Loaded Legacy

Caught in a Legacy That Kills

When Simon Quinn reconnects with an old friend over a drink, he never expects to be dragged into a deadly inheritance. But that's exactly what happens when he joins cousins Matt and Judith at their newly inherited detective agency—left to them by Uncle Ray, who was murdered under suspicious circumstances.

What starts as an exciting fresh start quickly turns into a fight for survival. Uncle Ray’s real business wasn’t solving crimes—it was blackmail. Now the people he had dirt on are coming for his successors, determined to erase every trace of his secrets… by any means necessary.

As break-ins, assaults, fires, and betrayals close in from every angle, Simon, Matt, and Judith race to unravel the clues Ray left behind. Somewhere, hidden behind riddles and codes, is the leverage that might save them. But their enemies are ruthless, powerful, and willing to kill to keep the past buried. Amid the chaos, a slow-burning romance between Simon and Judith adds even more risk to the stakes.

Will they crack the code in time—or die trying?

Start reading Loaded Legacy now and uncover the secrets someone is willing to kill for.

Excerpt from the book

‘I shall not speak of a poisoned chalice, but it is pretty sour wine.’

My divorce came through at 2.00 p.m. By 9.30 p.m. I was miserably drunk in Mack’s pub in Prahran. Mack’s was the kind of pub that lent itself to maudlin self-pity. Renovated in the 1980s, it seemed then like an old tart slapping on the paint for one last fling before the winter of old age set in. Unfortunately, now it was in its dotage and beyond repair. The dark orange and brown with deep purple trim that was once warm and inviting had matured to a murky monochrome. People didn’t talk in Mack’s. They drank. Seriously.

The patrons were mainly old pensioners, the dispirited residents of the nearby housing estate who came to Mack’s because it offered relief from the dreariness of their lives and required no contribution from them. They stayed because they couldn’t be bothered looking for anywhere better.

The last time I’d come to Mack’s was with Marla. We’d only known each other a few weeks and were happily in lust, exploring each other’s minds, lives and bodies. I’d wanted her to share something of the delight of the long, boozy afternoons I’d spent there as a student at the nearby university. It was a bitter disappointment. The students had long since moved on, and Mack’s had already begun its decline into the dingy watering hole it was now.

So, there I was, ruminating into my beer, trying to blot out the world. Me. Simon Quinn, failure. Marriage finished. Job gone. No present, and, as I blearily told the bartender, no future. He wasn’t interested, but I told him anyway.

My failed marriage hurt the most. What had gone wrong? We loved each other, had fun together, laughed at the same jokes. We had great sex. Why, then, had I come home from work to find my clothes packed in suitcases sitting on the porch and a new lock on the door? It didn’t make any sense when Marla said we didn’t relate anymore. I related.

‘What do you think she meant?’ I asked the bartender.

‘Don’t ask me, dearie,’ he replied. ‘I keep right away from women. Why don’t you try boys? At least we speak the same language.’ He leaned across the bar, cupped his chin in his hand and fluttered his eyelashes. ‘By the way, what are you doing tonight, darls? Wouldn’t mind a bit of a fling with a nice big butch like you.’ He pursed his lips and roared laughing.

‘Jesus, I hate that,’ said a voice beside me. I started. How long had he been there? It occurred to my booze-sodden mind that it could have been hours. I turned and stared at him. He didn’t look up.

‘Yeah.’ I paused, still peering at his half-hidden face, leaning forward to for a better look.

‘Say, don’t I know you?’ I waved a finger under his beak of a nose.

‘Oh shit, not another one?' His slightly slurred voice was disgusted.