The CEO: White Collar Crime Finance Suspense Thriller Read online

  THE CEO

  Peter Ralph

  Table of Contents

  Free Download

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Other Books by Peter Ralph

  Copyright

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  - 1 -

  IT WAS 10am, and the heat was already oppressive, pushing 30 degrees, when Douglas Aspine parked his black BMW Z3 out the front of the Federal Bank branch in South Yarra. He checked his hair in the rear-vision mirror and turned his mobile off, before putting a coin in the parking meter.

  As Aspine was shown into the branch manager’s office, a little, balding man with thin pursed lips glanced up before dropping his eyes back to a thick file on the desk in front of him. The branch manager, Jonathan Bardon, got up from a visitor’s chair and said with a tinge of nervousness, “Hello, Doug, I’d like you to meet one of our head office lending managers, Colin Sarll.”

  Sarll did not get up or extend his hand, but instead just nodded, “Take a seat, Mr. Aspine,” as he continued to examine the file. An uncomfortable silence descended over the compact room. Bardon stared down at the cheap carpet, and shifted his large overweight body uneasily in his chair before asking, “Coffee, Douglas?”

  Before he could respond Sarll looked up. “So you’d like to borrow another $100,000, Mr. Aspine?”

  “That’s right; I’ve discussed it with Jonathan. I thought I’d get the documentation out of the way today.”

  “What documentation? We’re not even close to approval. Why do you need the loan?” Sarll enquired, frowning.

  Fuck! Jonathan hadn’t warned him about this, and now refused or was too scared to make eye contact. “Well, the value of my house has risen by $130,000 in the last year, and I just wanted to realize some of the increased equity. Is there a problem?” Aspine asked, through perfectly capped white teeth.

  “Mr. Aspine, we lent you $350,000 to help you buy your house for $400,000 nearly six years ago. You’ve increased the loan every year since, and you now owe us $750,000. That’s right isn’t it?”

  “Look, the house is worth a million dollars now. What’s your problem?” Aspine nonchalantly drawled, trying to keep the terseness out of his voice.

  Sarll paused, perusing the file again. “You’re general manager of Biotech Products Limited and earned $400,000 last year.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you owe the bank another $100,000 on your credit card. What do you do with your money? With a salary like that you should be reducing your loans, not increasing them.”

  Fuck again. Jonathan had probably been thinking about his forthcoming retirement and hadn’t warned him about this ambush. What could he tell this prick? He had to make the lease payments on his wife’s Merc, there were three sets of private school fees, there were the other credit cards the bank didn’t know about, $10,000 in private golf club fees, and then there was his mistress, Charlie, and the cost of renting her apartment and MGB. Didn’t this guy realize the suit he was wearing was an Armani? Everything was essential; there was no scope for savings. “I pay a huge amount of income tax, and the company takes a lot in superannuation contributions.” he muttered.

  “I’ve got a few applications in for CEOs positions which I’m confident about. If one of them is successful I’ll be on a million dollar plus salary package.”

  “You can’t save anything on a $400,000 salary? What you’re telling me is simply not possible. You don’t need a higher-paying job, but you do need to cut your expenses,” Sarll snapped, his face filled with righteous indignation. “Besides, you’ve been unsuccessfully applying for CEOs positions ever since you started banking with us, and at forty-five you’re not getting any younger.”

  Aspine felt the colour rush to his cheeks, and he wanted to slam his fist into Sarll’s sneering face. Instead he pushed his large toned body back into his chair, ran his hands through his thick black hair, and sighed in exasperation before saying, “Do I have to go to another bank?”

  “You aren’t going to find another bank that’ll take you on. Not when they know, what we know.” Sarll laughed, flicking through the file.

  Anger and desperation welled up inside Aspine. There was $15,000 in overdue school fees, other house-hold bills of $10,000, and he owed his stockbroker $35,000 on a losing trade. “That’s what you say,” he said contemptuously. “Are you going to give me the loan?”

  “No, we’re not, and you’ll have to enter into a debt reduction program with us.”

  Aspine had taken enough. He jumped up, gripped the desk and eyeballed Sarll. His Grecian nose and handsome features, now contorted in rage, looked ugly as he shouted, “Why don’t you go and fuck yourself, you beady-eyed little bean-counter?”

  Jonathan Bardon leapt up and placed his pudgy wrinkled hands on top of Aspine’s arm, as if to restrain him.

  “It’s alright, Jonathan, I’m not going to hurt him.”

  “Hurt me? What are you, some type of thug? We have laws to stop people like you. You lay a hand on me and I’ll see you in jail,” Sarll said, his eyes blinking rapidly.

  “I’ll have all of my accounts closed within sixty days, and you know what you can do with your bank,” Aspine shouted, as he turned and stormed out of the office.

