Masquerade Read online

  Masquerade

  Derek Masters

  Copyright © 2020 by Derek Masters

  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.

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  Contents

  Free Full-Length Novel

  1. Chloe

  2. Brandon

  3. Chloe

  4. Brandon

  5. Chloe

  6. Brandon

  7. Chloe

  8. Brandon

  9. Chloe

  10. Brandon

  11. Chloe

  12. Brandon

  13. Chloe

  14. Chloe

  15. Brandon

  16. Chloe

  17. Brandon

  Epilogue

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  Stalker

  Chapter 1: Nick

  Chapter 2: Nick

  About the Author

  Also by Derek Masters

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  Chapter 1

  Chloe

  Sitting in my room and scrolling through my Facebook feed is how I’ve occupied all of my time for the last few weeks. I’m living vicariously through my friends by looking at all the pictures and videos of their adventures. It’s really not fair. I’m supposed to be right there with them, having the time of my life, but instead, I’m stuck at home.

  All I’ve ever wanted to do since I was a little kid was be a journalist. I know that’s a strange ambition as most kids wish to be astronauts or athletes, but I didn’t have a typical upbringing. As the daughter of an aspiring politician, I was surrounded by the press almost as much as I was with my own family.

  It was fairly common for me to sneak out among the reporters and ask them questions about their jobs. On more than one occasion, I would actually grab a small notepad and an old Barbie microphone and sit in the back, acting like I was jotting down notes when my father was answering questions. Of course, it never took longer than a question or two before my mother realized I wasn’t at her side and had security come down to bring me back. Still, my childhood is where the obsession started.

  I remember the excitement I felt when I came home to find a packet sitting on the counter from Cornell University. I nearly cried when I read that I was being accepted into their liberal arts program. With a degree from such a great Ivy League school, I knew I’d have a lot of doors opened for me in the journalism world, and I was determined to work as hard as I could.

  The spring semester was almost over, and I was happy that my freshman year was coming to a close. I loved the school and everything about it, but I was ready for a break. Keeping my grades up meant lots of late-night studying and no fun whatsoever. Once finals were over, some of my girlfriends and I decided that we were going to let loose.

  We heard about a big end-of-the-year bash that was being thrown at Dunbars in Collegetown, which is basically nightlife central for students. I hadn’t been to any parties at all, so I wanted to check it out and see what it was all about.

  Since I’m only 20, I had to borrow an ID from one of my friends. I was sure it wouldn’t work since I don’t really look like her, but I was wrong. I got right in. In fact, the doorman barely even looked at the ID. It’s like he didn’t care. Maybe they’re aware that the majority of their business is coming from college students, but that seemed like a significant risk to me. That wasn’t my problem, though. I was just there to have fun.

  To say that I had fun would be a colossal understatement. As my friends would put it, I partied my face off. I drank, I danced, I sang, and I had a good time. I had a little too much fun because when I woke up the next day, I had a come to Jesus moment and swore to the man upstairs that if he allowed my head to stop feeling like it was going to explode, I’d never drink again. I’m sure every college student has had that conversation at least once.

  As it turns out, that’s the last memory of college I’m going to have for a while. Word got out that the senator’s daughter was wildly partying her ass off in the bar, so a local tabloid sent in an undercover photographer to snap some pics of me. They got images of me dancing on tables and doing shots. I was living my best life, perhaps you could even say that I was reenacting Coyote Ugly, and not doing anything that any other college student wouldn’t have done as well.

  When the story was published online, all hell broke loose at my house. I’d just gotten home for summer vacation two days earlier and was asleep when my dad stormed into the room.

  “What in the hell is this, Chloe?” He screamed, shoving his cell phone in my face. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “We were celebrating finals being over, dad. The whole bar is full of students.”

  “And how many of those students are underage?”

  “I don’t know. Probably most of them.”

  “How did you even get in there? You’re not 21!”

  “Seriously, they don’t even check. It’s like they don’t care. It’s really not a big deal.”

  “Not a big deal? You think this isn’t a big deal? Let me tell you something, this is a huge deal! Do you see this headline? Look at it!’

  I steadied his phone and read it.

  Senator Johnson’s Underage Daughter Drunk at Cornell Bar.

  “Dad, I see it, but it isn’t like I was the only underage student there.”

  “That isn’t the point! You’re not just any other student. I’m a senator, and you know how important this family’s image is to me.”

  “I know, but what am I supposed to do? Not have any experiences at all?”

  “You always make everything about you! Are you trying to ruin me and my career? That’s exactly what a scandal like this can do to a politician!”

