fiction
Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
Bad Coffee
William Barnes loved a morning coffee, it wasn't just the caffeine rush it gave him but the taste of it was all so delicious too. The way the milk mixed in with the hot water and cocoa beans was simply heavenly. Every single day he'd get up between the hours of eight and nine o'clock in the morning (except for weekends of course; where he'd lie in bed until 11am) dragging himself out of bed before brushing his teeth, getting dressed into his business suit then finally, after all those tasks, he'd make himself a fine good cup of coffee to start the morning. William was almost a millionaire, a high ranking office manager who had a lot of enemies in the workplace (those being below him) as he tended to be a very strict and uncaring boss. It was never personal, "just business!" He'd tell them, as the ex-employees left the building with their heads down in shame and humiliation of getting fired. The first few times William was forced to fire people, it was tough. It made him feel like a monster, destroying people's livelihoods was never fun. Some of them would lose their temper and scream; "well, fuck you William. I was going to quit soon anyway!" Completely losing their cool and professionalism in a moment's notice. Eventually it made him laugh inside, how these brown noses instantly dropped their butler-like act the moment they were let go. William was 57 and had been working since he was 20, with 37 years work experience under his belt, starting off as an intern until now was a long and boring trip that meant a lot of corporate cock sucking to get on top (not literally of course, I was speaking metaphorically). On the most stressful of days, William would drink sometimes up to five cups of coffee, the afternoon drinks typically consisting of Decaf Coffee (like I said, it was simply the taste he loved best). William loved all types of coffee, his favourites being Lattes, Cappuccinos and good old Americanos for those particularly difficult mornings. He had an assortment of different flavoured coffee beans, such as mint, chocolate and caramelised editions of his favourite brands. In his kitchen stood a fancy five thousand dollar coffee maker, that was a pain to repair or clean out but made the greatest cups on God's green earth! There were a hundred different options on this fridge sized gadget, you could select how much milk (if not any) was in your cup, how creamy it would be, you could even select how hot or cold it came out and there was an option to choose how many tea spoons of sugar went into the drink. It was truly insane, the type of contraption a casual coffee drinker would find infuriating to figure out. For most people, a spoon of coffee, sugar and milk was enough, but not for William! No, every cup had to be perfect. Otherwise it would be like drinking mud, according to him at least. He'd even rage at his own interns if they dared deliver him a less than satisfactory cup of coffee. Yes, he was that petty and cruel! Now one morning, William woke up at the usual time, groggy and half asleep, dragging himself out of bed like normal to finally rush downstairs and grab himself a nice hot cup of the special stuff his expensive coffee machine could make him. The tunes of gears turning, electronic beeps and the flow of liquids entering his favourite coffee mug was always a pleasant and heavenly sound to hear before a long day of hard work. He noticed the coffee had a darker shade than usual and almost screamed in frustration, knowing he had forgotten to clean out the machine recently. Alas he didn't have time to make another, as the machine was pretty slow unlike pouring yourself a basic cup. So he drank the black coffee and immediately spat it out, it tasted sour and muddy, then bloody! Like iron blades had cut open his gums, he spat out gore onto his kitchen floor and suddenly fell ill, crashing down onto the ground as bubbles of pink foam (stained that colour due to his internal bleeding) squirted from his mouth, he began convulsing on the floor as if having some kind of heart attack! The coffee wasn't just rotten, the milk wasn't off (making it taste sour) no, something far worse had happened to William's precious little coffee, it had been poisoned! With this realisation, William stabbed the back of throat with two long fingers, puking up what he could, but it was already too late! The poison had done its magic, his body was crying, pleading for death, eventually William stopped breathing altogether, his body stopped moving, his consciousness faded into darkness and his heart stopped beating. The tyrannical boss was dead. To this day, nobody knows who poisoned William's coffee. Was it a disgruntled ex-employee, a frustrated intern (who always made his coffee wrong) who knows. Because William had so many enemies, it is almost impossible to determine who would've carried out such a despicable act! Police found footage of a masked man (or woman) breaking in and out of his house, they entered and left the scene on foot so there was no car or licence plate to track down. The masked poisoner exited security surveillance and not one detective could make a match as to who this mysterious stranger was.
