Capital Partners

Series: Stand-Alone Thriller
Published by: Red Herrings Press
Release Date: October 1, 2026
Genre: Stand-Alone Thriller

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When hedge-fund owner Jay Montgomery raids his own fund and disappears with millions belonging to his investors—including his wife Grace, his dead partner’s widow, and a Russian oligarch. Long-time frenemies, Grace and Dana, the widow, want their money back and reluctantly team up to track him through the Ozarks, Switzerland, and Monaco.

Their pursuit turns deadly when three people connected to Jay are killed. The two women fear they may also have become targets after a series of fake online transactions in their name.

Tracking down a disenchanted AI pioneer in London confirms their suspicions: Their every move is being monitored, analyzed, and anticipated by a sophisticated AI system programmed to optimize outcomes—not protect people.  But there is one thing the system cannot fully account for: the irrational, emotional, deeply human choices determined people make when everything is at stake.

Excerpt:
Chapter One

Grace

The wine on the tray table was the warning. It had been perfectly still, as if it was a solid object glued to the glass. Now, though, the chardonnay slid to one side. Grace went rigid. They were heading into turbulence. She picked up her glass and gulped. When she set it down, the wine sloshed to the other side and wobbled. Grace hated to fly. Especially in small planes. Jay and Sy had leased a private jet “for the company,” although she could count on one hand the times Jay flew for business. It was Monaco here, the Colorado slopes there. Even Bora Bora last spring. Her husband claimed it was business.

“I go there to fish, Gracie. Where do you think I get new clients?” he’d say, with that charming smile of his that slipped sideways. “I have to look successful. Like I can’t be bothered to talk shop. That’s how you reel them in. They end up begging me to take their money.”

Now Jay looked up from the spreadsheet on his tablet as if he knew she was thinking about him. He raised the shade. Grace peeked out. They were starting their descent into the dark burly clouds that blanketed Chicago in December. She took in a deep breath, gulping down too much air, and her pulse sped up. Someone on a previous flight, another white-knuckler, had said airplanes were held together with rubber bands and spit. This little jet, a Cessna, had better have plenty of both.

Jay glanced over, registered Grace’s discomfort, and covered her hand with his. “Nothing to worry about, hon. It might be a little bumpy on the way down, but we’ll be fine.”

She clutched his fingers. He never dismissed or demeaned her fear of flying. He knew where it came from. She swallowed. “Talk to me.”

“Well…” He grinned. “I’ve just been going over the monthly ledger. PennMont Capital is on a roll! It’s been an excellent quarter.” He paused. “Let me tell you about—”

A sudden drop silenced Jay and forced a frightened gasp from Grace. Jay squeezed her hand. The little composure she had left collapsed. She sagged against him.

A click, and the pilot’s voice sliced through the Cessna’s P.A. “Looks like a few bumps on the way down, Jay.” His tone almost eager. Guy probably loved turbulence. “You might want to buckle up.”

No kidding, Grace thought. She cinched her belt tighter.

Jay pressed closer. “Don’t worry, Gracie. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

* * *

An hour later as they made their way to Lake Forest in the limo, a purple dusk softened the scenery. They’d been in Vail for ten days of skiing. Apparently a thaw had melted most of the Chicago snow that had fallen before they left. The residue formed dirty speckled patches of leftover ice lining the shoulders of the highway.

Grace looked forward to a cozy night at home. Maybe she’d heat up some popcorn and they could watch a movie. God knows Jay had plenty. He’d made sure to buy the biggest flatscreen available. Followed by an overabundance of movies. He must have downloaded over a hundred. Content, people called it these days. Such a dispassionate, detached word. How could anyone call Casablanca, or The Graduate, or Citizen Kane just “content”? What about Dickens, Hemingway, or Shakespeare?

Still, the thought of a night with just the two of them, in PJs and robes, munching on snacks, watching some vapid movie, sounded like the perfect way to unwind. She smiled at Jay.

He smiled back. “Don’t forget we have dinner tonight with Sy and Dana.”

Her smile faded. “Oh. You didn’t tell me that.”

“Of course, I did. Maybe you forgot.”

No. He’d never mentioned plans for dinner. She sighed. He’d done this before—springing an invitation on her at the last minute. She weighed whether to reply, but she knew how it would end. He would insist he had told her; she would deny it, and the sour aftertaste of a spat would ruin their evening. She wasn’t partial—her grandfather taught her to say that, rather than “I hate so and so”—and she wasn’t partial to Dana, Sy’s trophy wife. They got together for dinner too often. Jay knew how she felt about the Penningtons. No wonder he hadn’t said anything. Her cheerful mood dimmed, but she decided not to pursue it.

“Maybe I did.”

“We have chef’s table at that new Italian place in Highwood.”

“Mmm,” she murmured.

“Wear your black dress?” he asked.

“Which one?”

“You know the one.” He shot her a smoldering look. She almost smiled again. Men were so predictable.

