“
I
still don’t believe it,” one of the men muttered.
Beason looked up from his phone to see what his colleague was looking at. He peered at the screen where the picture of a rotund, white-haired man headed an article.
“Billionaire and philanthropist Charles Stafford was found dead in his car?” Beason said, reading the headlines. “Shot eighty-seven times in what authorities describe as a gangland-style execution.”
“Holy shit, right?” Yuri chuckled. “You saw the contract on him? I mean, five million dollars isn’t something to sneeze at, but I’d say these guys were taking something out on the guy, you know?”
“That’s not the interesting part,” Beason replied. “Of course, you wouldn’t find it in the papers, but you can look into where the money that went into the contract came from. Well, it came from a foundation Charles Stafford owned. The guy paid for his own hit. How the hell did that even happen?”
His friend shrugged. “You know he wouldn’t do that to himself. And guys like him use their foundations to funnel money, so how would that money reach the account?”
He couldn’t help a small chuckle. “With the kinds of connections Stafford had, I’m not surprised he had enemies with those kinds of resources. Seriously, someone is fucking
scary smart.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to go after them,” Yuri replied and waved a hand airily. “We don’t need enemies like that coming after us instead.”
“Is that why we didn’t try for that contract ourselves?”
“Well, five million is a lot of money, sure, but the kinds of hitters who would jump on that… No, not worth it. Maybe one day, when we have more muscle on our side and more backing. For now, though, stick to the smaller contracts.”
“Your call.”
Alvarez leaned back in his pool seat. Life was good, he had to admit. Soaking in the sun and being back in Mexico was a blessing. He didn’t really mind New Orleans. The place bustled with all the right kinds of energy. The party atmosphere that had surrounded him while he’d been there had been enough to make him smile. It hadn’t been terrible.
But in the words of that ancient American film, there really was no place like home.
While they still ran repairs and maintenance after the savage’s attack, most of the damages had been restricted to quarters he really had nothing to do with anyway. Which meant that, as soon as the inspectors cleared the building of structural damage, he was able to live there again.
He smiled and lowered his sunglasses as a couple of women in bikinis pulled themselves out of the pool, smiling and laughing as they moved towards the champagne he’d left open for them. He wasn’t in the mood for alcohol yet anyway. At heart, he was an old-fashioned guy. He didn’t believe in drinking before two in the afternoon, so he stuck to his coffee and the aphrodisiac presence of the women in his villa with him.
The phone he’d left on the table beside him buzzed, and he scowled at it. He’d specifically told his people he would take the day off. Of course, they could still call him if there were emergencies, but the fact that they couldn’t go one day without needing him to fix some problem or another for them was disappointing.
The number was blocked, however. Alvarez quirked an eyebrow before he pressed the accept call button and brought the device to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Al, nice to hear from you,” came the familiar voice of the man called Savage. Alvarez couldn’t help a smile as he leaned into his seat again.
“Savage, you hijo de puta
.” He chuckled. “How the hell are you?”
“Sun’s shining, birds chirping, can’t complain,” the man replied. Despite his words, he sounded weaker and somehow less vital than the last two times they had spoken to one another. “How are you, Al?”
“Well, I really can’t complain.” He took a slow sip of his coffee. “You really came through for us with Charles, my friend.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied. “From what I heard, he paid for the hit on himself. How weird is that?”
“Oh, he did it to himself all right.” Alvarez laughed. “It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving culero
if you ask me.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that. I even sent you half the money you paid me, exactly like I promised. Minus the operational fees of course. You know how it goes, right?”
Savage was lying, of course, but not really. The arrangement had changed somewhat when the man had given him an insight into the money on Charles’ head, where he was,
and where he was likely to go. It had been a simple matter to call his men in the area to effect the hit. They’d taken their usual commission, not knowing that the five million for the contract had flowed into Alvarez’ own account.
So, in a way, the man had paid close to half of the money he’d taken from Alvarez’ safe when he’d broken into his home and given him a way to get rid of Charles at the same time.
“In all seriousness, my friend, I think I owe you a great deal,” he said softly.
“Considering that we might do business at some time in the future, I’d be willing to call it even if you look on me and my associates kindly when we come to you with opportunities again,” Savage said. “I would hate to have to pound my way through your whole security team all over again when I need to get in for a chat.”
