Update: The original title for the post should have read Part Twelve, not Part Eleven. Glad I finally caught the mistake!
Sorry for not posting in over a month, but this past November was quite busy, including spending time with loved ones in their neck of the woods, south of Houston, as well as shopping, dental work, getting ready for winter, some traveling, and following national and world events within a world seemingly turning more and more evil by the day. And it is this consuming evil that is inspiring me to continue on with this novel, where Part Three is primarily being written to expose this evil. Within corporations and world economies, that whole digital token FTX scandal seemed to be a tip of the iceberg so-to-speak. And, being a former fan of the NFL, I wondered how the so-called “GOAT,” Tom Brady, would handle losing all that money he made as a Super Bowl-winning quarterback!
Then I realized the time of dealing with all these news-worthy distractions had to end, and, in early December, I continued working on The Murder Rule, Part Three. I have written at least two chapters since Thanksgiving.
The narrator is pop culture pundit Lloyd Denholm and the “good guy” character trying to not get “murder ruled” is Joe Phillips, an aristocrat who really isn’t, being the manager of the prodigal band Sound Unltd within The Prodigal Band Trilogy.
In this post I introduce the primary evil character, who, as with Swami Negran (Battle of the Band), Cole Blessing (The Prophesied Band) and Mark Besst (The Prodigal Band), is possessed by the Satan-character called Corion. The name of the character is Ewen Coledge-Foxworth, nicknamed Foxx. Foxx knew Joe Phillips while both attended an elite “public school” academy (in Britain, public schools are actually private schools, while comprehensive schools for the masses are actually public schools) called Broton, located not far from Torquay Manor in the elite area of Surrey, south of London.
After joining the evil satanic Hellyon Society Inner Sanctum where a child is sacrificed on a rock altar, Foxx meets with the evil Baron Torquay-Lambourgeau (Joe Phillips’ father). Torquay seeks to recruit Cambridge University graduate Foxx into his banking empire money-laundering schemes which help him and his satanic evil fellows within the world’s elite families rule the planet. The meeting takes place in summer, 1992, at Torquay Manor, in a ballroom party to celebrate Foxx’s initiation into the Hellyon Inner Sanctum. Some evil characters mentioned in The Murder Rule Part One are also mentioned in this snippet. (Note: this snippet © 2022 by Deborah Lagarde).
“Call me Foxx, Baron. F-O-X-X.”
Torquay laughed haughtily. “Now that name is appropriate. Like the expression ‘the fox guarding the hen-house.’ And that is why I am offering a golden opportunity for you to use your skills in guiding our youth into our fold, so-to-speak. Our ‘club,’ our orbit. Under our influence. And your business skills—”
“My Cambridge degree was in accounting as well as psychologically surveying human resources, to see which people would serve us superior beings in the most servile way. For we are superior beings, Baron.”
“Oh, yes, we are. We are,” Baron looked up at his ballroom ten-million-pound chandelier, ‘as one could say, gods. We control the Earth and everything on it. And our wealth all told likely makes up ninety percent of all personal wealth on Earth.”
Nodded his head. “You are a trillionaire, Baron, are you not?”
“The only one, Foxx, the only one! The only person who even comes close to my own wealth is the American Rockford. You do know,” Baron looked toward Mr. Y, standing by a food table, “that Mr. Y is the major domo of Rockford, who is nearly a trillionaire.”
“I see.” Foxx smiled, thinking And so shall I be! Whatever it takes!
“The Duke of Effingchester?”
“Yes. He is halfway there. Your own father is a billionaire, and so is Lord Chadwick, and maybe Chaddy as well. Swami Negran—You are in his Circle of Unity, correct?”
“Yes. And I do have a copy—an amulet—of his beautiful red crystal.”
“Good. And all of our minions, our influencers to the youth—”
“Such as Sound Unltd—”
“We own them, of course. My own son is their manager.”
“Joe Phillips? Is your son?” Smirk. “But he is not one of us, Baron.”
“That is his choice. But he is one of us in a way, even if he is not a Hellyon or a Novordo member. We use him, in many ways, to control the sextet. He will not let them get out of line. They are not Hellyons either, but they might as well be what with their nihilism and stage antics. They are literally worshiped by their fans, and their red crystals that influence their fans certainly helps.”
Foxx, remembering back to when Joe was an Alpha frat member, thought with cocked head. I don’t know, Baron. He just never seemed to be one of us in the Broton days. But I hope you are right. Because if not, I will have my way with him! Even if he is your son.
“So, you said I would join your empire, Baron. How?”
Baron took another glass of wine off the serving tray.
“Another for you, Foxx?”
So, Baron handed him a wine glass.
“What I have in mind, Foxx, is for you to oversee our clandestine money laundering operations.”
Foxx smiled broadly and sharply focused his delightful eyes. “Now that sounds kinky, Mr. Trillionaire!”
“Yes. As they say in history lessons regarding wars and revolutions, we fund both sides. Communist. Fascist. Popular revolts. In fact, every overthrow of governments since the French Revolution in the 1780s and 1790s were funded by us, which includes your family, Effingchester, various royal families, you name it, among us owners and gods of the Earth. What we do is funnel money to various revolutionary groups using charities and political fundraisers we set up, then the groups buy weapons that our arms manufacturers own—one of the biggest is a Rockford company, and the Prince and Princess of Leandro own one of the world’s largest armed vehicle conglomerates. So, we give the funding to the revolutionaries to buy our arms and whatever else they require—at our price increase, of course.”
“Of course!” Laugh.
“And then we sell arms to the counter-revolutionaries as well—at an even bigger price increase!” Laugh. “And then when the revolutionaries win, we fund their dictatorships and fancy lifestyles. But the deal is this—they then owe us this financial aid as debt due. Which they pay off by taxing the hell out of their slaves—uh, subjects.”
“I think I’m going to like being this intermediary for you, Baron. Some folks would consider this a crime, but for me it is an opportunity to help you control those insouciant masses who have no clue as to who runs the Earth—”
“At the behest of our lord Corion.”
Curious look. “I thought our lord was called Satan?”
“Satan. Corion. Lucifer. Baal. Remphan. Horus. Osiris. All the same, Foxx. Call our lord what you will. But we are his gods here on Earth. We serve Satan or Corion or Lucifer, whatever. And because of this, we are gods, we control the world, the masses are our slaves, and we own them. And there is no way they can revolt against us. And they don’t even know they are our slaves. So complacent and compliant they are, for their convenience.” Haughty snarl, then a smirk.
“Well, we’ll keep it that way. Because Baron, I have a huge contempt for most of humanity. Such animalistic idiots falling for our popular culture nihilism. Anything to keep them braindead! And totally useless!”
“Good. I second that. But another way we launder money is by drugs, including the ones young folks take or shoot up to keep them docile and addicted to, say, our sextet my son manages. We also control the syndicates, mafias, underworld, brothels, human trafficking, sex trafficking, orphanages—”
“Is that where you get your sacrificial bodies?”
And then Hellyon Inner Sanctum blood-drinkers who run those orphanages are mentioned.
And if the reader thinks such corruption in corporations and banks is just a “conspiracy theory,” the reader needs to do a bit of research on how truly corrupt corporations and banks work.
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