  “A scandal? Really? This is not a scandal,” I shake my head as I internally roll my eyes. He’s always saying that I try to make everything about me, but it’s quite the opposite. My dad always makes it about HIM. Me having a night of fun isn’t a scandal, it’s called living. Maybe if he ever tried it, he would understand.

  “You either don’t get it or don’t care. Your choices don’t just affect you, and this poor choice has shamed this family,” he snarls through his teeth.

  Sometimes I think he hates me. “Dad, you’re seriously overreacting,” I try to reason with him. “I’m a college kid, and nobody is perfect.”

  “And you’re proving my point. Since you don’t see the seriousness of the situation, you no longer deserve to use my money for your education. I’m not paying for your schooling anymore!”

  “What? How am I supposed to get my degree?” There’s no way that I can pay for an education on my own. He knows I depend on him paying for my tuition. He must be bluffing.

  “Maybe if you spent less time in bars, you’d be able to figure it out,” he says with sweat beading from his forehead. His blood pressure must be up as pissed as he is.

  I sat in stunned silence after he berated me and haven’t really left my room a whole lot all summer. Now, I’m sitting here sulking because I’m supposed to be back at Cornell beginning my fall semester. My parents always wanted me to focus on my education, so I’ve
never had a job. Even if I did, there’s no way I’d have one that pays enough to afford an Ivy League education. I’ve tried finding jobs online, but none of them will allow me to make what I need to earn, or if they do, I’d have to work full-time, which wouldn’t allow me to focus on my studies. There’s no way I’m going to bust my ass at some stupid job and flunk out of college, so I’m stuck at home until I figure out what my next move is going to be.

  I hear the front door open and close, so I know my dad must be home. He isn’t here often, and I never really know when he’s going to pop in. He’s always busy with something, none of which is ever his actual family. When he’s not doing legislative work, you can find him schmoozing with lobbyists that will put money in his pocket.

  Growing up, I’ve never known a life where I’ve wanted anything. We always had money, and I guess I’m what you would consider spoiled thanks to my father’s position in the government. Most people would think that sounds amazing, but it really isn’t. All it means is that I traded wealth instead of having time with my father. I’d give anything to have a dad who was around rather than my designer clothes and expensive bed sheets. None of that really means anything. It just shows we have money, but what does it say about our relationship? It says that it’s only based on material things.

  Even though she is home most of the time, my mother is pretty much absent as well. She stays in her room most of the time and only makes an appearance when she’s ordering take-out. Occasionally, I might see her when she leaves to go shopping, but even then, she usually doesn’t invite me along with her. It’s almost as if I never really existed in either of their worlds––my mother’s or my father’s. Growing up, I was mostly raised by the nanny. What does that fucking tell you? To me, it says that I was an inconvenience.

  I’m still looking at all the pictures of my friends enjoying their college experience when he walks into my room.

  “Hey kiddo,” he says, pretending that everything is fine between us. Like I haven’t been locked away in my room all summer. “I’m going to be attending a very prestigious ball tonight, and you and your mom are going to be coming with me. It’s an election year, so I need you to be on your best behavior. It’s a masquerade ball. Here’s my credit card. Buy whatever outfit you want. The car service will be here at 7:00.”

  He walks out of my room before I can protest, leaving me sitting here with my mouth hanging open. Who does he think he is? He can just pull my education out from under me and then think I’m going to come and smile by his side to make him look like the world’s greatest dad? He can fuck right off. I have zero intention of helping him with his stupid charade.

  I already have big plans for the night. I’m going to make a big bowl of popcorn, grab some candy and soda, and spend the night watching campy horror movies since it’s Halloween time. The kind of scary movies that were frightening in the 80s, but only make you laugh now. He doesn’t need me there; he’ll have my mom by his side, smiling like a fool as she pretends they have a wonderful marriage.

  Actually, I know exactly why he wants me there. After my little ‘charade’ at the bar, he wants to show that we’re a united front. I wonder what his friends would think if they knew he pulled my college education out from under my feet? Would he still be the hero that they all think he is? I think not! He wants to show that he supports me even after I betrayed his trust so severely. The thought makes me roll my eyes. If only they knew the truth, but I know better than to dare mutter a word about it.

  Curiosity always gets the better of me, so I decide to search to see what kind of event my father will be attending. It isn’t hard to find a political masquerade ball, but this one isn’t open to the public. It doesn’t matter, though, when you know how to do a little searching and have an internal link to log into things. Once I’m on the private site, thanks to my dad’s login, I can see the guest list is posted right on the website.

  The list of names is pretty basic and about what I would expect, but once I get about halfway down, some of them are starting to jump out at me. Some elite government folks are attending that aren’t typically at these types of functions. That right there screams suspicious to me. When they come out of the woodwork for events, they’re usually up to something extremely shady.

