Dead Wrong (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 7) Jack Patterson (good beach reads .txt) 📖

keep it hush-hush. Your reputation has earned you at least that much. But just tell people you’re writing a piece on the life and times of Kelvin Jameson, something like that. I don’t want this getting out. Lord knows I don’t want anyone at city hall or at this paper making our lives miserable. Got it?”

Cal nodded. “Got it.”

“Now get outta here.”

***

CAL RESISTED HIS BETTER judgment and drove straight toward Kelvin Jameson’s house. He didn’t know the address for most of D.C.’s star athletes since they lived scattered about in posh suburbs in either Maryland or Virginia. But almost everyone knew Jameson’s address thanks to a small fire a couple of years ago. Every news station reporter had a truck and cameras filming it all in its blazing glory. Fortunately, the fire department got it under control before the flames consumed the entire structure, saving most of it. Cal heard from several people on the scene that it was an intentional act, caused by Tonya Jameson—though none of that was ever reported publicly.

He cleared his throat and smoothed out his long sleeve Oxford shirt before ringing the doorbell. He waited a few moments before the plodding of heavy footsteps grew nearer. Then the door swung open.

“May I help you?” Tonya asked.

Taken aback by her appearance, Cal stammered. “Mrs. Jameson, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

With mascara streaking down her face and her hair disheveled, Tonya’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me. Who are you?”

“Cal Murphy with The Washington Times,” he said as he offered his hand. “I covered your husband on the Wizards.”

She ignored his hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk about your husband—”

“Late husband,” she interrupted him.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to talk about your late husband for a tribute piece I’m writing.”

Tonya began seething, taking short breaths and breathing through her teeth. “Get out, now!”

Cal had heard of Tonya’s reputation, but seeing her in action made him realize that the rumors were true—and likely painted her in a better light.

“Yes, ma’am,” Cal said as he turned to walk away. “Sorry to bother you. You have my condolences.”

The knocker rattled several times as she slammed the door shut.

Cal shuffled back to his car before he heard an odd sound that appeared to emanate from the Jameson house. He looked down the quiet street. It was empty, devoid of any prying eyes.

He went against his better judgment again, this time using a bank of hedges as a shield to creep back toward the house. He noticed one of the windows to the house on the side of the house was open. And there was that sound again. Laughter.

Not just a chuckle, but uproarious guffawing.

Cal slipped up against the house and slunk down just below the open window to avoid detection.

“What is it, baby?” a man’s voice asked.

I know that voice. Who is that? Cal didn’t have much time to ponder the answer as the conversation continued.

“Some stupid reporter,” Tonya answered. “He took off runnin’ once I turned on the water works and got angry.”

Cal heard the man laugh. “Another great performance.”

“Oscar worthy,” she quipped. A pause. “I never thought we’d get rid of him.”

Then then clink of two glasses toasting.

CHAPTER 3

SCOTT PERRY WALKED onto the veranda connected to the second story of his sprawling mansion. The sun glistened off the water below. He took a deep breath and inhaled the crisp spring air. For all the time he spent working to amass such a fortune on the backs of professional athletes, he rarely had time to enjoy what he had. He didn’t know how much longer he’d have to enjoy his riches either.

After he set his phone down on a table, he closed the french doors. He didn’t want his wife or his children to hear his phone call. For all the million dollar smiles he flashed in public, Perry likened himself to a bare-knuckled brawler in private negotiations. He fought for every dime his clients got in their pricey contracts. But he wasn’t always that way.

Twenty years ago, he became a sports agent after realizing his dream of becoming a wealthy lawyer was about as likely as winning the lottery. With a staunch work ethic, he learned he could put himself in position to become a partner at a major law firm and cash in. But nothing seemed certain. Sports agenting seemed far more certain. Work hard to secure a few clients, win big contracts, and instant success. Such victories at the negotiation table would lead to more high profile clients in search of larger contracts.

Today, he was a reviled agent with a roster that included a handful of players on the NBA All-Star team and NFL Pro-Bowlers. His legion of researchers compiled thousand-page reports with eye-popping metrics. He was so deft at manipulating statistics that he once convinced an NFL team that the place kicker he represented was one of the most valuable players on the team, resulting in a record-high contract for the position. Though beloved by most athletes, the fans, owners and media alike detested his tactics. Sporting News once named him The Worst Person in Sports for saddling the Buffalo Bills with a large contract for a free-agent quarterback who never panned out. The player’s burden on the team’s payroll kept the team mired in last place for half a decade before the team could shed him from its payroll.

But for all the animosity hurled at him by his detractors publicly, it was the sponsors who loathed him even more. His tactics of pitting shoe companies against each other to win a contract with an up-and-coming star athlete were legendary. Athletic apparel, watches, sports drinks, restaurant chains—they all fell victim to overpaying for an athlete’s endorsement because of Perry’s special talents.

Perry glanced at some of notes as he prepared to apply pressure yet again to one of the leading shoe companies in the market.

“How are you this morning, Scott?” asked Greg Billups, the advertising director for FTW Apparel