Read Online The Last Victim by Kevin O'Brien - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kevin O'Brien
Ads: Link
that would have landed some poor, anonymous nonwhite man in jail for at least two years.
Wisely, Eberhart chose not to run for office again—and he endorsed the candidacy of his buddy, Jim Foley.
Before retiring from Mobilink, Foley persuaded the board of directors to give him a nine-million-dollar bonus—in addition to his secured pension of $2.5 million a year. Then one of the last things Foley did as CEO was manipulate the books again and reward his board of directors with bonuses—while taking away the retirement and unemployment benefits for three-quarters of Mobilink’s workforce.
There was a story about Jim Foley speaking informally to a group of clerks during a tour at one of Mobilink’s terminals. It was after lunch, and Foley must have been drunk or very full of himself at the time. In his short talk, Foley compared himself to a proud Indian warrior chief, who would keep riding and riding his horse until it was dead, and then he would eat it. “You people are like my horse,” he concluded.
One clerk, a nine-year employee named Mike Nuegent, ceremoniously spat in his face. Two more quit on the spot. Mike Nuegent mysteriously died later when he plunged from the roof of an abandoned apartment building. The police ruled his death as a suicide.
Brad hired a couple of investigators to determine if the “horse” story was true. No one would go on record. Witnesses had been threatened or harassed. Even Mike Nuegent’s widow wouldn’t be quoted. Off the record, Mrs. Nuegent was certain her husband had been murdered.
It was clear to those who bothered to think beyond what the Foley media machine told them: Jim Foley would treat the people of Oregon as he had the bulk of Mobilink’s workforce. Only big business, special interest groups, and Jim Foley would benefit from his winning the Senate race. The rest of the state would be screwed.
Foley based his campaign on bringing back “family values” and lowering taxes. He even claimed that God wanted him to be Oregon’s senator. He’d given up drinking and found Jesus at just about the time he’d gone into politics. His campaign speeches were often sprinkled with references to God, morality, or the power of prayer.
Divorced during his Jim Beam days—and now remarried to a Good Christian Woman nineteen years younger than himself—Foley couldn’t reproach the “family values” of his opponent. Brad Corrigan was married to the same woman for eleven years with one child and another on the way. Moreover, Brad was devoted to his father—and to his twin sister and two nephews. He was untouchable.
Almost.
Brad said he was pretty certain Foley had investigators digging into his and Bridget’s past for something that might discredit them. Bridget had known as much when she went to Olivia Rankin’s funeral service yesterday. Yet she’d gone anyway—against Brad’s objections. Now she wished she hadn’t. Could that dark-haired stranger who had been staring at her during the service be working for Foley? And if he was a Foley spy, how much did he already know?
The phone rang, but Bridget didn’t make a move to answer it.
Brad stepped out of the bathroom. He was straightening his tie. “Maybe you should bring the troops back in,” he suggested.
“In a minute,” Bridget said soberly. She waited until the phone stopped ringing.
Eyes narrowed, Brad stared at her.
“I want to apologize,” she said finally.
He let out a little laugh. “What for?”
“You didn’t want me going to Olivia’s wake, but I went anyway. I was being selfish, trying to—exorcise my own demons from twenty years ago, and what happened at Gorman’s Creek.”
He glanced toward the door, then gave her a wary look. “Brigg—”
“Maybe I was rebelling against you,” she continued. “I’m not totally sure of my motives now. But I know, it was a bad decision to go. I hate the idea that one of Foley’s spies could easily have followed me there.”
Brad sat down next
Wisely, Eberhart chose not to run for office again—and he endorsed the candidacy of his buddy, Jim Foley.
Before retiring from Mobilink, Foley persuaded the board of directors to give him a nine-million-dollar bonus—in addition to his secured pension of $2.5 million a year. Then one of the last things Foley did as CEO was manipulate the books again and reward his board of directors with bonuses—while taking away the retirement and unemployment benefits for three-quarters of Mobilink’s workforce.
There was a story about Jim Foley speaking informally to a group of clerks during a tour at one of Mobilink’s terminals. It was after lunch, and Foley must have been drunk or very full of himself at the time. In his short talk, Foley compared himself to a proud Indian warrior chief, who would keep riding and riding his horse until it was dead, and then he would eat it. “You people are like my horse,” he concluded.
One clerk, a nine-year employee named Mike Nuegent, ceremoniously spat in his face. Two more quit on the spot. Mike Nuegent mysteriously died later when he plunged from the roof of an abandoned apartment building. The police ruled his death as a suicide.
Brad hired a couple of investigators to determine if the “horse” story was true. No one would go on record. Witnesses had been threatened or harassed. Even Mike Nuegent’s widow wouldn’t be quoted. Off the record, Mrs. Nuegent was certain her husband had been murdered.
It was clear to those who bothered to think beyond what the Foley media machine told them: Jim Foley would treat the people of Oregon as he had the bulk of Mobilink’s workforce. Only big business, special interest groups, and Jim Foley would benefit from his winning the Senate race. The rest of the state would be screwed.
Foley based his campaign on bringing back “family values” and lowering taxes. He even claimed that God wanted him to be Oregon’s senator. He’d given up drinking and found Jesus at just about the time he’d gone into politics. His campaign speeches were often sprinkled with references to God, morality, or the power of prayer.
Divorced during his Jim Beam days—and now remarried to a Good Christian Woman nineteen years younger than himself—Foley couldn’t reproach the “family values” of his opponent. Brad Corrigan was married to the same woman for eleven years with one child and another on the way. Moreover, Brad was devoted to his father—and to his twin sister and two nephews. He was untouchable.
Almost.
Brad said he was pretty certain Foley had investigators digging into his and Bridget’s past for something that might discredit them. Bridget had known as much when she went to Olivia Rankin’s funeral service yesterday. Yet she’d gone anyway—against Brad’s objections. Now she wished she hadn’t. Could that dark-haired stranger who had been staring at her during the service be working for Foley? And if he was a Foley spy, how much did he already know?
The phone rang, but Bridget didn’t make a move to answer it.
Brad stepped out of the bathroom. He was straightening his tie. “Maybe you should bring the troops back in,” he suggested.
“In a minute,” Bridget said soberly. She waited until the phone stopped ringing.
Eyes narrowed, Brad stared at her.
“I want to apologize,” she said finally.
He let out a little laugh. “What for?”
“You didn’t want me going to Olivia’s wake, but I went anyway. I was being selfish, trying to—exorcise my own demons from twenty years ago, and what happened at Gorman’s Creek.”
He glanced toward the door, then gave her a wary look. “Brigg—”
“Maybe I was rebelling against you,” she continued. “I’m not totally sure of my motives now. But I know, it was a bad decision to go. I hate the idea that one of Foley’s spies could easily have followed me there.”
Brad sat down next
Similar Books
