Disaster: Filthy Dirty Rock Stars, page 1
Disaster
Filthy Dirty Rock Stars
TB Mann
Heart Sisters Publishing Inc
Copyright © 2023 by TB Mann
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Ebook ISBN 978-1-990671-05-0
Paperback ISBN
Printed in Canada
Published by Heart Sisters Publishing Inc
Visit at: www.tbmann.com
Disclaimer
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contents
1. Madison
2. Madison
3. Gage
4. Madison
5. Madison
6. Madison
7. Kolt
8. Madison
9. Liam
10. Madison
11. Madison
About the Author
Also by TB Mann
Author’s Note
This book is written in Canadian English which is a horse of a different colour. It isn’t American English, nor is it British English. Instead it is a mishmash of the two along with some French thrown in. What we spell in British English vs American English also changes on where you grew up in Canada and when. So sometimes it will be toward and sometimes it’s towards… whichever flows better off the tongue—there’s that French influence.
And to make things even more interesting we use a mixture of Imperial and Metric systems along with time depending on what we’re talking about.
So enjoy the ride!
About this book
Rock gods, Disaster Hamsters, are on the verge of imploding. Egos, drinking, partying, groupies, they all distractions from the real issue… her, the one that got away. And if they don’t get their proverbial sh*t together, the band won’t be hitting any charts. In fact, they’ll be hitting the unemployment line.
IslandFest is their last ditch effort to save themselves and the band. But when she shows up, danger nipping at her heels, will the guys be able to put everything aside to help or will they live up to their public personas as the bad boys of the rock scene?
Rock Stars. Girls. Drinks. and one week on an island.
What could be better?
Welcome to IslandFest, a seven-day rock and roll experience with dozens of bands from around the world, and over a hundred thousand fans.
In the tropical heat, with gorgeous musicians and stunning beachgoers, things are bound to get sticky… in more ways than one.
1
Madison
The booming sound of my frantic heartbeat filled my ears, drowning out all the other noises of the building late at night. Sweat dripped off my forehead and my hands shook as I shuffled through the papers in the files looking for the ones, I’d caught a glimpse of earlier in the day. Please. Please let them be here. But my spirits sank as I finished the third and final drawer in the filing cabinet without finding them. They needed to be here. I needed proof. If not, they would never believe me. Even with the papers, I didn’t know if they would.
My last hope became the desk. Not that I held out much in the way that it would yield the results I searched for. Papers like that wouldn’t be left in the open and there was no locked drawer in this model. The last thing my boss would want was to have anyone be able to get their hands on proof of all the shady—and most likely illegal—practices he was into. With a frustrated sigh, I pulled open the last drawer in the desk. Had I really seen what I thought earlier that morning? Or was it all some crazy thing my mind concocted so that I’d put aside my misgivings and contact them?
I almost glanced over the pen that was laying against the side, but just as I went to shut the drawer, disappointed with my fruitless search, I tried to lift it. Working with pen and paper so much even in the digital age, I was always on the search for a more comfortable pen and this one looked interesting. I tried to lift it, but it barely budged. It was as if it had somehow become wedged. I gave it another yank. The pen came free sending me to the floor. My mouth hung open. This had to be it. If I were managing stolen money and skimming off the pot, I’d hide the non-doctored paperwork in a false bottomed drawer.
With a little bit of elbow grease, I managed to slide the broken false bottom open. Stacks of yellow file folders stared back at me. Shit. If he was skimming off all these accounts or even being paid for managing illegal accounts, then my boss was dirtier than I thought. And since this company was part of my inheritance, the idea that one of my employees could be dirty enraged me. Not that anyone at work knew I was a share owner. Grandpa made sure of that when he offered me the job and asked me to find out if any of my cousins or uncles were involved in some shady dealings. He didn’t trust their reports to the Board and since I never had any dealings with my father’s family, it was easy enough to insert me into the company using my maternal grandmothers maiden name as my last name. After all, it had been my name.
I flipped through the files, taking note of the various names as I searched for the one I wanted. The name that haunted my nightmares. Dean Harker the manager of Disaster Hamsters.
When I found the file, I laid it on the desktop and opened it, snapping pictures of each page with the camera on my phone. I’d already set it up to send the pictures directly to a cloud storage and to delete the picture from my device just in case I was caught by security.
With each flip of the page, my anger grew. How could these men steal so much from my guys? Not that they were my guys anymore, but I still thought of them that way. I had to because one day I’d have to explain to my precious little boy who his fathers were. Yes fathers. Without a DNA test, I couldn’t say for certain who his biological father was since he took after me in the looks department, but it could only be one of the four. There hadn’t been anyone else at the time.
