Chapter Ten
Jarek
Sweetwater Creek State Park, Mt. Vernon Road, Lithia Springs, Atlanta…
Moving to Boston a decade ago had been an adjustment in many ways for Jarek. Having grown up in the rolling hills of Ireland, he was nature’s child.
“I never realized how I miss this,” he murmured as he breathed in the fresh air. His shoulders relaxed as birdsong replaced the city’s constant drone. Ten years of Boston’s cramped streets and artificial canyons had worn on him. There were times he found the city stifling and longed to be back in his birth country. Here, in this little oasis, the scent of pine needles and damp earth transported him back to Ireland’s Wicklow Mountains, where he’d spent countless days roaming with nothing but a backpack and his thoughts.
Shifting his weight, he adjusted the prosthetic mask as its edges caught the morning humidity. The salt-and-pepper wig was carefully arranged, with the hair teasing his nape. Since the length was much shorter than his own, feeling it brush against his neck was a constant reminder of his disguise.
“Would I ever be rid of living this double life?” he wondered out loud. Lifting the binoculars to his eyes, he surveyed the area. “Hmm, he’s not here yet.” Letting the glasses drop to hang from the strap around his neck, he hiked on.
The park sprawled before him in a stark contrast to the city’s concrete maze. Red clay trails snaked through stands of towering pines, with their canopy filtering the morning light into dappled patterns on the forest floor. White-tailed deer tracks crossed his path, leading toward Sweetwater Creek, where the water rushed over worn granite. The scent of the forest that showcased ferns, magnolias, wild azaleas, and hardwoods hit the spot of nostalgia inside him that had become dormant over time.
“What a story you tell,” he said as he stood gazing at the ruins of the New Manchester mill before him. Five stories of weathered brick stretched skyward as if begging for mercy. Jarek ran his hand along the crumbling walls. He imagined he could feel the destruction and despair in each scorched stone. Empty window frames gaped like hollow eyes—a testament to Sherman’s apocryphal campaign. Kudzu draped the remaining walls in a green shroud as nature slowly reclaimed what man had built.
“Quite the sight, isn’t it?” A voice carried from behind him.
Jarek’s muscles tensed, but outwardly, he was calm. Charles Harold stood at the edge of the ruins. He presented every bit the corporate conveyance lawyer in hiking gear that didn’t quite fit his frame.
“The old girl’s got character,” Jarek replied in an impeccable Southern American accent. “Shame about the fire.”
“Some would say it was justice.” Harold walked closer. “Though I prefer to think of it as... progress.”
Jarek studied the man for long moments. His dark hair was peppered with silver at the temples. The expensive haircut spoke of regular visits to an upscale salon, yet the styling product was quickly losing its hold in the Georgia humidity. The hiking clothes, which Jarek was relatively certain were new and branded, strained against his protruding belly—evidence of too many business lunches and scotch-soaked evenings.
Standing around five-foot-seven, Harold compensated for his lack of height with an air of authority that came from years of manipulating the law to serve his clients’ needs. His beady eyes were set deep in his round face and held the prepence assessment of a man accustomed to weighing risks against rewards. Jarek had done due diligence on Charles Harold and knew that he had witnessed countless shell company deals in smoke-filled back rooms, where the line between legal and illegal had been significantly blurred.
Suppressing a grin, he watched Harold’s manicured hands grip a walking stick that he clearly didn’t know how to use. He might not cast a formidable appearance, but every movement, every gesture carried the mass of a man whose confidence had built a fortune by knowing which secrets to keep and which to leverage.
“Progress has many faces, Mr. Harold.” Jarek finally responded as he adjusted his cap. He kept his movements measured yet confident to align with the age he portrayed. “Some are more profitable than others.”
“Speaking of profit…” Harold cleared his throat. “Am I correct in assuming this meeting is to make me a proposition that might… financially benefit me?”
The prosthetic mask wrinkled at the corners in a smirk at Harold’s inability to contain his greed. A red-tailed hawk screeching overhead echoed his own thoughts of disgust for the man who wouldn’t think twice about turning his back on his most lucrative alliance for something he perceived to be better.
“Indeed,” Jarek drawled. “One that could make the mills of today look like a mere cottage industry.”
Harold’s eyes started to glimmer at the mention of money.
“The trails are surprisingly empty today,” he commented in a voice that carried the oratorical weight of a corporate real estate lawyer squabbling over zoning regulations in court. His furtive gaze darted around the clearing, a habit born from years of handling paranoid clients and attending clandestine meetings.
“Perfect for a private conversation,” Jarek replied.
“Well, I’m listening.” Harold rubbed his hands in anticipation.
“Not here.” Jarek looked around with a pretense of concern. “I prefer somewhere a little more private… where I can see and hear anyone approaching.” He gestured toward the trail beyond the mill that climbed into the rocky bluffs. “Shall we have our discussion up there?”
