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

Once inside the building, to save time, Hamilton didn’t take the usual route to his desk but entered his place of work by a staff entrance next to the News Hub––the nerve center where the paper was put together. It sat beneath a cut-out in the floor above, the edges of which were lined with downward-facing screens showing national and international television news broadcasts. He weaved his way through vacated desks, each laden with large two- or three-screen computer displays and messy stacks of papers. Most of the staff were at morning briefings. Those who remained nodded to him as he passed them. It was obvious he was heading toward the glass aquarium which overlooked the hub and from where Lawrence presided.

The editor wore his default expression of distrust as he beckoned to come in and sit down in front of him at his desk. The look, derived from years of cynicism born of documenting crime and the manipulations of politicians, seemed to be etched into his face amongst the furrows in his skin. The distrust was a two-way street as far as Hamilton was concerned. He understood the pressures: traditional newspaper readership was dwindling and the paper’s foray into digital––attempting to reduce serious journalism into bite-size chunks and trying to hitch a ride on the social media bandwagon––had not gone well. And, of course, there were investors to report to. Somewhere along the way, Lawrence had lost his passion for exposing the truth.

Lawrence flipped his upside-down smile for a brief gesture of welcome. “You’ve been accessing our press database last night with a lot of searches linked to the Supreme group of companies. You know those companies belong to Miguel Vargas, Paul,” he said accusingly.

“Sure,” Hamilton said, failing to completely hide his surprise. He had always suspected access to the database was logged, but had never imagined that all his research of the previous night would have been reviewed in the space of several hours and flagged to the editor. Obviously, some kind of alarm must be in place, monitoring searches on Vargas or El Gordito, he thought to himself. “Since when is a reporter doing some research an issue for the editor?” he fired back.

“It isn’t, but anything to do with El Gordito is highly sensitive for us.” Lawrence gave a taut smile.

“Sensitive? Why?”

Lawrence’s mouth tightened. “Look, you’re a good journalist, Paul, and maybe you’ve got something on Vargas. God knows he’s guilty as sin. But we’re on a knife-edge as it is, and his lawyer can bury us in court—even if we find good evidence against him. We wouldn’t be able to pay the legal fees, yet alone any damages, if it all goes wrong. It would take the paper down.” He then changed his tone to a slightly warmer one. “Hand over what you have to me, Paul. I will take a look at it and assess the risk. What’s your angle?”

Hamilton felt increasingly uneasy. Was this pure damage control, or had El Gordito’s tentacles of corruption gotten to Lawrence? He had to choose his words carefully now. He most definitely couldn’t state he was working a source. “People are overdosing on a new drug that’s hitting the streets, and in some cases dying. It’s in the papers and online. El Gordito was an obvious candidate. So, I was doing some fresh research on his businesses and crime history. I had nothing specific to link him to the new drug. I was just fishing.”

The editor frowned, a harshness returning to his voice. “Leave it, Paul, or you’re fired, understand? Don’t go after him. It’s not just about the paper; you could get yourself killed.”

Hamilton nodded. He found Lawrence’s sudden concern for his safety incredulous and he was now more determined than ever to investigate the drug deaths and, if what Jennifer had told him was true, link them to Vargas. He would get to the bottom of her story, if not for this paper then for one with an editor who still had the balls to tackle dangerous criminals.

That evening he would make a trip to New Jersey and scope out the fulfillment center.

When Jennifer woke up, John was lying on the floor beside her bed with his eyes shut. His glowing form was sunk slightly into the floor. She figured it was normal, whatever that meant now, and decided not to wake him over it. The last few days had been exhausting for both of them.

On the way to the bathroom, she stopped by her father’s bedroom to check up on him after suddenly feeling breathless at the thought that somehow Santiago’s spirit might have possessed someone and got to him during the night. It wasn’t until she peered through the slightly open door into his room and found him safely asleep that her breathing returned to normal.

She found her laptop in the kitchen and fired it up. In her previous life, she would have checked her Facebook account to see what her friends in Miami were up to. Now she didn’t bother. Nobody could possibly have a more dramatic life than she had. Instead, she went straight to her email account. She wanted to see if Paul Hamilton had come up with anything. At the top of the list in her inbox there was a new message, all of it in bold lettering. It was from Hamilton: no subject line, no date, just the time, 4:01 a.m. that morning. She paused before opening it, concerned that he may have backed out of the story.

She double-clicked on the message. The list of emails in her inbox was immediately replaced by a message consisting of two paragraphs of text. She read it intently. There was no greeting, no other pleasantries. Hamilton’s usual style. At the start of the message was a link: Paul Hamilton shared “Photos” with you - Download Album.

She immediately pressed the link so the file transfer could take place.