Chapter 1: The Setup

I looked at my watch nervously. My wife, the newly appointed CEO of Old Boston Venture Funding, was making the rounds at the Halloween party the firm was throwing as a reward for its record-breaking quarter. In her early-thirties, my wife could still turn heads, especially since she had dressed as a sexy witch.

At her elbow was William Henry Howell III of the Newport, Rhode Island, Howells, dressed as Michael Myers. Known around the firm as “Bill,” he was the company’s legal counsel, and my wife’s lover.

Their not-so-secret affair made me the company’s cuckold, and I hated being forced to play the fool.

I looked at my watch again. The Timex Expedition on my wrist, the one I insisted on wearing instead of the TAG Heuer Monaco my wife always demanded I wear, showed 8:50 p.m. The company had the hotel’s ballroom until midnight. My getaway was scheduled to depart from Boston’s South Station in an hour. If the pair didn’t slip away to one of the rooms we had reserved upstairs within the next twenty minutes, my plan would fail, and I’d have to scheme all over again, and come up with a different way to settle the score and disappear.

The plan had worked perfectly in my mind during all those flights between Boston and Silicon Valley, Austin, Charlotte, and Orlando. It was the perfect plan: I would vanish, leaving the impression that my wife and her lover, “Just Call Me Bill,” had conspired to make me disappear. The Halloween party would serve as the perfect smokescreen.

I looked up and saw the power couple heading toward the elevators, on their way up to use one of the rooms we had reserved for employees too drunk to drive. Nine p.m. on the dot. I had to move quickly if I was going to pull off tonight’s trick. My treat would come later, if everything went according to plan.

Everyone was having a good time drinking, dancing, and socializing. My father-in-law sat over in the corner, holding court among the junior executives, retelling the same old, tired, war stories and bragging about how he had made his first billion before he turned forty. His wife, my mother-in-law, stood not far away, scowling at his drinking, boasting, and general nuisance-making—all of which offended her Boston sensibilities.

No one paid any attention to me. They never did. I slipped over to the storage room in the corner of the ballroom. Inside, I had hidden the props I would need to complete my “trick” for the night.

My costume for the masked Halloween party was that of a homeless guy, like those I saw every day on the streets of Boston. Over it, I pulled on coveralls like those worn by Michael Myers, easily found at the local Walmart, along with the full-head mask familiar to all “Halloween” fans. Coincidentally, it was the same costume Bill was wearing that night.

The most important prop was the fake body I had made. I designed it to resemble a dead body, wrapping it in black plastic and securing it with packing tape. The last item I grabbed was a kitchen knife from home. I had dripped my own blood onto it from a cut I had made on my arm earlier, along with several hairs I had pulled from my head and attached to the blade.

Opening the door to the storage room, I peered out into the ballroom. No one was looking in my direction. Almost everyone was facing the open bar, sipping their favorite mixed drinks while the DJ kept the party spirit alive. My in-laws were engrossed in conversations with senior company officers and board members. No one noticed I was missing. No one cared.

It was now or never. I grabbed the dummy, my backpack containing a change of clothes, and the documentation I would need later. After one last look around, I slipped down the service corridor toward the back entrance of the hotel’s ballroom wing.

I had forgotten the butcher knife. I retraced my steps and left it where it would be easily found, with my blood and hair still clinging to the blade.

The service door opened onto a green space beyond which lay the Harborwalk and the river channel. People were scattered along the walkway, enjoying the evening. Perfect. There would be plenty of witnesses to see “Michael Myers” dump a body into the river.

I covered the hundred feet or so to the river’s edge as quickly as I could. Leaning over the rail, I dumped the dummy into the water. Weighed down, it disappeared beneath the surface almost immediately.

I turned and headed back toward the hotel. Several women screamed. Others stood frozen, stunned by what they had just witnessed, while some pulled out their phones to record the scene. Once through the service door, I quickly stripped off the Michael Myers costume, pulled on a bright red hoodie, and finished the disguise with a Boston Red Sox ball cap.

The Michael Myers costume, along with the ball cap and hoodie I had been wearing, went into the backpack I had stashed by the door.

Once again, I went out through the service door and joined the people walking along the Harborwalk toward Congress Street and South Station. People were looking over the rail and into the water. Police officers were already on the scene, securing the area and speaking into their radios.

Looking at my watch, I realized I had accomplished all of that in under thirty minutes. There was still time to catch the 9:50 bus to Newark. I had purchased the ticket with cash earlier that week, so no one would remember me among all the other riders who had bought bus tickets. The clerk at the window had been careless and hadn’t required me to show ID.

The bus station’s location was what made my Halloween disappearance possible. It stood across the street from the venue where the Halloween party was being held. Now all I had to do was board the bus and disappear.