By Joseph Roy Wright2 years ago in Criminal
The Last Bus
For several nights now, Benjamin Riley has been getting the last bus home after work. He finishes his shift at the Eastern warehouse district just outside London, catching the last ride home at 11:32pm. Most buses run much later than that, but not that far out from the main city. It is a long and tiring journey, one that drives across the whole city before finally, after almost 2 hours of travelling it reaches a bus stop a further 20 minutes walk away from his home in some god awful council estate (there aren't any buses that stop closer to his apartment). Benjamin is 32 years old and he's been a warehouse operator since he was 20 and what a shitty career path he had chosen, this must've been the 15th (possibly 16th) warehouse job he had since then and they were always just as bad as the last. Early days are usually the best, because that's when the bosses go easy on you. Even the regular staff give the new guy space, you're lucky if that lasts even a month in these types of places. People soon show their colours and they ain't bright, beautiful blues, reds or greens, but shit stained brown, piss yellow and black as coal. Everyone who works in ware housing is positively depressed, and it simply sucks the life out of you! The only good thing about Benjamin's current workplace was the hour long lunch break (an absolute god send!) and finally getting home after a 12 hour, long, boring and dreadful shift. Now he felt like a massive creep about this next part, but there was a young, beautiful woman who had been getting the same bus home recently from Camden Square, she was an absolute bombshell! Long, blonde hair, an angelic face and stunning features, such as a super model's body and the designer clothes she wore only added to the lady's beauty. The reason Benjamin felt like a creep, was because he simply couldn't keep his eyes off her. No matter how hard he buried his face into a book or his mobile phone, he just couldn't help but glance at her from time to time. He suspected she was aware of him, despite never making a fuss about it. She must've been in her early twenties, while Benjamin was a balding thirty plus guy, who would never stand a chance with her anyway. Yet sometimes her gorgeous smile could brighten his day, even though he never actually spoke to her and tried to keep himself from even talking to her, he admired her and hated himself for even looking in her direction. The last thing he wanted, was to scare this crush of his. Benjamin had never been good with women, he was always better off ignoring them because they always found him creepy. The man simply had no game, no luck whatsoever when it came to the opposite sex. He lived alone and hungered for company, despite this he was a secret gentleman giving the woman her space, not once advancing on her as the weeks and months went by. Then one Friday night, that all changed. There was a big gang of men, all drunk wearing neon glow sticks and necklaces, obviously coming home from a mad night out clubbing in Camden. The Mysterious woman that Benjamin fancied, always sat at the front of the bus, while he always sat at the back, half asleep after his long shift. This night however, as the young hooligans boarded the bus, screaming, shouting and laughing drunkenly, being loud and obnoxious, Benjamin was wide awake. The blonde up front looked visibly uncomfortable as the men entered, looking at her up and down because she was (at least in that moment) unfortunately incredibly attractive.
