THE TAINTED TRUST (Volume 2 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 88

         Toronto. Friday, September 14. Nine, A.M.

Phillip entered Mike's office. He had a mission. "I had to come to the office to pick up my paycheck...So, I thought I would drop in and ask if you gave the money to your charity," he said, his hands in his pockets and squirming uneasily.

Mike looked up, glared at him, then threw his pen to the desk. "It might surprise you to learn that your friend Visconti spent the last ten years losing almost half of your money in senseless investments. To complete the job, he's embezzled what's left of it and fucked off to Europe."

"How do you know?" Phillip asked, stunned, disappointed and astonished that Visconti would do such a thing and that Mike would know.

"I called him earlier today. He took perverse pleasure in rubbing it in my face." Mike pointed to the couch. "Sit down. I have something far more important to tell you." He waited until Phillip was seated, then leveled his blue eyes at his step-son. "You should also know that Visconti has a hundred thousand dollar contract on your life. He wants you dead."

Phillip flashed a nervous smile. "I think you're full of shit! There's no way he's gonna kill me. He's gonna..."

"He's going to do what, help you get your money? I know all about your little agreement with Visconti. I also know you had no intention of ever changing your mind about the money...Maybe Visconti would be doing me a favor," he said, shaking his head in disgust.

Tears appeared in Phillip's eyes as he clenched his teeth and fists. "I hate your guts!" he shouted. "You were never a father to me. You were always more interested in messing with my life." He pointed his index finger at Mike. "Now I'm going to mess with yours." He sprang to his feet, ran from the office and headed for his company van. He slammed the door, started the engine and jerked the gearshift into drive. He stomped on the accelerator to the floor with his foot, causing the rear wheels to screech in agony as they laid strips of rubber on the parking lot. "I'll show those bastards!" he muttered, his eyes glazed, his fingers applying a death grip on the steering wheel.

Phillip once again faced David Savage in the regional office of Revenue Canada. Savage had turned on a tape recorder in anticipation of what Phillip was about to say. "Now Mister Servito, you said you had something to tell me," he prompted.

Phillip nodded, his face still crimson with anger. "Yah. You remember I told you I might know where the money my real father left me is? Well all of a sudden I found it." He paused, grinning at Savage and taking sadistic pleasure in the delay.

"You found it! Where?" Savage asked, prompting with his hands, urging Phillip to continue.

"My stepfather's been hiding it all these years. It's in a trust in New York."

"Where in New York?"

"Louis Visconti manages it. He works for a company by the name of Mara, Griesdorf and Visconti. His office is in the World Trade Center."

"How were you able to find it?" Savage asked, continuing to prompt with his hands.

"Doesn't matter. What does matter is that Visconti scooped all of the money and went to Europe with it."

"How do you know that?"

"My stepfather just told me."

"How does he know?"

"Visconti just ruined his day with that news," Phillip hissed, frowning in frustration. "I think it was yesterday."

"How do you know it was yesterday?"

"Because that's what my stepfather just told me."

"Do you or your stepfather know where in Europe Louis Visconti went?"

"I don't, and I don't know if he does or not."

"Do you have anything further to add?" Savage asked, disappointed not to have gleaned any further knowledge.

"Nope. I think that's it."

"Does anyone else know of the existence or location of this money?"

"I don't know."

"Does your stepfather know you're talking to us?"

"Nope."

"Thank you, Mister Servito. You've been most helpful. I'm sure others in this department will want to talk to you about this. Are you still at the same address?"

"Yup."

"You're free to go now."

Phillip climbed into his van and headed west on the Gardiner Expressway. He was startled to hear a hoarse male voice, close to his right ear. "Don't turn around or I'll blow your ear off, kid. I have a gun pointed right at it."

Terrified, Phillip glanced in the rear view mirror to see a man wearing dark sun glasses. His long straight gray hair extended below a light brown fedora. His teeth were crooked and stained. A deep scar decorated his left cheek.

"Just keep driving this thing until I tell you to stop."

Phillip's body stiffened. While he focused on the road with his eyes, his mind focused on the gut-wrenching possibility that Mike's warning was about to happen. He was going to die.

He was forced to continue driving until he entered an auto wrecking yard in the northeast end of Hamilton. Following orders, he drove behind a large corrugated metal building. The adjacent yard was strewn with rusted metal, the ground saturated with an ugly mixture of oil and water. "Stop right here and get out," the man bellowed.

His heart pounding, body shaking, knees close to buckling, Phillip stopped the van and climbed out. His passenger followed him out the same door, then pointed his gun at Phillip's heart and pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession. As the bullets pierced his heart, Phillip's body jerked violently, then slumped to the ground. The man lifted the lifeless body into the van, then drove to the side door of the metal building. Two men hurried from the building, removed the body from the van, and carried it inside. There, the wounds were exposed, the body photographed, then stuffed into a heavy steel drum. The drum was sealed, then hydraulically crushed to a fraction of its original size. It was dropped into a second steel drum which was subsequently filled with cement, then sealed.

The drum was driven to a wharf and loaded onto a small fishing vessel. The vessel traversed Burlington Bay and headed under the Burlington Skyway, eastward into Lake Ontario. When it was almost out of sight of land, the drum was committed to the deep.