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Book Details

Death of a Billionaire

Ever dream of killing your boss? Alan Benning knows how you feel.

The problem: his billionaire boss actually winds up murdered. And the whole world thinks he did it.

When globetrotting tech billionaire Barron Fisk is found dead on the floor of his swanky Silicon Valley office, all evidence points to Alan.

Alan must venture into the glitzy, treacherous world of tech billionaires to clear his name by sorting through a long list of suspects with motive aplenty. If he can’t find the real culprit, Alan’s going down. The clock is ticking.

Who killed Barron Fisk? The truth will shock— and change— the entire world.

Fans of Richard Osman’s The Thursday Murder Club series, Carl Hiaasen’s tales of high-stakes hijinx, or Ruth Ware’s page-turning mysteries will love Death of a Billionaire.

Extract:

Detective Lucinda Reyes crossed the bullpen of the Cupertino Police Department with purposeful strides. Her dark, arched eyebrows and hawkish gaze told anyone in her way to move, and move fast. Tanner, nearly a foot and a half taller, trailed along behind her. They stopped outside Interrogation Room B down a short side hallway. Reyes spoke quickly.
“We’ll hit him right off with the hard evidence, see what we can get out of him before the lawyer shows.”
Tanner nodded like a docile labrador. “Right. I’ll play the bad cop.”
“No. We’re not doing that. This isn’t some hardened criminal we’re dealing with. Let’s lay out what we know, and he’ll crack.”
Tanner pumped his fist as he followed Reyes into the room.
Alan sat on a hard, straight-backed chair and squinted into a bright light. The front of his thinning, hay-colored hair jiggled slightly as his skinny legs bounced beneath the gray metal table to which he was handcuffed. His glasses fogged up from his hot breath each time he exhaled. He turned in the officers’ direction as they entered.
“Oh, finally! I’ve been in here for hours. I need to get home to my daughters.”
Tanner smacked the table. “Hey! We’re the ones asking the questions here.”
“He didn’t ask any—” Reyes cut herself off, sighing at her partner. She sat across from the suspect and clicked off the bright light. Alan blinked heavily. “Mr. Alan Benning,” Reyes said. “This morning, your employer, Barron Fisk, was discovered in his office with a single fatal gunshot wound to the head.”
Alan’s eyes darted back and forth between the detectives. Then he broke into a wry smile. “Is this a prank? Did the guys from the office put you up to this? I know they like to tease me, but this is a bit—”
Reyes jumped in. “I would strongly urge you to take this matter seriously, Mr. Benning. This is a murder investigation.”
Alan’s smile evaporated. “Then why am I here? Do I need to call a lawyer?”
“You haven’t called a lawyer yet?” Tanner asked with high eyebrows. Then, catching himself, “I mean, it’s time to fess up, you sack of trash.”
“Well, I didn’t know. I’ve never been in trouble with the law before. I didn’t think . . . This is all a big mix-up somehow. I shouldn’t need a lawyer. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“When exactly did you start working for Mr. Fisk?” Reyes asked.
“I, um, 2022. He brought me on as CFO six years ago.”
“You became chief financial officer of Fisk Enterprises six years ago.”
“That’s right. It was quite the promotion for me, to be honest. Sometimes I think Fisk only suggested me to the board because he thought I’d be a pushover.” Alan laughed uneasily as Reyes and Tanner shared a quick glance with one another. Reyes moved on.
“We understand that you and Mr. Fisk have been at odds over a potential business deal, is that right? It became a fairly well-known public feud.”
“I wouldn’t call it a feud. He wants to purchase a virtual reality startup called VigRig. He needs their tech to finish his big project. The Fiskiverse, he calls it. It’s meant to be an entirely virtual world for online meetings and games, things like that. But I don’t think the acquisition is financially prudent. That’s all.”
“He made disparaging remarks about you to the press over this disagreement.”
Alan nodded slowly. “Mr. Fisk can be, um, a bit brutish if he doesn’t get his way. But those quotes were in trade magazines. Nobody even reads those.”
“He called you, and I quote, ‘a lily-livered coward with a baboon’s ass for a brain.’”
“Deep down, he respects me.”
“Doesn’t sound like respect to me. Tanner, how would you feel if your boss said that about you?”
“I’d feel mad.”
“How mad, Tanner?”
“Probably mad enough to kill somebody.”
“Interesting.”
“Wait a minute,” Alan said. “You don’t really think that I did this. I can’t even kill spiders. My wife has to do it.”
Reyes faced him squarely. “Mr. Benning, we have good reason to believe that you are responsible for the death of Barron Fisk.”
“But that’s crazy!” Alan sat in silence for a long moment, searching the officer’s face for any hint of levity. He found none. “He’s not actually dead, is he?” he asked quietly.
“You tell us.”
Reyes pulled a series of photos of the crime scene from a manila folder and fanned them out on the table. Alan took them in.
“Oh, God. Oh, Mr. Fisk, no.”
He put his head on the table as his body heaved with quiet sobs. Tanner and Reyes looked to each other in uncertainty at the seemingly genuine show of emotion. Tanner then shook his head.
“The gun we found at the scene is registered to you, Mr. Benning,” he said.
Alan’s head shot back up from the table, his eyes still rimmed with tears. “What? I don’t own a gun.”
“According to the state of California, yes, you do.”
“It was absolutely covered in your fingerprints,” said Reyes.
“That’s impossible!”
“Additionally, security footage from the Fisk Enterprises lobby shows you as the final person leaving the building last night.”
“Well, that part might be true. We had a meeting scheduled for Monday about the VigRig acquisition. I had to prep the numbers.”
“And there was a distinct footprint left in the victim’s blood. The tread matches a shoe that our team found in your bedroom closet, Mr. Benning.”
Reyes pulled a large plastic evidence bag from a nearby cabinet. Inside rested the pair of dress shoes that Alan had worn to work the day before.
“Are these your shoes? Yes or no?”
“I . . . I . . .”
“Sir, are these your shoes?”
“I think I’d like to call a lawyer.”

Purchase Links

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Author Bio

Tucker May was raised in southern Missouri. He attended Northwestern University where he was trained in acting and playwriting. He now lives in Pasadena, California with his wife Barbara and their cat Principal Spittle. He is an avid reader and longtime fan of the Los Angeles Rams and Geelong Cats. Death of a Billionaire is his debut novel.