With Cruel Intent (34 page)

right in the middle at the end. It drove him

crazy but added character to his aging

face. At almost 30, Jeremy’s lifestyle was

already taking its toll. Too many meals at

the mall and no exercise were wearing

him down physically, but his brain was

ever active, never a moment without

something winding its way through the

vast networks of his mind. Nights were

often spent on the computer or reading

material to keep his boss informed, but he

could quite easily get by on four hours

sleep without looking any worse for wear.

Women found Jeremy Marshall attractive

but he could not be bothered, the young

clerks, interns and the occasional hooker

were enough to satisfy his sexual urges,

but a marriage relationship was nowhere

on his radar, at least not yet.

The father and son had not spoken

for months. The older Marshall’s wedding

to a realtor, two years previous, had

driven a wedge between them that seemed

immovable. The woman, Beverly Davis,

was a feisty piece of work, aggressive,

motivated, and certainly not without merit,

but Jeremy, from the beginning, believed

the relationship was more about money

than love. The weeks leading up to the

marriage had put an unbearable strain on

the father-son relationship; Jeremy had

pushed for a pre-nup, which his father

refused to consider. Blinded by love and

lust, a man in the middle of his life would

do all sorts of stupid things; at least

Jeremy saw it that way.

His father had significant real

estate holdings throughout the South,

enough to make Beverly a very rich

woman should he have an early demise,

however, word of his heart attack had

been a total surprise to the estranged son,

and he suspected his stepmother had

nothing to do with it. His interactions with

Ms. Davis had been quite formal, with

very little opportunity to get to know each

other on a personal level, both lead very

busy professional lives. She was likable

and seemed to make his father happy, but

two years for half his father’s estate was

more than he could bear.

Jeremy was a top aide to a

longstanding republican congressman who

had a prominent position on the House

Armed Services Committee. Most of his

time was spent in Washington D.C. but he

kept a home in Charleston, South

Carolina, the place of his birth. It had

been Beverly that had convinced his father

to pull up roots and move his operation

and home to Valdosta. The move had been

more than troubling for Jeremy, what little

control or influence he had with his father

was gone, and he knew it. It was not that

his father did not love him, he knew

better, but the two men, both very

independent, did not see eye to eye, and

that was it.

The news of his father’s condition

sent Jeremy’s mind into full, self-

preservation mode. He wondered how

much information, in regards to his

father’s vast holdings, had been released

to his new wife. Prior to the wedding he

had warned his dad not to make his

business affairs an open book to the

realtor, but rather give it some time, see

how the marriage went before disclosing

everything. He hoped, as he sat in the

office, that his father had taken that advice

to heart. Jeremy had not been privy to the

will since his father’s wedding, but

suspected that it had been re-drafted over

the past two years to include Beverly as a

50% claimant.

He picked up the phone, but only

after practicing speaking in a distraught,

emotional tone, “Hello Bev, this is

Jeremy, how’s my dad?” He needed some

firsthand information before he’d be able

to

make

any

concrete

business

arrangements, didn’t want to appear too

greedy, too quickly.

“Jeremy, you poor thing, all the

way up there in DC by yourself,” she

spoke in a sickening sweet Southern

accent that he saw through in an instant.

“How you holding up?”

Like she really cared. He again

kept his voice quivering and full of

concerned emotion, “I’m trying to keep it

together but it’s hard, not being there and

not knowing what to expect.” He played

this game of chess better than most; his

political career had taught him well.

“I’ve just spoken to the cardio

specialist here at the hospital and he’s

optimistic. They’ve got his vital signs

stable for now, but he’s weak, very

weak,” she repeated. “Are you going to

catch a flight?”

“Just as soon as I can.” His mind

reeled; he needed some time to do a few

things before he showed up as the grieving

son. “I’m thinking I’ll be there sometime

tomorrow night at the earliest.” Needing

to know the possibility of his father’s

likely death, but not wanting to sound

anxious, he was careful in the delivery of

his questions. Mustering his best possible

performance and even squeezing a tear

from his eyes, he asked, “Is he expected to

survive? Is my dad going to live?” That

said, he listened carefully to the answer

and the intonation. Chess was more than

just making moves; it was knowing the

mind of your opponent.

“It’s just too early to tell, like I

said, they are trying to be optimistic, but

I’m praying he’ll pull through for all our

sakes,” she said, through real life sobs and

tears. Maybe he’d read her wrong but on

the other hand maybe he’d just met his

match.

“Me too, me too,” he quietly said.

“Listen, I’m going to get there as quick as

I can, you’ve got my cell number so

update me as needed, okay?”

“Sure, will do dear, goodbye.”