* * *

They pulled into the bricked semi-circular driveway behind which sat a huge white brick house with black trim. Though she liked the black and white, Grace thought the place was too “showy,” too nouveau riche. But Jay insisted they buy it.

“We’ll be entertaining.” He grinned when they checked out the property. “And we might need all those bedrooms one day.”

She glanced over. “Six? You think I’m capable of six children? I’m not a young thing anymore.”

He shrugged. “You never know.”

“Let’s start with one.”

“Okay. How about we start practicing now?”

She’d smiled.

That had been five years earlier. But despite lots of practice there hadn’t been any pregnancies. Not one. They’d seen a fertility doctor, of course. He didn’t find anything wrong with either of them. Grace, frustrated and confused, shouldered the blame even though science said it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t rational. But that’s how her brain worked. Existential guilt. It was a powerful motivator, no matter how many therapists she saw.

She tried to push the thoughts away as the chauffeur opened the limo door. She thanked him and made her way to the entrance where their housekeeper, Martha, was waiting, the door open. Behind her Grace could see their expansive art deco marble hallway with white silk wallpaper and elegant sconces.

“Welcome home, Ms. Grace. I hope you had a lovely vacation.”

“Thanks, Martha. It was beautiful.”

“Plenty of soft powder,” Jay added. “Anything cooking here?”

Martha, a German immigrant from what used to be Czechoslovakia, seemed perplexed. She’d only been in the US a year or so, and English idioms still baffled her. Then her expression cleared.

“The Penningtons called. Dinner at eight. Mr. Pennington said you know where you’re going.”

“Yes. Thanks.” Jay turned to the chauffeur. “You can leave the suitcases here.”

Martha cut in. “Oh yes. And a call for Mrs. Montgomery. A Mr. Cole. He left his number.”

Jay frowned. “Who?”

“Mr. Cole, sir.”

“Do you know who Cole is?” Jay asked Grace.

“Nope.”

“You want me to call him back?”

Grace felt a spit of irritation. Jay could be overprotective. As though he wanted to shield her from everyday matters. “I’ll do it,” she said. “It’s probably something to do with Second Chances. I’ll call tomorrow.”

After they showered and were dressing, Jay tipped his head to the side. “You sure you’re not having an affair?” But he was smiling.

“Well,” Grace said as she applied her mascara. She was in her bra and panties. “If you must know, I asked Cole to call me tonight so I could sneak out of the house after we get home.”

“Kind of frisky now, aren’t we?”

Grace put down her mascara. “I have no idea who ‘Cole’ is. But if you want to handle it just to make sure, be my guest.”

Jay looked as if he was thinking about it. Then he grinned. “No. I was just checking.” He came up behind her and bent down to nuzzle her neck. “In that case I think we might be a little late.” His voice was husky. Later she wondered who or what instinct had made her call the man back in the first place. Because, of course, that was the beginning.

Chapter Two

Dana

The Gilded Cage, a new high-end bistro in Highwood, was all the rage on the North Shore. Not only was its name a tongue-in-cheek wink to the times, but the food was excellent, and the ingredients, purveyed from the best suppliers, were fresh. It had only been open for a week, but Sy Pennington had snagged the best table in the place. His wife, Dana, wondered how much he’d paid for the “privilege” this time. Where she came from, she was lucky to have a meal at all.

She sipped a vodka martini and checked her phone. The Montgomerys were late. As usual. Sy thought he was the brains and power behind PennMont Capital. So did Jay. Which was why Jay made sure nothing important ever happened until he was around.

They saw Jay and Grace socially. That was enough. Jay and especially his wife were total snobs. Jay was conceited. And arrogant. The type who thinks his own shit doesn’t stink. And Grace? Sure, she was pretty. So what? Raised on Philadelphia’s snotty Main Line by her grandparents. Gone to one of those colleges that cost an arm and a leg. The Seven Sisters, they called them, she thought. Dana, on the other hand, barely graduated high school. She’d grown up with her mother in a doublewide.

It wasn’t jealousy, she told herself. Well, maybe a little. It was that some people got all the breaks, and some couldn’t even manage one. What had she, Dana, done wrong? Except get born to the wrong mother, who boozed and whored and stole whatever she could. And then complained how much she’d sacrificed for Dana. What bullshit.

Dana knew that Grace’s mother died when Grace was eighteen months old. Dana wished her mother had. Growing up with no mother couldn’t have been any worse than one who didn’t give a shit about her kid.

But there was something exasperating—a word she’d just learned—about Grace. She didn’t make waves. She wasn’t out there. She was—well—on the quiet side. She put up with Jay’s know-it-all attitude, never argued with him (at least in public), and seemed content with her lot in life. Unlike Dana, who usually stepped in it when she was with Grace. She felt an overwhelming urge to argue about everything with the woman, even if she didn’t really believe what she was arguing about. Over time it had become almost physical. Dana would grimace and clench her fists when Grace opened her mouth.

