Fame To Ruin

Book summary

In "From Fame to Ruin" by Jina S. Bazzar, Carol, the heiress of Montenegro Enterprises, faces unexpected peril as she inherits her family's corporation. When a menacing letter reveals an unknown enemy, she turns to Ricardo, a man she once betrayed. Memories resurface, secrets unravel, and a chance at redemption emerges, but can they set aside their differences to navigate danger and mend the past? This standalone romantic adventure takes you from a picturesque seaside resort in Southern England to the vibrant streets of Rio de Janeiro, exploring themes of fame, love, greed, and betrayal.

Excerpt from From Fame To Ruin

They lurked under the shadow of a tree and the mouth of a nearby alleyway and watched. Another jogged nearby, but the blonde with the short bob never noticed her stalkers. She hadn’t paid them any attention for the five weeks they’d been following her.

Within two of those five weeks, they’d gathered all the information there was to have about her wretched existence. They knew that she lived alone in a small house at the foot of a hill, at the very edge of a favela. That every morning, just before dawn, she turned on the lights, even on weekends. That she went out for a run fifteen minutes after that and came back forty minutes later. That she set her coffee to brew while she showered and had her breakfast watching the morning news.

They knew that she left for work at seven-thirty every morning, and came back around five, give or take a few minutes. That every Friday evening, she went grocery shopping, and never left the house on weekends, preferring to clean and bake as she listened to crappy music. They knew she wasn’t friends with her neighbors, wasn’t seeing anyone, and had no family nearby. Aside from her boring routine, they knew everything else about her—her forgettable name, Maria da Silva, her date of birth, her identity card number, her last three addresses, and even the sum of her meager savings. She was less than ordinary and had nothing worth writing home about. Not that she had anyone to write to. Her parents were both deceased and her only sibling, an estranged brother, lived far south at the border to Uruguay.

They knew that if Maria was to disappear, only her employer would notice, and only because she’d fail to arrive in the morning.

They knew that on Mondays and Thursdays, she’d come to the park and stay for an hour and a half. They knew she took her job as a nanny seriously enough because she didn’t befriend any of the regulars, no doubt so she wouldn’t be distracted from her charges. She was punctual, they had to give her that, always arriving at the park around ten o’clock in the morning, depending on traffic, then packing up and leaving at eleven-thirty.

Today was Monday, three minutes past ten, and there she was, like clockwork. The jogger adjusted his course to cross by the bench where she usually sat. He’d been here doing laps every day for over a month, no delay, no excuses. The regulars had seen him enough times that they stopped seeing him. The guy at the mouth of the alley left his post for the first time since he began his surveillance.

Today was the day. They were nervous and giddy with excitement; everything was going according to plan.

They’ve been riling her for two nights in a row. Yesterday, they broke her front window by throwing rocks. Tonight, they threw a bunch of firecrackers in her garbage bin—the racket had been so loud, even the neighbors woke up. The police questioned everyone, determined that kids had caused the prank, but they’d accomplished their goal. The dark shadows under her eyes and the inward curve of her shoulders confirmed she hadn’t gotten much sleep. After the police left, they tampered with her electricity, so she had to forgo her shower and coffee. They made sure her front tire had been low, so she took the bus to work, and probably for the first time in her life, arrived late.

Fifteen minutes after she arrived at the park, she sat on the cement bench—another of her habits—where she watched the three-year-old children alternate between the glider and a swing. The guy from the alleyway approached and thrust an ancient-looking map at her and asked for directions to a non-existent business near the city center, startling her. They’d anticipated she was too pathetic to understand the lines of a printed map. And when she pulled out her phone, they were proven correct. Her surprise to find she had no internet connection was comical.

While the guy from the alleyway distracted the woman, the jogger, now with a cute little poodle in tow, began his fifth journey by the park. They’d been counting on the little boy to jump off the swing and dash to pat the dog, the same as he’d been doing for weeks. They were not disappointed. His nanny half stood. When she caught sight of the familiar short, generic jogger patiently running in place as the boy showered the dog with attention, she sat back again. She scanned the playground for the little girl and found her playing with two other familiar boys. Satisfied her charges were where she expected them to be, she returned her full attention to the map and the squiggly lines, clearly confused.

The moment she looked away, the jogger put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, stinging him with the hidden contraption within his palm. It signaled the all-clear for the woman standing in the shadow of the tree. When the nanny next checked on the boy, there was no one there. Had she looked behind her, she’d have seen the woman, dressed in similar attire as her black slacks and a crisp white button-down, and a blonde wig the same color and length as her hair, pushing a stroller away from the park. Perhaps she’d have even recognized the boy’s red shoe peeking out. There were risks, the stalkers knew that, and the man with the map was ready to inject the nanny with the barbiturate. But it didn’t come to that.

