Philanthropy

Philanthropy Part Four

Peter Chase and his entourage are up against what the worst people with no morals can create. The women in his life are starting to take more and more control over his life, and he longs for his fortress of solitude. But with so many people to take care of, where does a billionaire start?

You'll need to read the following first:

Part One: The Carvers (16K words)

Part Two: Building the Case (23K words), and

Part Three: Reaction and Action (27K words).

Go on. I'll wait. It's gonna be awhile. I'm getting a cup of tea. And a cookie.

Constructive comments always appreciated.

Part Four: The Offensive

I lay in that infernal hospital bed for two weeks. One week just lying there and one week trying to escape. The police guarding my room said they were under orders to keep me in my room. For my own safety, they said. They looked more miserable and bored than I was, so I kept buying them pizza and soon the whole wing of the hospital was getting free slices. Finally, my second week was up, and I was anxious to go home.

I got a lot of work done for the company and checked on the special code I had written and embedded. The data was pouring in and the web of money, contacts, companies, and deception was getting wider. I was still running into a problem looking past the offshore accounts. Whatever was happening there was air gapped. I needed to see the other side of that looking glass. Problem was I didn't know where to start.

Imani had stopped by on two occassions. She reported there were no charges being laid against us once the Carvers withdrew their complaint. In Canada, rules are much different from the US. Most notably, it is the police who lay charges when they believe a crime has been committed, not individuals; however, if the police won't lay a charge, any member of the public can take steps. Police Chief Darren Richards didn't see the need after EDM Cessna, through Imani, pressured him and Amanda, Shanti, and I were free. The Carvers hadn't pressed the issue, despite Brad Carver having a right arm broken in two places. Shanti sure had tossed him.

I hadn't seen Shanti since the first day in the hospital. She sometimes answered my texts, but usually it was with a "I'm too busy..." reply. Dana was not allowed to visit me, she said. Her parents were furious she had escaped her condo to see me the other day. I told her to stay clear and keep doing what she was doing. She happily agreed, thrilled to be part of what I was doing, even if I knew she had no idea what she was actually doing it for. It seemed harmless, and honestly it kind of was.

I was sitting by the window in a cheap green vinyl hospital lounger and working on a project my team at work was struggling with. I could see the solution—I always could—but they couldn't, and I was starting to get annoyed with them. I just finished sending them a twenty-four-hour ultimatum to find the solution when a knock sounded at my door. The door opened by one of the police officers posted outside, and I watched Shanti and a large man enter. They were both dressed in black, and I had no doubt this man was the bodyguard who had guarded Amanda in the hospital after she had nearly died.

I started to rise, but Shanti told me to stay seated. The door to my room shut with a click.

"Sit your ass down. I wanted to bring Brad round to meet you. Peter, meet Brad McIntosh. Warrant Officer Class Two. He's from the British Special Boat Services, SBS for short. Brad, meet Peter."

Peter smiled at me and extended a hand, which I grasped and shook. "Pleasure to meet you, sir. Shanti has said a lot of positive things about you."

His British accent was much softer than Shanti's. I looked him over and saw the way he stood, how his arms spread out a little from his sides, like he was used to having something there. I raised an eyebrow at Shanti at his last words.

"Yeah, I lied a little," she admitted.

Brad laughed. "I know you did, mum."

Shanti smacked him in the chest. "Stop with the fucking 'mum'."

Brad feigned pain and smiled brighter. "Sorry, ma'am."

Shanti shot him a look before looking down at me. "Ready to leave?"

I nodded and rose and put my tablet in my backpack. Imani had brought round a backpack full of clothes, toiletries, and a bottle of a strong CBD oil. The oil was finished, but so was my pain. The muscle of my right thigh was still tight and weaker than the left, but I did simple exercises in my room. But it would need more attention to get back to normal.

Shanti watched me closely as I stood and nodded at me. "Looks better. I have some stretching and strengthening exercises you should use. Works wonders."

I closed my backpack and shouldered it.

Shanti gave Brad an evil grin. "Or laps in the lido? How's that work, Brad?"

Brad just shook his head.

I was confused. "Okay, I'll bite. What's a lido?"

They both answered at the same time. "Swimming pool."

"And you called it a lido? You know what? Never mind. What's with the swimming pool?"

Brad snorted. "The ma'am gave me eight hours of swimming laps for leaving Amanda at the front door of your flat."

