Earthbound : A gripping crime thriller full of twists and supernatural suspense Fynn Perry (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

Cautiously, the host ventured through a corridor with thick carpet and mirror paneling. Ahead of them was another heavy oak door.

Inside the room, carpet gave way to a polished oak floor covered with large, antique, Persian-looking rugs with faded patterns. The walls were lined with fitted bookcases, also in oak, and the room smelled of cigar smoke. It was the type of gentleman’s club ‘power decor’ that had been popular in the nineties, John thought, and it was in stark contrast to the sleek, minimalistic lines of the DNA club. Clearly, The Accountant was a traditionalist, keen to display old-school muscle.

The focal point of the room was a huge, highly ornate, gilded desk. It was gaudy, obviously meant to be intimidating.

A voice came from an open doorway to the left of the desk. Then a chubby, bearded face with eyes like small buttons behind thick, black-rimmed glasses appeared. The face sat on top of a sizable, rotund body clad in a sharp suit. Most importantly, if this was The Accountant, he was not possessed, John noted with relief.

“Sit and wait,” the chubby man said in his remarkably deep voice as he disappeared into a private bathroom, closing the door behind him.

John could sense that the papers and contracts on the desk stirred his host’s curiosity. This was perfect; John was curious too. Disappointingly, John also felt a sense of fear overcome his host. The host had reminded himself of the presence of the small camera on the ceiling and he was no longer willing to take a look.

But John had another plan. Jennifer had confirmed, not that he had any doubts, that spirits didn’t show up on camera feeds. However, the mortal host and his sudden passing out would, of course, be registered. Despite the risk, John decided to leave the guard.

The bodyguard now sat limply back in his chair with his heavy head hung to the right, pulling on his torso, almost like it was willing it to fall out of the chair. His build was, however, solid enough to anchor him in his chair for a while and John made maximum use of the limited time. He was immediately at the table, scanning the documents, and his eye was drawn to a pile of vendor invoices similar to the ones he had seen in Donovan’s flat. All were addressed to Supreme Bars & Clubs as the payee, the same entity that owned the Irish pub, but named DNA as the place where services were to be rendered, or deliveries made. One of them was a Supreme Security invoice which looked identical in format to the one he had seen in Donovan’s flat. A second pile of documents had just caught John’s eye when he heard the toilet flush. Immediately, he looked at the guard. His upper body was still slowly lurching forward, threatening to fall from the chair. Assuming he had the time, it would take The Accountant to wash his hands, John looked again at the second pile of papers. One of them was a document headed ‘INTERCOMPANY LOAN.’ John’s father had told him about such agreements being widely used as an accounting tool to move money between companies belonging within the same group. Beneath the title, the parties were defined as SUPREME HOLDINGS as debtor and SUPREME BARS & CLUBS as creditor.

The registered address of Supreme Holdings showed 420D Park Avenue, Delaware––the same address Jennifer had found earlier online. This now left no doubt in John’s mind that his father’s friend had gone behind his back and had sold the pub to El Gordito. Beneath the agreement was another Supreme Security invoice, which was issued to Supreme Logistics. The address of the property stated as being provided with security services was Supreme Logistics Fulfillment Center, Unit 25, Bellevue Logistics Park, Bellevue Lane, Newstone, New Jersey. It was the same address as the liquor merchants that John had seen on the truck driver’s transport bill for the beer kegs. El Gordito must be transporting the pills into Manhattan from some kind of distribution center out of town.

The guard lurched a little more. John made the surface of his fingers interact with the remaining invoices as he flicked through them. They were from the same type of companies as the first pile, but there were also invoices from Supreme Logistics made out to other companies which seemed to be household electrical, children’s toys, and alcohol retailers. He didn’t recognize any of the names. The invoices were for goods storage and transportation services, with delivery addresses in New York, including a few made out to DNA and the Irish pub, but also to addresses in other cities along the east coast such as Boston and Philly. There were at least fifty such invoices, he estimated.

As he moved back toward the guard, he quickly looked at the registered address of Supreme Logistics again to make sure he had gotten it right. He had––Suite 1023,124 East 53rd Street—just like the other companies with Supreme in their name.

As he re-possessed the guard, he saw the figure of The Accountant emerging from the bathroom. The bodyguard bolted upright and readjusted himself in his seat.

The Accountant eyed him suspiciously. “We not paying you enough to stay awake?” he chided as he lowered his expensively tailored backside into a sumptuously padded, leather swivel chair. “Hand over the inventory docket and transport bill,” he demanded as he leaned down to a low drawer in the desk from which he took out two hardcover ledgers. They were thick and old-fashioned, with a gold-inlaid swirl pattern on the covers. One had ‘DNA 1’ embossed on its spine, and the bore the word ‘OTHER 1.’ He opened ‘DNA 1’ first, exposing grid-lined pages with handwritten numbers in a table.

“When are you going to get a computer?” mocked the guard. John wondered if it was a good idea to rile the man.

“Heard of the NSA, DEA, and FBI?” the chubby man