me. While I sucked a choppy breath, he fumbled to find the door handle. With his attention diverted away from me and one of his hands busy, I attempted to knee him in the balls. My knee slammed against his thigh, instead. A few wild swings of my clenched fists followed, as did several swift kicks toward his groin.

  I’d hoped to get him to turn me loose, so I could either run inside or take off down the street. Instead of releasing me, his clenched fist came crashing into my jaw. The force of the blow almost knocked me off my feet. I stumbled across the porch as I tried to keep my footing.

  When everything came into focus, his twisted grin was the first thing I saw. The second was the neighbor from down the street leaving on his motorcycle.

  Marvin pulled the front door open, laughing at my efforts to fight him off. I took advantage of the opportunity, and leapt from the porch. Flailing my arms and screaming as I ran across the front yard, I made a beeline toward the flickering headlight of the neighbor’s Harley.

  “Help me!” I came to a stop directly in front of the motorcycle’s path. “He’s trying to rape me!”

  The motorcycle swerved to miss me and came to a screeching stop at my side. The rider cut off the engine. Through his clear-lensed glasses, he looked at me with anger in his eyes.

  “What the fuck?” He unbuckled the strap on his helmet. “I almost hit you.”

  He wasn’t my neighbor, nor was he familiar. I didn’t care. He was willing to listen, and that was all that mattered.

  “He’s…” I heaved to catch my breath and pointed toward my house. “He’s trying to…rape me.”

  Before I had an opportunity to explain further, the biker was half the distance to my porch, chasing after my stupid ex, who was running toward his Mercedes-Benz.

  The biker tackled Marvin as if he were stopping him from scoring the game
-winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. Filled with confidence that the stranger would keep my asshole ex from attacking me again, I walked toward the two men. By the time I got there, Marvin was flat on his back, and the biker was sitting on his chest.

  I leaned over them. “Who’s getting fucked now, asshole?” I asked in a sarcastic tone. “Not me.”

  “She’s my wife,” Marvin lied. “I was just…”

  “We’re not married, you liar,” I bellowed. “We haven’t been for almost four years.”

  With his knees against Marvin’s arms and his hands holding his wrists, the biker looked up at me. “What the fuck’s going on?”

  “She’s out of her fucking mind,” Marvin said. “I’ll tell you what’s going on--”

  “Shut the fuck up,” the biker demanded. “Nobody’s talking to you.”

  “We divorced almost four years ago,” I shouted. “I’ve got a restraining order against him! I haven’t seen him in eighteen months, and he showed up tonight and said he was going to fuck me. When I said no, he did this.” I touched the tip of my index finger against my swollen cheek.

  The biker studied me. Upon seeing the damage that Marvin had done to my face, his expression changed from concern to rage. Without saying a word, he removed his helmet, tossed it aside, and then yanked Marvin to his feet.