Shanti corrected him. "You left her downstairs in the lobby, you twat."

"Yes, ma'am, I did. Won't happen again."

"Is it even possible to swim for eight hours?" I asked, not doubting Shanti had truly dished out the punishment.

"No," replied Brad.

Shanti laughed. "But he tried!"

Brad hummed, a strange thing to hear. "Finally sank to the bottom. Alan pulled me out."

"Alan?" I asked.

"Another member of Team Bulldog," he replied.

I shot a look at Shanti. She hated being called the Ugly Bulldog. She didn't seem to react and so I looked back at Brad. "Team Bulldog?"

Brad looked first at Shanti and then me. "Our special forces team, here in Canada. The ma'am here, myself, Sergeant Alan Wayne, and Petty Officer Bruce Campbell."

"And you call it Team Bulldog?"

"Oh, aye. Named after our leader here. She's tough as a bulldog."

"And gorgeous," I added and saw Shanti toss me a grin.

"Aye, she is at that," said Brad, startling Shanti and me. "What? Ma'am, you are. A right pretty thing. Makes the job that much easier to bear. And you're tough as fucking nails."

Shanti and I watched Brad head to the door and swing it open. He spoke to the two police officers, and they nodded, shook hands, and strolled off. Brad looked down the hall and then said the route was clear.

Shanti shrugged at me and we left the hospital and found my Hyundai parked in two handicap spots by the front door. I stopped at stared at the parking job.

"Who the fuck parked like this?" I asked.

Shanti answered as she opened the back passenger side door. "Get in and stop lolly gagging. There are eyes everywhere."

"I mean, taking a handicap spot is bad enough, but two of them?"

"It was me," said Brad as he opened in the driver's door and slid inside. "Makes me happy."

Shanti was giving me the look and so I shut my mouth and got in. She closed the door and got in the passenger seat. I pushed my backpack to the side.

"How's the condo looking?" I asked. I had hired professionals to repair my condo. The two men sent by the Carvers to kill me, Amanda and Shanti, had blown in my front door with explosives and then shot up my windows and walls. They also left a lot of their blood and brain matter all over the hardwood floors.

Shanti was already looking around but spared me a glance. "Right as rain, Peter."

"Good."

"So, Team Bulldog. What is that?"

Shanti kept her observing thing going as Brad backed up and pulled away from the hospital, but she answered me. "It's my elite team assigned to the ICC for international support against worldwide crime. The Queen's contribution to a much larger task force. Very secret. Very hush-hush."

"And Britain decided Canada only needed four people?"

Brad chortled. "It used to be five. We lost our lieutenant about four months ago. But no, sir, Britain has five teams in Canada. The actual international task force is massive. Placed all around the world. Each nation provides teams, although not many are sent out of country. Canada and Britain enjoy a closer relationship. Same with Australia and New Zealand."

I thought about that for a minute. I could see the challenges with that. You just can't have a foreign elite forces team running around your country shooting people and stuff. Something was not quite right.

Shanti, always perceptive, spoke into my silence. "Canada is a special case. The group we are monitoring has close ties to Canada and the United States. Especially in Vancouver and Toronto."

"And what group is that?" I asked.

Brad glanced at Shanti, and when she nodded, he spoke. "The Large Triangle Group, or the LTG."

I knew of them. They were considered one of the top crime syndicates in the world. Nasty people. Something Brad said was bothering me. "You lost a lieutenant? How? He wasn't killed, was he?"

Brad laughed. "No, sir.

She

got pregnant and had to rotate home. The Queen's a bit short of trained people, so we ain't getting a replacement."

"Oh," I replied and thought about that. "Who knocked her up? Was it you, Brad?"

Brad looked sharply at me in the rear-view mirror as he took a corner with speed. "Nah. Not me, sir. Wouldn't be proper, an enlisted messing with an officer, even a young Navy thing."

"Who then?"

Shanti growled. "Leave it be, Peter. It doesn't matter."

I grumbled. I loved dirt like this, even though I had no idea who this Navy lieutenant was. It was nice to hear my British colleagues pronouncing the word as 'lef-tenant' instead of the horrible US way of saying 'loo-tenant'. "Was she cute?"

"Peter!" barked Shanti.

"Nice tits?"

Shanti turned in her seat to glare at me. "That's enough!"