By Joseph Roy Wright2 years ago in Criminal
Denied
The first time I ruined a man’s life, I felt nothing. I remember watching him stumble out of his office, shoulders hunched under the weight of what I’d done. His wife would leave before the month was over. His children—three of them, all in private school—would have to transfer somewhere less dignified. Their waterfront estate would hit the market at a desperate price. He tried to fight it, of course. They always do. He called. He begged. He threatened. But in the end, all that was left was silence and an automated message. The second time, I got a taste for it. A pharmaceutical executive, the kind who smiled for investors while approving price hikes on lifesaving drugs. I watched as he unraveled in real time—news outlets reporting on his sudden bankruptcy, stock plummeting, his seat on the board revoked. He was last seen in a suit that no longer fit him, wandering into a courthouse with no lawyers left to call. Then there was the real estate mogul. The one who gentrified entire neighborhoods for sport. I saw the exact moment he realized I was behind it. How I’d orchestrated his collapse so perfectly that even his golden parachute had holes. Three men. Three families. Three legacies, stamped out with the flick of a pen. I lean back in my chair, tapping my Montblanc pen against the last file of the day. Client Name: Vincent Carver Occupation: Hedge Fund Manager Request: Private Client Risk Protection Expansion Ah, Vincent. You smug, tax-dodging son of a bitch. Vincent isn’t unique. He’s just another parasite, another wealthy man with just enough power to think the rules don’t apply. He’s securing protections against fraud investigations, corporate liability, and sudden “financial instability.” Basically, he’s trying to bulletproof himself before his empire inevitably caves in. Smart move. But not smart enough. Because Vincent doesn’t know me. Vincent doesn’t know me, Salvatore Serra. He doesn’t know that while he’s been playing games with numbers, I’ve been playing a longer, sharper game. That every high-net-worth policy request that crosses my desk isn’t just paperwork—it’s judgment. And today, I am both god and executioner. I flip open the file, scanning the details one last time. Offshore accounts. Undeclared income. Pending lawsuits. A quiet but very real SEC investigation. It’s all so... tedious. I take a sip of my espresso, considering his fate. The crema lingers on my tongue, rich and bitter. Then, with a single flick of my wrist, I bring the stamp down onto the paper. DECLINED. Vincent Carver’s life ends here. Not with an explosion. Not with a scandal. Just a slow, quiet death—the kind only men like me can orchestrate. The moment he realizes he’s ruined, he’ll go through all the stages. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Despair. Acceptance won’t come until his lawyers tell him his assets aren’t protected anymore. That the government is watching. That his personal safety net no longer exists. The call will come tomorrow morning. The banker’s voice will be cold, formal. Mr. Carver, I regret to inform you... And then? The scramble begins. The desperate attempt to move funds that can no longer be moved. The frantic calls to lawyers, PR teams, former allies. He will beg. He will threaten. He will demand. None of it will matter. The board will hold an emergency meeting, whispering about “instability.” His name will disappear from the firm’s website by the end of the week. The news will leak. The lawsuits will come. And when the dust settles, when the headlines turn to someone else, Vincent will find himself alone. A relic of a world that doesn’t need him anymore. I let out a small breath of satisfaction and close the file. The city hums below, full of people scrambling, hoping, fighting for their own survival. I smile. They never see it coming. They never stop to think about who is holding the pen, who is deciding what’s denied and what’s granted. Names don’t mean much in this business. But if Vincent ever stops screaming long enough to read the letterhead on his rejection, he’ll see mine. Salvatore Serra. And then he’ll understand. Another good day.
By L.K. Rolan2 years ago in Criminal
Trump Pardons Former Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich: A Political Saga
In a move that has sparked both support and criticism, former President Donald Trump has granted a full pardon to Rod Blagojevich, the disgraced former governor of Illinois. Blagojevich, who served as governor from 2003 to 2009, was convicted of corruption-related crimes, including an infamous attempt to sell a U.S. Senate seat vacated by former President Barack Obama.
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By Banik Sojib2 years ago in Criminal
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Crypto Investing 101: A Beginner’s Guide to Navigating the Digital Asset Universe
Cryptocurrencies have taken the world by storm, evolving from a niche interest to a global phenomenon. Bitcoin, the pioneer of blockchain technology, has paved the way for an entire ecosystem of digital assets. But with thousands of cryptocurrencies now available, where does a new investor begin? This guide will walk you through the basics of crypto investing, from understanding protocol tokens to exploring decentralized finance (DeFi) and non-fungible tokens (NFTs).
By mureed hussain2 years ago in Criminal
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Part 1 Eden Frost adjusted the sleeves of her fluffy cashmere sweater while walking into the office. She prided herself on being different from most cold and calculated CEOs. She delighted in knowing her employees by name and checking in on their families. Most importantly, she wanted to feel human.
By Tiarra Howard2 years ago in Criminal