  Maybe I will go to the party after all. I’m not going to treat it as a party, though. I’ll be there in costume like everyone else, but I’m going to have my own ulterior motives. I’m going to take this opportunity to do a bit of investigative journalism.

  I’m not going to ask questions of any of these men directly. There’s no way they’d answer them anyway. Instead, I’m going to lurk in the background and listen to everything that’s going on around me. If all goes well, I’ll stumble upon some sketchy conversations that I can use as a starting point for a story.

  The odds of hearing anything that I can use is a long-shot at best, but what else do I really have to do? I’ve been so damn bored sitting at home, and I miss my journalism classes so much, I can’t help myself. I have to see if I can find a good story to write about. I’ve seen a few journalists who were successful based on their writing alone that companies were willing to overlook their lack of a degree due to their talent. Who knows? Maybe tonight will be the night that I can have a slice of the pie, too!

  Chapter 2

  Brandon

  Sitting in DC traffic is something that I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. When I began working in this area, I had visions of everything I ever wanted. I wanted a nice house, a beautiful girlfriend, expensive cars, and the finer things in life. I’ve managed to get most of those things, and for that I am grateful, but this fucking traffic tempts me to say the hell with it all at least a few times a week.

  I’m a man who’s built for speed, which is easily proven by the sports cars I keep in my garage. I don’t have one for every day of the week, but I have four vehicles that might as well be my children. I love them all equally and drive whichever car matches my mood on any particular day.

  My baby is my Mercedes-Benz SLR Maclaren, which I drive more than the others. I fell in love with it because it reminded me of the DeLorean from Back to the Future, except it’s way more modern. If I’m not driving that, you can find me in my Jaguar XKR-S GT, Ferrari F12 Berlinetta, or Lamborghini Gallardo. I love the adrenaline rush I get when experiencing all the speed and horsepower these cars offer, neither of which do me any good in bumper to bumper traffic.

  A lot of people are surprised when they see my vehicles or find out that I live in Bradley Manor in Bethesda since I’m ‘only an accountant,’ so I can understand why. It’s the second wealthiest neighborhood in the country, but I’m exceptionally renowned in my field.

  If anyone ever questions how I maintain my lifestyle, I simply point out that my clients are some of the world’s wealthiest people, and they pay me for my expertise. Although this is partly true, my dealings with these people are often less than legal. I’ve developed a reputation among the world elites. They know that I’m the go-to person when it comes to cooking their books and laundering money. I’m very good at what I do. On top of that, I can easily move their money into offshore accounts so they can avoid paying a lot of taxes. There are many reasons that the wealthy stay rolling in the money, and I’m one of those reasons.

  My client list is extensive, working with everyone from billionaire CEOs to high-ranking members of the cartel, and I make millions of dollars doing it.

  I’m also involved in politics. More specifically, I’m a lobbyist in the financial sector. I’ve never been much into politics if I’m being completely honest, I still can’t stand it. I see my involvement as nothing more than a way to keep my business thriving. The sole reason I got into lobbying in the first place is so that I can keep financial oversight laws as lax as possible, making it easier for me to do what I need to do for my clients.

  All it takes is one restrictive law going through, and it could turn my world upside down. A single crackdown could be all that
it takes to put me out of business, so I work hard to keep things just like they are while doing all I can to deregulate whenever the right law pops up. It’s very much a lot of voting no and waiting for the right opportunities to vote yes.

  It’s not easy work, but I’ve managed to develop a team to help me. I have an entire firm put together to do most of these things for me. I also use this firm to launder even more money through fake political consulting work. If I ever got caught, I could be put away for a long time. It’s criminal, but then again, so are most facets of politics.

  It’s safe to say that I have everything I’ve ever wanted as far as physical possessions go. I have it made in all ways but one: my love life. Even when I think it’s going well, it’s not.

  Despite all the traffic, I’ve managed to make good time and pull into my driveway over a half-hour earlier than usual. I’m exhausted and can’t wait to get out of these clothes and get something to eat. I hope to God that my girlfriend, Katrina, has something ready, but I know the odds of that happening are slim to none.

  Entering my house, my nose is met with the familiar smell of nothing. Of course, she couldn’t be bothered to make dinner. After all, she has many hard days of shopping with my money, getting manicures and pedicures, again with my money, and doing absolutely nothing. I guess it’s a good life if you can get it.

  I toss my keys onto the counter, grab a beer from the fridge, and head to my bedroom so I can slip out of these clothes and into a hot shower. When I open the door to my bedroom, I’m not prepared for what I see. Katrina is on all fours on top of my bed being railed from behind by some dude I’ve never seen before! It takes every fiber of my being not to rip the two of them apart and tear him a new asshole, but I’ve got something better planned.