Now Dana finished her martini. The restaurant had all sorts of glitz and fake gold decorations on the walls, the window treatments, even the moldings. Art deco floors alternated with rugs that were probably supposed to be elegant imports, but Dana hated the look. The place was too dark, too crowded, too close. Give her linoleum floors and venetian blinds. Let the Montgomerys ooh and aah about the “décor.”

Sy ordered a second round of drinks. He liked playing the big shot at places like this. Who could blame him? He came from nothing, too. At least they had that in common. Theirs wasn’t a fucking love affair. More like a business arrangement. Dana didn’t mind. She knew his loud, rowdy behavior was just for show. Underneath he was actually a sweet man. As long as she held up her end of the marriage and looked the part, he gave her anything she wanted. She almost felt protective of him at times. Which reminded her. There was something she needed to tell Grace. She girded herself.

The waiter brought Dana another vodka martini. Dana took a sip and pulled out her face mirror. Not a wrinkle in sight, thanks to Botox and her plastic surgeon. Her long blond hair was styled and sprayed, and a fresh coat of make-up emphasized her eyes. So what if her new mini-dress revealed too much cleavage? Sy liked it that way. “Look what I’m going home with…” he’d think. And hope that other men would be envious.

Her husband was stocky, with thinning gray hair that was too long, fingers that were too thick, and eyes that were too small. Still, why not give him a win? He wasn’t bad between the sheets. After all, she was his trophy wife.

Sy, who’d been scrolling on his phone, looked up past Dana. “Well, well… guess who decided to show up?”

Grace and Jay appeared like some heaven-sent vision, materializing from nothing. Grace was in her “little black dress,” as she called it. Dana had seen it before. More than once. Grace’s cheeks were flushed, and Jay looked so smug you’d think he’d just won the Masters.

Sy picked up on it. He made a show of looking at his phone. “Late again. You gotta stop all that shtupping.” He guffawed as though they were all sharing a dirty joke. Which he was.

Dana was used to Sy’s coarse humor and ignored it, but Grace grimaced. That made Dana smile. Score! She stifled it and changed the subject. “You look fabulous, Grace. Love the dress. Is it new?”

Grace shook her head. “But I can tell yours is.”

Dana allowed herself a nod. “I found it down on Oak Street.” She couldn’t help it. Her need to compete with Grace in everything, no matter how minor, surfaced when they were together.

“It suits you.” Grace looked around. Dana’s mini-dress was beaded all over with silver and garnet, which flashed and sparkled even in the subdued lighting of The Gilded Cage. “And the restaurant.”

“Well done.” Was Grace’s smile just the tiniest bit sly?

Dana shot back with a fake smile. She knew a backhanded compliment when she heard one.

Sy cut in. “So they flew in lobster from Ecuador.” He waved his hand. “I already ordered it for us, okay?”

Grace

Grace made small talk through dinner, though she wasn’t sure she could be heard above the tinkle of silverware. Jay was reserved, but he usually let Sy take the lead. As usual, Sy soon lost interest in the conversation, instead nodding at other diners, the ones he deemed worthy, then stuffing the lobster down his gullet. He was coming loose at the jowls. It made her feel a little sorry for Dana. Just a little.

The waiter cleared the dishes and announced that coffee was on the way. Jay glanced over. “Hey, why don’t you girls go to the powder room? I want to talk to my partner.”

Grace hesitated and looked at Jay. His smile gave away nothing. She excused herself and followed Dana, who was already walking unsteadily toward the ladies’ lounge.

In the ladies’ room, which was as overdone as the restaurant, Dana plopped down on a silk brocade bench in front of a mirrored dressing table. She pulled out her lipstick. When Grace came back from the toilet, Dana stopped blotting. “Did you order sweetbreads?”

Grace sat down next to Dana on the bench and dug out her own lipstick. “I did.”

“I don’t get it. French toast for dinner? At a place like this?”

“French—” Grace stopped. “Oh.” She caught Dana’s reflection in the mirror and tried to keep a straight face. “They call it sweetbreads, but it has nothing to do with sweets or bread. It’s meat. From a calf. Sometimes a lamb. It’s an organ. The pancreas, I think. When it’s prepared right, it’s delicious.”

“Pancreas? Sounds awful. I wouldn’t eat it if you paid me. I’m a vegetarian,” she said with just a hint of scorn.

“That’s probably why they came up with the name sweetbreads.”

“Fine for you. I’m good with pasta.”

Grace tried to like Dana, for Jay’s sake, but she couldn’t figure out how Sy put up with her. Dana made it a point to constantly argue with Grace. She knew that Dana came from “modest means,” Gram’s euphemism for “dirt poor.” But now that Dana was Sy’s wife, you’d think she’d be more open to learning and experiencing new things.

“No way,” as Dana put it. She complained about everything and everyone, as if her new station in life required it. Grace figured it was a defense mechanism, likely tied up with sudden wealth, but Christ, it was tiresome. Grace pasted on a smile. Maybe Dana was a winner in the sack. For Sy’s sake, she hoped so.