As I slipped the file back into the pile, I noticed three more files with a name that scared me. The names were synonymous with organized crime syndicates that made their money doing horrible shit including drugs, weapons, and human trafficking. You didn’t even have to be a person who liked to read true crime stories or about organized to crime to recognize them even if I was one who read all those things. Having studied finance at university and with my parents having instilled in me the need to support charities that helped those who were being victimized by crime organizations, I’d done a little extra study on how they laundered their money. That knowledge came in handy when grandfather asked me to do this little favour for him. It was the least I could do after he and grandmother came through for me when I found myself pregnant and alone.
Even though I didn’t have time left, I opened the three files and took pictures of each page as fast as I could. Just as I was shoving the last piece of paper into the file, I heard the rumbling sound of my boss’ voice as he spoke to the night guard.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I chanted that over and over as I dropped the files back into the false drawer. They weren’t in order, but I prayed that my boss wouldn’t notice the changes when he pulled them out next time. It wasn’t as if he had them in alphabetical order or anything.
I just managed to close the real drawer when my boss pushed open his office door. “Maddy?” I held back the cringe at the way he said my name. All sickly sweet and breathless as if I was some sort of sexual toy for him. Fortunately for him, he never said or did anything that was a reportable sexual harassment offence. Everything he did toed the line but didn’t cross it even if all the women knew what he meant or was thinking. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”
Thankfully I’d prepared for this. I’d planned each step of tonight’s activity with as much care as I could. I pointed to the folder I’d placed on his desk when I first walked into his office not even ten minutes prior. “I was just dropping off the file you asked for. I hadn’t finished it before the daycare called about my son being sick so once he went to bed, feeling better, I left him with a sitter so I could finish it off. It’s all ready for your meeting tomorrow.”
He shoved his hand through his perfectly styled hair. For someone who was involved in some shady shit, he didn’t look the part. I would have assumed that a finance guy with ties to organized crime and who was stealing from clients—that part I assumed, but maybe his accounts were added fees he earned for keeping their books—would be balding, have a beer gut, and sweat a lot from the stress. But not him. No. He looked like he stepped right off the cover of GQ, with a perfectly tailored suit over a body that frequented a gym with a personal trainer, and who invited people to relax around him due to his disarming smile.
But as I watched him, I noticed the beads of sweat on his temple. Shit. Does he suspect I know? I needed to leave, to make him think I knew nothing, that I hadn’t just been riffling through his private files. With a surprising steady hand, I flipped open my file. “Since you’re here, I put a summary sheet on the front with the points, facts, and figures that you said you wanted at your fingertips. Underneath, on the other pages, I organized all the information I could gather on the hedge fund company and each Board Member. Then I have the historical data of the company along with
Once I completed my explanation I stepped away from the desk. “Now that’s it done and I don’t have to leave you this note of explanation I was writing”—I balled up my prepared paper—“I’m going to head home to my son. I don’t want to be away from him for too long when he’s sick.”
As I walked past him, he placed his hand on my shoulder—an unwanted touch considering how slimy he was, but again, it was in a completely neutral spot and accompanied by a look of concern. “Of course. I hope he’s feeling better tomorrow. In fact, since you came in tonight to make sure I was prepped for tomorrow, why don’t you take tomorrow off? Stay home with your son and give him a little extra mommy time.”
“Thank you. I think I’ll do just that.” I smiled as I continued to the door. Each step measured and controlled despite the urge to run. I needed to be away from him so he wouldn’t see the beads of sweat that I was sure covered my skin or the speed at which my heart raced.
The moment I closed the door behind me, I collapsed against the wall. My chest heaved as I struggled to catch my breath. If I’d ever harboured secret dreams of becoming a spy, I’d just proven that that career path wasn’t for me. Give me my numbers and routine. That was more than enough excitement for me.
Yet even as I walked out of the building and grabbed a passing cab, my fingers tingled with suppressed excitement. What Dean and Greg were doing was horrible, but tracing their accounts and finding out who all was involved, now that was something I couldn’t wait to sink into.
So while being a spy was out, maybe a job as an analyst would work. Something to think about for the future… but after I found where they’d hid all of Disaster Hamsters’ money.
2
Madison
That first week after I’d broken into Greg’s’ office and found the files, I’d walked around on eggshells, worried that he’d know I knew everything—even though I didn’t. But everything appeared normal. My boss had been just as much of an ass as usual. His flirting remained the same—creepy—and he didn’t pull me into his office or new projects any more than normal.