Jeremy spent the next three hours

in his office making notes, running some

through a shredder and setting others in a

file folder situated prominently on his

desk. At the end of that time he had

devised what he considered to be a

foolproof plan contingent upon two very

key factors. One, that the will, did indeed,

split the estate between himself and

Beverly, and two, that in the event of his

stepmother’s death the entire estate would

revert to the sole heir, himself.

Jeremy looked at his watch, 2:30

p.m., he’d read between the lines of what

his stepmother had said, knowing as well

as she did that there was little chance of

his father’s survival. Every minute

between now and then would be critical.

The aide walked down the hall, peering

into offices, offering a friendly hello to his

co-workers until he found an office that

was unoccupied. Pulling the door closed

behind him, he sat at the computer and

searched for Lowndes County Land and

Title, it appeared at the top of the search

field. He clicked on the link that opened a

homepage; scrolling to the bottom he

found a contact number, which he dialed

from the phone sitting on the same desk.

A woman answered the phone in a

very professional manner, an accent, but

not Southern, perhaps Texan, he asked to

speak to the director and was put on hold

while she patched him through. Mr.

Ignatius Savard answered the phone,

“Hello, this is Director Savard, how can I

help you?”

“Iggy, Jeremy Marshall, how are

you?” doing his best to sound sincere.

“Mr. Marshall, so nice to hear

from you, I’m well, thanks for asking.

How are things in our capital?”

“They’re good here but I wish I

could say the same for my father, he had a

heart attack today there in Valdosta and

was airlifted to Atlanta.” Assuming the

role of the concerned son once again.

Ignatius, Iggy to most, had been

very helpful to the Marshall’s over the

years as they bought and sold properties in

Lowndes County. Jeremy knew Iggy to be

a hard worker, stuck in a go nowhere job.

Mr. Savard had reached the pinnacle of

his career, opportunities had come and

gone and with each advancing year Iggy

found himself further and further behind. A

penchant for gambling and an ex-wife to

support had driven the balding, heavyset

director almost to suicide. Jeremy

considered them to be a bit more than

casual acquaintances, more a resource

than friend though, but the director didn’t

need to know that. For his plan to succeed

there would need to be eyes and ears on

the ground in Valdosta as well as someone

with access to county records. Iggy was

the perfect man for the job, but Jeremy

knew the director would need to be

convinced.

“I’m shocked, I just saw your dad

the other day over at the courthouse, he

seemed fine. How’s he doing? Do the

doctors know anything yet?” a concerned

Iggy asked.

“We’re trying to remain positive,

but I haven’t even seen him yet, just trying

to get things in order so I can drive

down.“

It suddenly seemed odd to Ignatius

that Mr. Marshall would be taking the time

to contact him before flying to his father’s

side. Without asking, he could tell that

something was up, but patiently waited to

see where the conversation was going.

“I’m sure you think it strange that

I’d be calling but I have something that I’d

like to run by you, that is if you have

time,” Jeremy conveyed in his smooth,

convincing voice. “I’ll be driving to

Atlanta over night and could stop in

Valdosta in the morning.”

“Can I ask what this is in reference

to?”

“Let’s just say that if Mr. Marshall

passes I’m not likely to be in a very

generous mood with reference to his bride

of two years and I think you could play a

helpful role in something I have in mind,”

the son said, while trying to pick up the

vibe coming from the other end of the line.

“I don’t see how I could possibly

be of help, just what would you need me

to do, exactly?” he cautiously asked. But

before he could get a reply he thought of

his surroundings and said, “Hold on, give

me a moment.” He got up from his chair,

closed the door and lowered the shutters

that prevented prying eyes from seeing

into his office. Returning to the phone he

said, “We’re talking about something

outside the law, right?”

The voice at the other end

concurred, “You are correct, however,

it’s a very victimless proposition, one in

which you won’t have to get your hands

dirty.” Jeremy was careful not to use the

word crime as he lied to his ‘would be’

accomplice. “I can assure you, if all goes

as I suspect it will, we will both be very

wealthy men for the rest of our lives. Let

me emphasize that again, very, very

wealthy.” He knew he had Mr. Savard’s

attention.

“Okay, let’s just say for the sake of

argument that I’m mildly interested, can

you tell me what I’d have to do?” the

round little man inquired, beads of sweat

forming on his brow. The possibility of a

sting operation crossed his mind, but the

thought of millions in his pocket forced

him to press on.

“I’ll be leaving very shortly and

will

be

arriving

in

Valdosta

in

approximately 14 hours. We’ll need to

meet face to face but somewhere without

any onlookers, do you have a suggestion?”

Iggy thought, pausing, just his

breathe audible at the other end, “How

about a vacant house? I just processed the

paperwork on it today, some older home

in the country that was part of an estate

sale that is empty at the moment. New

owners live out of state, won’t be anybody

around for miles.” He was pleased that