White Collar Blackmail: White Collar Crime Financial Suspense Thriller Read Free

millions. She had been summarily dismissed and with that black mark on her record found employment impossible to attain – until she had met Arthur Ridgeway at a party in L.A. and explained her woes to him. She had been bitter, hate-filled and spiteful, but Ridgeway had provided the leg-up that she needed, and she had proved to be an invaluable asset. No one else on the board had her ability to assess risk quickly and accurately. She had shifted from New York to Dallas and oversaw ACME’s operations in Texas, Arkansas, Kansas and New Mexico.
    It was 2:05 when Ridgeway said, “I don’t know why we put up with this shit. Borchard’s late for every meeting. It’s disrespectful, that’s what it is. Are you going to say anything to him, Dermott?”
    “What’s a few minutes between friends?” Becker responded. “He’ll be here soon enough, and you’re not flying out until tomorrow morning, so it’s not as if he’s holding you up, is it?”
    “I think you’re scared of hi−”
    “Scared of who?” Brock Borchard asked as he took the chair at the opposite end of the table to Becker. He was thirty-five and the only director without academic qualifications. He had approached Becker about joining ACME after he found them sniffing around a business in Chicago that he too was interested in buying. It had been difficult and cost tens of thousands of dollars to get a handle on Borchard. Even now the unknowns far outweighed the knowns. Born Bratislav Bozovic on a small farm on the outskirts of Belgrade, his mother had died bearing him. Serbia was experiencing severe economic problems as a result of its history of wars and skirmishes. His father was a brute of a man with a violent temper who, despite severe food shortages, could always find a drink. Raised by his uncles and his father’s male friends, young Bratislav rarely saw or spoke to a woman while he was growing up. He later made up for it in a prolific way. Little was known about how he entered the U.S., but private investigators had discovered the foundation of his wealth was collecting debts and pimping in Chicago while still in his mid-teens. It had provided him with the seed capital to get into drugs, illegal gambling, loan sharking, and the construction of high-rise buildings. He was the only builder in Chicago without union problems. He employed three compatriots as bodyguards, union organizers and standover men, who along with him were known as the Serbian Mafia.
    “Hello, Brock,” Becker said, eyeing the younger man. His jet black hair was pushed back in the style of the old-time Chicago gangsters, and his eyes were cold and expressionless. His lips were thin and cruel and a fine almost perfectly straight scar ran from the right side of his forehead to his jaw. “Arthur was just saying that he thought I was scared of the newly appointed police chief. I was about to disagree, but only a fool underestimates his enemies. I’m wary of him but so long as he stays away from our businesses he can do what he likes.”
    “Is the bum on our payroll?” Borchard asked.
    “Not yet. We still don’t know if he’s receptive,” Becker replied.
    “Christ, everyone’s fuckin’ receptive,” Borchard replied. “Ya just gotta get the size of the bribe right. Don’t haggle or penny pinch. I can tell ya from firsthand experience that having the police chief in our back pocket is worth a shitload. We’ll get back what we pay him a hundredfold.”
    “I thought this meeting was about new projects,” Harry O’Brien interrupted. “Can we get on with it?”
    “Harry’s got a hot date.” Becker laughed. “Lydia, do you have anything new on the drawing board?”
    Five years earlier, she had been a dorky actuary, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and clothes from the Victorian era. Laser-eye surgery and the skills of the best plastic surgeon in New York had enhanced her face, upper deck, and confidence. Add a designer wardrobe and visits from a personal trainer every other