The nanny proved to be as slow as they’d expected. Yet to be alarmed, she glanced to the left, found the jogger sprinting away, dog in tow, no child. Her attention moved to the playground, where the redhead girl was still playing with the two boys. Then she scanned the swings, the gliders, and the seesaws. But the boy with the dark mane of hair was nowhere to be seen. Finally realizing something was amiss, she rudely dismissed the man still asking for a better route to his destination. She got up to search for the little boy, now being placed in the backseat of an unremarkable vehicle, just across the street from the park.

***

Carol sat in her executive chair with a triumphant smile, unaware that a few blocks away, her son was being kidnapped. Eyes closed, she soaked in her success. Her office took up half of the fourth floor of the building she owned, situated near enough to Flamengo Beach that, when the windows were open, one could smell the salt in the air. They weren’t open at the moment, but the cacophony of busy traffic—horns, squealing tires, the thumping bass of funk music—filtered through the glass panels in the windows. They framed a picturesque view of Pão de Açúcar, or Sugarloaf Mountain as the tourists called it. It wasn’t the gorgeous view out her window or the expensive building that had her mentally celebrating, however.

It was the deal she’d just closed.

The job for the Swiss company had far exceeded her expectations. Even the beverage and appetizers had been a success, bless her cook’s culinary skills.

Her creative team had outdone themselves. This had been, so far, the best job and the most lucrative commercial the advertising firm had created to date. Marco, her accountant and friend, had walked out with the farmland and Swiss company representatives, assuring them that by tomorrow, the commercial for their weight loss product would feature in two major channels cross-country five times a day for a month, followed by a five-second abbreviation for the following two.

A fifteen second-commercial would air on the radio starting next Monday and continue for the next three months. Otto, the head of her graphic design team and friend, would keep a motion picture variation of the TV and radio commercial spreading online: on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and countless other platforms. The keychains, pens, and slim-shaped mugs were ready, the flyers and adhesives would finish printing today, and a representative of F & S would come early tomorrow to pick them up.

With a self-satisfied smile, Carol mentally patted herself on the back. This job was the door they needed to broaden their work, to bring in new clients. It wasn’t even noon yet, and she still had two more promising meetings today. Her dream job was realizing right in front of her, with all the bangs and sparkles and much more shine than she could have ever imagined.

“Now, that’s a smile to make a smart man tuck tail and run,” Marco said, taking the leather chair across from Carol’s executive desk.

“Would you?”

“Of course not. I’m too weak-minded for that kind of self-preservation.”

Carol laughed. Her mood was high. “You guys did a wonderful job. I could never have asked for a better team.”

“You worked hard yourself,” he said, leaning back on the chair.

“Nothing compared to what you guys did.”

“It was the complete package that had those Swiss representatives hooked. Each job alone wouldn’t have been as impressive.”

Carol nodded. It was true.

“Why don’t you come over tonight for dinner?” she asked. “I heard there’s shepherd's pie in the freezer to defrost.”

“That sounds yummy,” Marco said, his brown eyes glinting with amusement. “You should’ve been a chef.”

“I know. I think my talents are wasted outside a kitchen.” She sighed. “Alas, I can work and have no time to cook a meal or stay home and starve from lack of groceries. It’s a paradox.”

Marco chuckled, then the mirth died from his eyes. “I can’t tonight. I’ve been summoned.”

Carol hid her wince. “I take it you’re going?”

“I have to. I’ve been putting it off for months. Tio Elias called me himself this morning.”

Carol studied Marco intently. His angular face had lost all humor; his brown eyes were somber. “I’ll be sad to see you go,” she said, rearranging some papers on her desk. “But if you choose to go, I won’t hold it against you. Neither would it affect our friendship.”

Marco nodded, then shook his head. “I don’t want to work for him. I’m comfortable here, doing what I’m good at, what I enjoy the most. Tio Elias … taking his place … it’s not something I want.”

“But it’ll be something you’ll have to do, sooner or later.”

“I’d give it all to you,” Marco said, and Carol didn’t think he was joking.

“God forbid.” She waved her hands as if to ward off evil. “I’m perfectly happy here. Why would you wish me such heartache?”

Marco didn’t smile. “I mean it, Carol. When I have no choice but to take the big chair, I’m giving back to you all that you’re owed.”

Carol folded her arms over her desk and frowned at him. “I thought we discussed this already, Marco. I already got all I wanted from your uncle.”

Marco clenched his jaw. “His protection shouldn’t have come at a price.”

“It didn’t. I was going to lose that case either way. Your uncle took over Montenegro Conglomerate fair and square. And I want nothing from it.” Seeing the stubborn look in his eyes, Carol raised her hand. “Marco, I never wanted that legacy. If it wasn’t for my grandmother, I’d have never come back in the first place. I have everything I want here. My life is simple, my needs are simple. Whatever it was your uncle did, I’m no longer afraid, looking over my shoulder, waiting for someone to strike me. I’m happier here managing a small business than I’d have ever been tied to the Montenegro empire. Don’t you see? I own my firm, my house, my car. I have everything I’ve ever wanted right here.”