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Grayson’s huge bare fists pummeled the three hundred pound punching bag over and over. The vinyl covering of the bag was sunk in with some of the seams ruptured. Had he been hitting a man, his victim’s insides would have been mush.
Sweat beaded Grayson’s brow and his white undershirt was soaked. His face was crimson. Thirty minutes was normally his limit for such activity, but he was still going after forty-five minutes.
His earphone beeped, so he stopped hitting the bag. His chest heaved as he breathed through his mouth. Grabbing a towel off the weight machine behind him, he wiped away the streams of sweat from his face and the back of his neck.
A guard handed him a chilled bottle of water. The message on the earphone held no real urgency since the long delay between Earth and Mars. Most of his anger had subsided. He wanted a few minutes to cool down before listening to Jonas’ update.
Grayson had always worked hard for his money. The empire he had built existed solely because of his sometimes shrewd nature, but mostly because he was willing to take the risks whenever necessary. As he had told Senator Johnson, he had never begged or borrowed a dime from anyone. His monetary status as one of the richest men in the world came from his own doing. Not from outside sources. And if he could do it, hell anyone with half a brain should be able to repeat his success.
What he hated were those who thought they were entitled to benefit from someone else’s hard work without lifting a finger, breaking a sweat, or bleeding an occasional drop of blood. Whatever had happened to virtue and integrity?
So many wanted to benefit from his Mars settlements but none wanted to contribute their funds without also begging his assistance. And now, someone in Olympus Mons had stolen his prized shuttle, the Percival 3000.
Grayson wiped his face one last time. He took a deep breath and tossed the towel into a clothes hamper before attaching the earphone and clicking the button to playback the message.
“Mr. Grayson,” Jonas said, “We have discovered the identities of two of the three hijackers aboard the Percival 3000. One is our mechanic, Sylvia Perkins. Since she has extensive knowledge of how the shuttles operate, she is probably who piloted it out. Magnus Knight is a prisoner. His Sleeper Chip malfunctioned before we became aware that it needed to be replaced. The third person is someone we’ve yet to identify. All we know is that he resided at the Deimos Life Station the day before they stole your shuttle. After his arrival, he connected with Sylvia and Magnus, so we’re not certain if they had conspired prior to stealing the shuttle or if that was how the opportunity arose for them. I’ve tried contacting the Deimos Life Station without any success. The communication is somehow being blocked. I have no additional information for you. I will update as soon as I get the information.”
Grayson turned off the message. His mind raced with the information. He was no longer as upset as when the news first struck him. After all, what more could he actually do before they reached Earth? At which time, he’d unleash hell on these thieves. Until then, he had plenty of time to figure out an appropriate punishment—one that satisfied his need for revenge while ensuring that these individuals never double-crossed him or anyone else again.