I looked at Brad and saw him smirking at me, and he nodded once. I sat back satisfied and tried to enjoy the ride home. I fucking hate sitting in the back seat of my own car. "Tell me more about LTG."

Shanti was back looking out the windows at everything. "First, you need to understand that Imani works closely with the task force. She's our legal expert. Handles rules of engagement. Getting firearms from the host nation. Border crossings. Gets us out of the country when we need to bolt. That sort of thing. When Amber called her and told her that you were in trouble with the Carvers, you set off a bunch of trip wires. Lots of calls were made. I mean a lot. Everyone had an idea of what to do with you. It was Amber that suggested we string you along. It offered protection services and an opportunity for my team to infiltrate closer than ever to the Carvers and the LTG.

"Amber contacted Imani, and Imani contacted the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, or CSIS (she pronounced it see-sis) and told them the LTG has taken a special interest in you through the Carvers. CSIS said they had intel that the LTG was sending operatives to the area from Europe. They think one of them is likely Carmen Rodriguez, an assassin for the syndicate. Unfortunately, no one knows what she looks like."

Shanti held the 'holy fuck' handle above her head as Brad took an unexpected sharp left turn down a street that led nowhere near my condo. She glanced at Brad and he just shook his head and kept driving.

"But that aside, it looks like the Carvers have been key in the LTG by making money in a few fundamental ways. The first is providing goods and services which the government bans or taxes excessively. In the twentieth century, crime syndicates focused on gambling, loan sharking, prostitution, alcohol, and drugs. A second way is through extortion. This is the classic 'protection' racket approach. That includes extorting both legitimate business and other crooks for a 'piece of the action'. For payment, they can provide some actual protection and even provide fencing and money laundering services. A third way is through outright theft. Hijacking of trucks, counterfeiting, providing inferior materials—pretty much anything they think they can get away with.

"The syndicate is more of an international cartel which has been removing all forms of competition, the parties to which are business enterprises domiciled under more than one government and trading across national frontiers. A substantial part of world trade is still controlled by cartels. OPEC is a well-known example. OPEC members meet regularly to decide how much oil each member of the cartel will be allowed to produce.

"The biggest crime syndicates are very well known, and you've likely heard of them: the Russian mafiya, the Italian Mafia, Mexican Drug Cartels, Italian American Mafia, and the Japanese Yakuza. The syndicate we are interested in is bigger and working aggressively against the others. They are known as the Large Triangle Group, with links to Canadian and America fentanyl distribution, for one."

I digested that for a long moment and watched as Brad slowly but surely led us toward my condo building. Shanti hadn't told me anything new, but I now knew just how fucked I was. I had an international special forces team protecting me. All because I decided to yell at Brad and Nancy Carver one day.

Brad was constantly looking in the rear-view mirror but was patently ignoring me. I closed my eyes for a moment and thought. I finally asked the question that I had first thought of a long time ago but didn't know how to ask it. Now I knew. "What banks do LTG use?"

"Why?"

"I just want to understand them better."

"Any bank, truly. But we know they prefer five major banks. It was leaked about eight months ago by the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists. Pissed us off, those articles. JPMorgan, HSBC, Standard Chartered Bank, Deutsche Bank and the Bank of New York Mellon. Trillions in illicit funds are laundered each year through those banks. Unfortunately, we have only been able to detect less than one percent. Those banks are fined, but the amounts are nothing to them. They are making billions of dollars and getting fined peanuts. Deutsche did settle with the Federal Reserve for $258 million and promised to clean up its act, but they continue. Banks are just as bad as the cartels."

I nodded and digested that.

LTG

, I thought smugly.

I now have a name to the source of my problems.

* * *

Brad parked in my underground garage, and we headed up to my floor. I walked into my condo after first admiring the excellent repairs to my front door. I couldn't see any sign of the former damage. I keyed the locked and strode in.

"Honeys? I'm home!" I called out and was rewarded with squeals from the bedroom area.

Dana and Amanda came hurrying around the corner dressed in sweat clothes. Dana was in the lead and jumped up into my arms and wrapped her legs around my hips and lower back. She pressed her groin up hard against me and hugged me hard, nestling her face into the crook of my neck. I felt her lips kiss me. "Peter! You're home! We missed you so much!"