With an uneventful week behind me, I would have thought that the following weeks would have been less stressful. I mean, I’d gotten away with breaking into his files and my boss was one of those men who couldn’t keep his temper in check. I also didn’t think he was one who could keep a secret either, but those files proved me wrong. Or maybe they hadn’t.
After I’d put my son to bed one night during that second week, I looked at one of the files related to organized crime. Money that we should not have been managing or even keeping account of for accounting purposes. Just having them as clients could have easily triggered a police investigation and frozen all our assesses as well as created a media storm that would have bankrupt the business. In the margins, I discovered a couple of coded notations that appeared to infer that someone much higher than him in the food chain at the company knew about the illegal dealings with organized crime.
My heart sunk deep into the pit in my stomach. What in the world was going on in my grandfather’s company? Did he know? Was this all a test for me to see if I’d put the family over what was right? Was this why my father left, but didn’t really? After all, he never really turned down their money even if it had been a trust in his name. And as I continued to read the files I’d copied; I grew more concerned. What I had gathered appeared to be the tip of the iceberg. Too bad I didn’t know what it all meant.
With more questions than answers I knew I needed more information and access to more files. The question then became how to get it. None of the files I’d copied were related to any of my current client files. Not that it meant that I wasn’t working with doctored files without knowing which also meant I needed to get back into my boss’ office to grab pictures of all the other files in his drawer.
So instead of my stress levels decreasing, the tension ramped up. During coffee and lunch breaks, I’d make up some excuse to stay an extra few minutes, giving me a quick chance to copy each of the doctored files my co-workers were dealing with. And since I couldn’t do it with each coffee or lunch break, it took me almost two weeks to gather them. Yet even with all my care, the paranoia increased.
In my condo, at night, after Hayden went to bed, I spent until the wee hours of the morning, researching, deciphering codes, comparing the doctored and non-doctored files to each other, all with the hope of being able to discover where Disaster Hamsters money went and to gather enough evidence to take those responsible to court. But what I unearthed fed into my paranoia.
Yes, organized crime was dangerous and deadly to cross, but they weren’t the only ones with skin to lose in this game. One in particular, a skilled computer tech and suspected assassin, had me removing and erasing all the files from my laptop before pulling the battery from it. I then placed all my work on an older laptop that contained a decent accounting program which wasn’t web based and I made sure to disable the internet on the laptop. As for the research, I began to use the local library and their public computers for my searches. I even wrapped a scarf around my hair and put on a different top before accessing those computers. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best I could do. The last thing I wanted was to leave an electronic trail that led directly back to my house, to me, and most importantly to my son. I needed to protect him at all costs, but even with that, I couldn’t let it drop. Part of protecting him would only occur if I got to the bottom of what was happening and finding out who all were involved.
To do that, I needed the rest of the files. Or at least the ones my boss had since I was no longer convinced that he was the only manager involved in this mess. But getting back into my boss’ office without him being there proved difficult. I couldn’t stay late more than normal, or people would have grown suspicious and I didn’t want to add to the concern. Many of my co-workers were already beginning to ask me if everything was alright at home because I appeared jumpy and not as detail focused as usual. I managed to explain it away as being a single mom to a three-year-old who was sick, but that excuse wouldn’t hold out for long.
But then Lady Luck struck. Greg, along with some other managers, were pulled into an afternoon staff meeting with the company board and I had some files that my boss wanted to be on his desk by the end of the day.
As I stepped into his office, the tension inside me was wound tighter than the first time. My heart jackhammered and sweat beaded in areas where I didn’t even know you could sweat. So much more was at stake with this retrieval. One might also call it stealing, but for me, in my head, I was just taking what was mine by virtue of who I was even if people didn’t know it.
This time I knew where to look which made the whole experience quicker. While keeping an eye on the door, I pulled out the drawer and slid open the secret compartment. To my relief, it was still broken, leading me to hope that my earlier foray had gone unnoticed. It took longer to snap pictures from each file due to the number of files, but by the time I finished, I felt hope that eluded me before. This would hopefully be enough to give me some firm leads and answers. Or at least enough to take it to those who could do something legally about it all.
It was four days later when I first began to suspect that my paranoia wasn’t for nothing. During my morning coffee break, I noticed what I thought was a tail. The same men were seated at the same table in the café across the street from my office building where I and my co-workers frequented. Not something out of the ordinary since it was frequented by many of the nearby offices when people wanted to get out of their buildings. But normally it was impossible to get the same table even if you came daily. So while it wasn’t anything big, it was enough to tweak my interest. And with my hyper-vigilante state—after everything I’d read about what happened to people who exposed organize crime dealings—I searched for them everywhere, praying that I wouldn’t come across them again.