  The heat off the bitumen was stifling as he sat in the Beemer listening to the messages on his mobile, of which only the last held any interest. He hit the ignition and felt a gust of hot air before the air conditioning kicked in. He sighed with relief as he punched the recall button. “Jeremy Smythe,” the refined English voice responded.

  “Jeremy, it’s Doug Aspine returning yours.”

  “Thanks for returning my call, Douglas. I had a phone call from Mercury Properties regarding their CEO’s position. I’m sorry, they really liked you, but you don’t have any CEO experience and, well, they’ve gone with a proven performer.”

  “Who did they appoint?” Aspine asked, trying to conceal his disappointment.

  “William Norton? Do you know him?”

  “Fuck, Bill Norton, he must be pushing sixty. What are they doing?”r />
  “As a matter of fact he’s sixty-one, but he’s still very fit, very switched on and, more importantly, he’s been a CEO for the past twenty years.”

  “Don’t give me that shit! I’d buy and sell him ten times over on my worst day. Jesus, what are you doing letting them appoint a bloody geriatric?”

  “Settle down. You were very close and I pushed hard for you, because I thought you were the best candidate, but in the end it’s the client who makes the final decision.”

  “And you still get your big fat fee no matter who gets the job, don’t you?”

  “Douglas, Douglas. That’s very offensive, but I’m going to overlook it, because of your obvious disappointment,” Smythe responded, in a slightly miffed tone.

  Don’t lose it now Aspine told himself. He needed these pricks, but one day he wouldn’t, and then he’d no longer have to put up with their bullshit. “Sorry Jeremy, you’re right, that was uncalled for. You did a great job for me. I appreciate it.”

  “Do you have anything else on?”

  “Yes, I’ve applied for the CEO’s position with Genilab through one of your competitors, Sainsbury & Co.”

  “Oh, I know about that, and they’ve already made an appointment. I’m sorry.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The CEO head-hunting industry is very small and, how might I put this? Incestuous. We all know about each other’s assignments. Douglas, I know you’re disappointed but you’re getting closer. Keep your chin up old boy.”

  “Sure, thanks again, Jeremy.”

  Aspine had barely finished the call when The Sting tone that his youngest son had downloaded to his mobile, echoed around the car.

  “Aspine,” he growled.

  “It’s Ricky Renshaw, from Euro Sports Cars, Mr. Aspine. I just wondered if you’re still interested in the Ferrari, because we’ve got another party showing interest.”

  A bloody car salesman trying to hustle a sale. Could the day get any worse? “Ricky, if you’ve got a buyer, then sell the bloody thing. Don’t waste my time.”

  “I didn’t think I was. Don’t you remember saying that if anyone else showed interest I should buzz you?” Renshaw said, his angst apparent.

  Fuck, I did say that. That little prick at the bank screwed up my memory. “Sorry, you’re right. I’m still interested, but I’ve had a temporary change of circumstances which is going to curtail me for a little while.

  “That’s okay, Mr. Aspine. You know it’s a one-off and, if they don’t import another one, this’ll be your only opportunity.”

  “Thanks, but I’m going to have to pass. If you’ve still got it in a few months’ time I might have another look. I have to fly. I’m running late for an appointment. Stay in touch, Ricky.”

  Charlie’s sexy sugary voice resonated from her answering machine but Aspine didn’t leave a message. He needed to see her − right now. Her mobile rang only twice. “Hello, darling,” she answered.

  He ignored her greeting. “Where are you? I need to see you.”

  “Where do you think I am? It’s nearly 40 and there’s not a cloud in the sky.”

  “You’re at the pool.”

  “That’s right, darling.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he said, unable to remove the tenseness from his voice. Christ, he was desperate for some relief.

  The building was a typical high-rise glass edifice which bordered the up-market suburbs of Prahran and Toorak. He stopped in the driveway, swiped his security card and waited for the metal grill roller to the basement car-park to rise. Charlie’s bright red MGB was next to the lift-well and he parked alongside it, before inserting his security card in the slot next to the elevators. He hit level twenty, the rooftop, and alighted onto artificial grass surrounded by potted palms. There was a small gymnasium to the right and a sauna, spa and twenty-metre pool with the customary deck lounges, and a barbecue area to the left. She was lazing in the shallow end of the pool and, even through the aqua, he could see the striking contrast between her dark brown skin and white micro bikini. She heard his footsteps and gazed up at him. “Are you coming in?” she smiled mischievously.

  “I need to see you in the apartment.”

  She climbed up the steps of the pool and his eyes took everything in. She was superb: long ash-blonde hair, a provocative, teasing smile, a tiny waist and a lean, tight body, disproportionately large breasts, and slender toned legs. As she slipped her feet into a pair of sandles, he ogled her still-dripping body and the tiny thong that was meant to cover her private parts. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t?”

  “My Mum’s coming over for lunch in about fifteen minutes. We can’t go to the apartment,” she said, smiling at his obvious discomfort.