“Even, then,” Alvarez replied with a chuckle. “And I look forward to doing business with you again soon, Savage man. Take care of yourself. Hasta
.”
“Nice talking to you Al.” He ended the call.
Alvarez pushed himself out of his seat, set his phone on the table again, and stretched.
Fuck it. He would have a drink. It was called for on special occasions like this.
Madeline looked over the group that had been assembled. It seemed like emergency board meetings called by someone who wasn’t even in the fucking country had become more and more commonplace these days. While she didn’t quite approve, unlike the men who had occupied the two seats that were currently empty in the room, she knew her place. She wouldn’t rock the boat. Whether or not Courtney and Anderson were competent enough to lead the company was
irrelevant. The only important fact was that any person who had tried to take them on had failed to do so.
And hers would not be the next empty seat.
The screen at the front of the room flickered on to display the likeness of a woman Madeline had started to have mixed feelings about. Dr. Courtney Monroe was not dressed like she was about to have a conversation about the Fortune Five-hundred company she spearheaded but rather like she had just gotten in from a morning jog.
People like her could get away with a few eccentricities, she supposed.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the board, thank you for meeting with me on such short notice,” Monroe said with a forced smile and adjusted her glasses. “Allow me to cut right to the meat of the matter. What is this I’ve heard about Charles Stafford killing himself?”
Madeline looked up from her notes and an odd look settled on her face. “We thought you might know more. Has no one contacted you about it?”
The woman shook her head. “No, I had to read about it in the Wall Street Journal,
of all places.”
The other board members shared glances. Madeline kept her eyes firmly rooted on the screen. She wasn’t sure if Monroe was telling the truth—in fact, she was rather certain she wasn’t—but of course, it was part of her role to seem like she had nothing to do with the sudden death of a man who had opposed her on the board over the past month or so.
“Well, the details are still under investigation,” she said and took control of the meeting herself. “But the financial reports just came in, and it would seem the money that paid for the death of Charles Stafford, may he rest in peace, came from his own personal accounts. We’ll let you know if we learn anything more. The IRS is currently scouring his records.”
Monroe nodded and looked crestfallen. Either the woman
was telling the truth, or she was a fantastic actress. Neither would surprise Madeline.
“In the meantime,” she continued with a hasty glance at her notes, “it would appear we now have to fill not one, but two, seats on the board. We have been forced to put off the stock sale for Pegasus until those seats have been filled.”
“I have another suggestion,” Monroe said. “We push the stock sale up. We have the power to declare that emergency powers be granted to the rest of the members of the board, constricting the size of the board, to hold the position for a limited time until shareholders can appoint their own members.”
Madeline looked at the other members. “Are you suggesting that we have an emergency vote?”
The woman nodded. “I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t one of the main reasons why I called this meeting. I will recuse myself from the vote, of course, so hold it and message me when you’ve come to a consensus and tell me your recommendations. I need to prepare for a trip into the Zoo. You ladies and gentlemen have a nice day.”
The line went dead, and the screen blackened as Madeline gathered her notes again. She had spent most of the last few days collecting the names she was willing to submit for the two vacant seats. All for nothing, she supposed.
She looked at her colleagues, who seemed to simply stare at her and wait for her to say something.
“Well, you heard Dr. Monroe,” she said crisply. “All those in favor of granting the current members of the board emergency powers to control those sections of the company left vacant, say aye.”
Some were more hesitant than most, but all seemed to understand that while Monroe had laid it out as a choice for them, there really wasn’t much option.
The vote was unanimous.
“Excellent.” Madeline gathered her notes. She would shred them when she returned home.
“Do you believe she really goes into that alien-infested death swamp?” one of the other members asked.
“It’s in the desert, William,” she explained.
The man opened his mouth to retort but quickly stood down. The tension in the room was all but palpable, she realized.
“You know that she’s consolidating,” she explained. “She was doubted, and she was contested. She’s merely making sure that no one is left who will openly stand against her. It’s a power play. She’ll select whoever takes the empty seats on the board herself when the time comes. For now, let’s allow things to cool down. Once everyone is back and can deal with this rationally, we can revisit it.”
William, a tall former model with an MBA from Stanford, shook his head. “Hopefully by then, someone might have some new ideas.”
Madeline smiled and stood graciously. “Well, nobody can claim our meetings are boring, anyway. This meeting is adjourned. I’ll see you all later.”
