“Only the ones he wanted me to see. He did a good job of trying to hide it, but they’re definitely cooked.” I have a nose for figures. It only takes me a moment to know when one and one don’t add up to two.
“I see.” Another short silence. “In that case, we won’t interfere with Damian Hart’s scheme.”
“I’ll advise against it. From looking at all the facts, Hart is the best man to revive that mine. Plus, his motivation is personal.” Personal always guarantees the best results.
“Then we let Dalton go under when the time comes.”
“In two years’ time, we won’t be making any more money out of him. He’s running the mine into the ground.”
Literally.
Harold Dalton is the owner of one of the most lucrative diamond mines in South Africa. He sells to us directly, cutting out the brokers and wholesalers, which earns us a big fat saving of thirty percent. When you’re talking billions, thirty percent is a considerable chunk, enough to bribe and, if needed, kill for.
Word has it that the mine is running empty and will soon go bankrupt. We keep a close ear on the ground. In our business, it’s imperative. We have informants everywhere, even in Dalton’s mining workforce, and we’re not the only ones who play that game.
It turns out Damian Hart has informants, too. He knows about the mine’s pending failure. According to his cellmate and our informant, Zane da Costa, the mine has unyielded potential that Dalton is too thick in the head to exploit. Da Costa sold us information about Hart’s plans to take over the mine when he gets out of jail. According to Hart, Dalton stole his discovery, and he has every intention of taking it back.
From what I’ve learned about his strategy and how he’s planning on going about it, my money is on Hart. For the time being, Dalton is giving us the first buying option for a kickback. Hart wants to bring back the wholesalers and cut out the shady dealers like ourselves, which poses a problem for our business. If Hart takes away thirty percent of our business, everything will fold—the casinos, shipping companies, our whole empire. Our mission is ensuring Hart honors the deal, and for that to happen, we need a sword we can hold over Hart’s head.
My father sighs. “I hate change. Too damn unpredictable.”
At least that’s one thing we agree on. “Better the devil you know.”
“I take it you found Hart’s sister.”
Dipping a finger into the knot of my tie, I loosen it. “Why else would I call?”
“Are they as close as da Costa said?”
“I don’t doubt it.” If I had a sister like Zoe, I’d protect her with my life.
“Good. Bring her in.”
I hesitate. “It’ll take some time.” With enough time, I could let her become used to me and even brainwash her into believing it was her idea to leave.
Impatience infuses his tone. “Tomorrow.”
“Why the rush?”
“Business is like a game of chess, son. You’ve got to have your pieces in place before your opponent has as much as thought about moving his. I’m not taking any chances. It’ll be checkmate before Hart even enters the game.”
“We have six years before Hart has served his sentence. He’s only starting to gain power in jail.”
A glass clinks. It’s time for my father’s after-dinner cognac. “I heard from da Costa. Hart may be released from prison early for good behavior.”
“How early?”
“In two years.”
Someone on the outside is paying Hart for services rendered on the inside. He doesn’t have access to that money yet, but in two years’ time he’ll be considerably wealthier. With wealth comes power, which is the second reason we’re not taking him out. Number one is he has the ability to revive a mine that sustains our business, and number two is he’s wasted no time in making powerful allies in jail. Some of the families who run Hart’s country and pull the politician’s strings have members on the inside. They’re not the kind of enemies we want or can afford to make.
“How sure are you of this informant?” I’ve always had a bad feeling about the rat.
“Nothing is ever sure, but this one is power hungry.”
They’re the easiest to buy, the ones without honor or loyalty.
My father exhales. I imagine him sucking on his cigar. “Let me know at what time you’ll arrive.”
Staring at the city lights, I consider this new dilemma I didn’t expect. I consider what I’m going to do, telling myself it hasn’t crossed my mind even once. “Expect me back after the weekend, not before.”
“Why the delay?” my father asks.
“I have loose ends to tie up.”
Laughter sounds in the background.
“I’ve got to go,” my father says. “The girls have arrived.”
I clench my fists. My words are measured. “Say hello to Maman for me.”
My father doesn’t like the rebuke. The line goes dead. I stare at the phone in my hand. Fuck. If I had more time—
“Maxime?”
I turn around.
Zoe stands in the open sliding door, barefoot and drowning in a hotel robe. Her dull eyes show the medication is kicking in. “What was that about?”
I pocket the phone. “Nothing that concerns you.”
“It sounded like a fight.”
“Go inside.” My body is tense, my cock taking notice of how little there is between my hand and her skin. “You’ll catch a cold.”
“I don’t feel well.”
It’s not a lie or an attempt at manipulation. The pill will do that. In a minute, she’ll be a little nauseous, too.
I close the distance and take her arm. “You’re tired. You’ll feel better after you’ve rested.”
“I need my clothes.” Her tongue slurs a bit. “I have nothing to wear to bed.”
In the room, I stop to take one of my T-shirts from the dresser. “Put that on. You can take the bed.”
She watches me with drooping, albeit wary eyes. “What about you?”
“I’ll take the couch.”
“Okay,” she says with obvious relief. She takes the T-shirt and stumbles on her way to the bed.
I catch her around the waist before she hits the floor. “I’m sorry, little flower.” She smells like the hotel shampoo. When I first pressed her against me, her skin and hair smelled like roses. I make a mental note to get the same brand of shampoo I saw in her apartment before we go.
Helping her into a sitting position on the bed, I stay close in case she pukes.
She puts a hand over her stomach. “I feel sick.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Her long lashes lift, her eyes scanning my face with an ingrained desire to trust. “I think I ate something. The urchin maybe.”
“There was nothing wrong with the food. Relax. It’ll get better in a minute.”
“May I please have some water?”
“Wait it out.” I don’t want her to puke up what’s left of the pill in her stomach.
“Maxime?” There’s panic in her sleep-heavy voice.
“Shh.” I brace her nape with one hand and cup her cheek with the other, brushing my thumb over the soft skin under her eye as I watch them lose more focus until her eyelids finally close and unconsciousness takes her.