  “Fuck! How long has this been going on?” He scowled, his face ugly with frustration.

  “It’s her birthday. She’s fifty-two today. I haven’t seen you for a week and you didn’t say you were coming, so I organized lunch. Doug, I can’t plan my life around what you might do. You have to tell me; you have to let me know.”

  He silently cursed. Christ, the apartment, the MGB and her other expenses set him back sixty grand a year, and now she was saying that he’d have to give her notice when he wanted a screw. Fuck that. “Why don’t you phone and tell her you’re not feeling well?”

  “It’s too late and, besides, that’d only make her want to come over even more. Why don’t you throw your clothes off and jump in? I’ll make you feel good, real good.”

  “Yeah, and what if some prick comes around the corner and sees me starkers, bonking you in the middle of the pool?”

  She was totally uninhibited and giggled at him. Maybe it was the twenty-year age difference, but he knew that he just couldn’t perform, knowing that someone might decide to use the pool while they were hard at it. He glared at her. “Fuck this. When I found you no other prick would’ve paid for your abortion, no other prick would’ve set you up in a life of luxury, and no other prick would’ve looked after you like me.”

  “Yes, and no other prick promised me that he’d ditch his wife and marry me as soon as he could,” she said, for the first time not smiling.

  “Fuck this,” he growled, heading toward the elevators. He hoped she would call him back, and say she was going to get rid of her mum, but he heard nothing.

  He hadn’t thought it possible, but the day was getting worse. Stress and frustration were synonymous with his psyche, and it briefly crossed his mind to go home and try it on with Barbara. It had been ages since they’d had anything resembling sex, and her life now seemed to revolve around the kids, her girlfriends and the painful gym workouts she put herself through. She was still a good looking woman, but held no appeal for him. He cursed Charlie, slamming his fist into the passenger seat. He pointed the BMW toward Elsternwick where the only publicly-listed brothel in the world, The Daily Planet, was located in the appropriately named Horne Street. The shares had come on the market at $2.05 but now, some eighteen months later, were trading at a measly 40 cents, and a lot of punters had lost their money. Who said sex sells, he thought? It had just gone two o’clock when he pulled up in Horne Street and the heat shimmered off the near-melting bitumen. As he was getting out of the car, his mobile rang and, while tempted not to answer, the name on the screen was that of his boss, Bob Dwyer. “Yeah Bob, what’s up?”

  “Where are you? You haven’t forgotten we’ve got an appointment with the drug people from Sigma at two-thirty have you?”

  “Of course not,” he lied. “I had some private business with my bankers that over-ran a little. I’m on my way.”

  “Well make it in a hurry, because you’re going to have to brief me on the key points that we’ll be covering.”

  “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes,” Aspine said, casting a longing look at The Daily Planet before hitting the accelerator hard and burning rubber. In the semi-peak hour traffic it was a thirty-minute drive to Biotech’s offices.

  The meeting with
the Sigma executives went very well and Aspine managed to bluff his way through it with no preparation. He was more worried about why Bob Dwyer, the seventy-year-old founder, majority shareholder and CEO of Biotech, wanted to see him in the morning. Dwyer was lean, fit and could easily pass for mid-fifties. More concerning for his employees was that he was still sharp, very sharp, and had an uncanny knack of detecting bullshit.

  Aspine thought about visiting Charlie on the way home, but he was still pissed off with her, especially about what she had said about his promise to marry her. Christ, she couldn’t have been stupid enough to believe that bullshit. He had been half-pissed when he said it, and just presumed that she would realize he was talking crap. If she didn’t watch out, she’d find herself replaced by a younger more appreciative mistress.

  The attraction of The Daily Planet had passed. It would now be packed with punters all looking for a fix, and the thought of batting second or third or even further down the list held no appeal. The drive along the glorious tree-lined St Kilda Road promenade toward his house in Malvern was relaxing, but the image of Colin Sarll would not leave him and he felt the stress and tension starting to return. His thoughts were interrupted by the ring tone of his mobile. “Hello, Jeremy. Why the late call? Have the people at Mercury Properties had second thoughts?” He laughed.

  The pompous voice that came over the speakerphone was unusually strained. “That’s not really funny. William Norton had a heart attack while running around the Botanic Gardens today, and dropped dead.”

  “Fuck! It was over 40 today. What was he doing running in that type of heat?”

  “I told you he was a fitness fanatic. I guess he never anticipated going like that. Anyhow, the people at Mercury phoned and told me that I mustn’t lose you.”

  “Christ, this is the last way you want to win a job,” Aspine said, thinking something had finally gone right in what had been an otherwise shithouse day.

  “Yes I know, Douglas, but it’s not as straightforward as it seems. They’ve appointed another firm of head-hunters to help them. It seems that you’re not their ideal candidate, but if they can’t find anyone better, you’ve got the job.”