Amanda smiled at me and took an offered hand from me and squeezed it. She looked happy and sad to see me. She spotted Brad and gave him a quick hug which he seemed to enjoy. Amanda is a sexy woman and looks a little like Charlize Theron.

I peeled Dana off me and managed to squeeze her ass and fondle a breast at the same time. Her tits are phenomenal and that was my first grope of them. Two weeks in a hospital without sex had raised my testosterone levels. She grinned at me and stayed pressed up against me.

"Ladies! What a welcome! What's with the sweats?"

Dana gushed and bounced a little, and I watched her tits settle. "Shanti has been training us! She's so awesome!" Dana did a little spin to presumably show off her new fit form. A form completely hidden under her sweats.

Shanti closed the front door, and I heard the deadbolts slide into place and counted two more than normal. "I'm teaching them the rudiments of self-defence. Amanda asked for it and Dana was close enough to hear and now I have two students."

Shanti moved past me and grabbed my backpack and left, presumably, for my bedroom.

I looked at Amanda. I was worried about her. I had exposed her to the Carvers and guilt was gnawing at me constantly. "Self-defence, Amanda?"

She smiled at me and nodded. "Yeah, if I'm going to be hanging around you, I best be prepared, no?"

"I could send you somewhere. Somewhere safe and away from all this."

Amanda stepped in close to me and kissed me softly on the lips. "Now why would I do that?" She searched my eyes and gave me another kiss.

I took her hand and kissed her palm. "Okay."

Brad was vibrating by the door. "Just what kind of place is this?"

Amanda grinned at him. "The best kind of place."

I rubbed my hands together. "Who's hungry?"

A chorus of delighted voices responded, and I went into my kitchen and opened the fridge and inspected the contents and started pulling out items. Thankfully, Amanda had stocked up after I sent her a grocery list. An hour and a half later, I had a nice spread of food to enjoy and everyone grabbed a plate and settled in the sunroom.

I hated hospital food. It was the worst food in the world. I understood why it was the way it was, but I don't think I could ever stomach it again. I think I lost maybe five or six pounds in there. Everyone enjoyed the beef and cheese manicotti with an extra garlic and spicy Caesar salad. I had been craving pasta for days now. Normally, after making this dish, I have enough for at least five to six meals for me. Today, thanks to Brad and Shanti, it was completely devoured, and I watched Brad wipe the dish clean with Wonder bread. Dana had to bolt, and she gave me a kiss on her way out. It lingered perhaps a little too long, and Brad was rather wide-eyed. Dana kissed with an unexpected talent for an eighteen-year-old.

The meal being declared a success; I thanked Brad for the drive and excused myself to wash up. I hadn't showered properly in weeks and my shower was calling out my name. I emptied my backpack, tossed on my bed by Shanti, pulled out my toiletries and entered the bathroom.

I shaved, had a luxurious shit back on my own throne, and manscaped my body, and then walked into my rain head shower and let the hot water soothe me. I was just about to wash my hair when Shanti snuck in and joined me.

"Let me wash your hair," she asked, softly, and pushed down on my shoulders.

I nodded, thankful, and sank to my knees in front of her. She grabbed a towel and told me to kneel on it. I did, and she added shampoo to my hair and worked it in. I had the most wonderful view of her perfect little tits, and I suckled on a nipple as she massaged my scalp. The hot water and her hands in my hair were a perfect combination. My cock rose hard and fast, and I switched nipples and continued to suckle. I heard someone enter the bathroom.

"Can I join you?" asked Amanda.

"Of course," replied Shanti.

"He looks so peaceful," murmured Amanda as she entered the shower. "Oh! The water's so hot!"

Amanda stood behind me and I felt her hands join Shanti's in my hair.

"Switch," ordered Shanti, and she and Amanda switched places. I had my eyes closed against the soap but reached out with my mouth and found one of Amanda's nipples. Her breasts are an exquisite C cup. A classic bell shape—with a narrow top and rounder bottom—and with nipples that were about the size of two stacked ladybugs, but thick and substantial and a presence in my mouth, and they pointed straight up surrounded by areolas shaded the same colour as her gorgeous pink lips. Why do I mention her breasts so clearly? Because they are magnificent tits. And responsive. And her nipples feed the pleasure in her pussy like no other woman I've met. I have brought her to small but pleasant orgasms, just sucking and biting her perfect tits.