Harold glanced upward. His breathing became labored just at the thought of hiking up the steep trail. “Is it really necessary? There’s no one around.”
“I’m afraid I have to insist.” Jarek gestured toward the trail. “Shall we head up?” Without waiting for a response, Jarek took off at a robust pace.
There was an unpolished and untamed beauty here that reminded him of Ireland. Something he had missed since moving to the city. The air also felt cleaner here, sharper. It was like breathing in clarity itself.
The brisk pace Jarek set was meant to intimidate Harold. His labored breathing grew louder as they climbed higher, drawing a contrast between the steady rhythm of Jarek’s footsteps and the unfit sound of Harold’s gasping lungs. Although aided by expensive hiking boots, his clumsy gait caused him to slip and stumble on the uneven ground.
Jarek continued to climb, ignoring the struggling lawyer falling further behind. Instead, his gaze swept upward to appreciate the jagged rocks and the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy as it cast fractured shadows on the trail. He felt alive here. Grounded.
“This... this is some hike,” Harold puffed in a strained voice.
“It’s not much further now,” Jarek called back in a commanding tone. Glancing briefly over his shoulder, he caught the flush of crimson that bloomed over Harold’s face and the way he gripped a nearby tree for support.
“I’m not... you are quite the outdoorsman,” Harold wheezed. His words were broken by short, shallow breaths, accompanied by the scraping sound of the walking stick against the dirt.
“Staying fit is good for your health,” Jarek replied in a steady voice while hiding the satisfaction of watching Harold struggle. “Keeps the mind sharp, too. You need to keep both in good shape in this line of work.”
Harold groaned as he bent slightly at the waist, trying to catch his breath. “I’d... rather keep my sharp mind in an air-conditioned office, to be honest. This isn’t… exactly my element.”
“All the more reason to push through it.” Jarek was unperturbed. His pace remained unrelenting. “You’ll feel better at the top. Trust me.”
“Feel better!?” Harold barked out a laugh that quickly dissolved into another bout of wheezing. “I’ll feel better… when I’m back in my car… with the AC blasting.”
Jarek slowed just enough to glance back at him. His expression was unreadable as he responded with a hint of amusement, “You’ll thank me later. Physical exertion builds character.”
“God save me from more character ,” Harold gasped. His steps had become more lethargic as he dragged one leg in front of the other. Sweat-soaked and physically spent, his porcine face glistened as his carefully groomed image cracked under the strain.
“These trails... aren’t marked... properly,” Harold croaked as he paused to lean against a boulder. He muttered incoherently—the sound of a man out of his depth… and Jarek relished as he kept moving, forcing him to cut short the break.
“Come on, Harold.” His tone sharpened just enough to cut through the continued grumbling. “You’re not about to let a sixty-plus-year-old man outpace you, right?” He reached up and adjusted his cap with a practiced movement.
Harold glared at him with his beady eyes narrowing, but his pride forced him to keep going.
“Sixty or not,” he huffed, “I’d like to see you handle a property negotiation after this.”
Jarek didn’t bother responding. Instead, he turned back to the trail. His lips pressed into a thin line to hide his grin. The hike was doing its job. Harold was uncomfortable, off balance, and Jarek wasn’t about to let up. The bluff wasn’t far now, and with each step, his confidence seemed to fade, replaced by the raw, human fragility Jarek had aimed to expose.
Pausing at a switchback, he watched Harold stumble forward. “Nature has a way of stripping away pretense, Mr. Harold. Up here, we’re just two men having a conversation.”
Harold’s beady eyes narrowed, but his retort dissolved into more wheezing. Smiling, Jarek walked on, thoroughly enjoying the subtle dance of power play. Each step widened the gap between them, forcing Harold to expend precious breath catching up.
“Now, isn’t this lovely,” Jarek murmured as he stepped onto a flat rock with the ease of a man who belonged there. The view stretched wide before him. Sweetwater Creek wound below like a silver vein through the green forest. The ruins were distant but visible where they stood, cradled by nature’s reclamation. His chest expanded with each breath as he drew in air that was untainted by city pollution. This was freedom—raw, wild, and honest.
Harold stumbled into view, stopping a few feet short of Jarek. With his hands on his knees, he bent double, gasping for air. Sweat drenched his shirt, which was now clinging to his protruding belly. His face had turned into an alarming shade of crimson.
“Christ,” Harold gasped as he staggered forward, then dropped to his knees with a grunt. “Are you fucking trying to kill me... or make a deal?”
Jarek looked at him stoically. Harold’s hands were braced against the ground with his fingers curling into the rough stone as he fought for breath.
“Take a moment.” Jarek’s voice was resolute, showing his indifference to the man’s suffering. He crouched nearby and unscrewed the cap off his water bottle. “Catch your breath. Look around. The view’s worth it, isn’t it?”
Harold’s head jerked up. He glared at Jarek, though his words came in broken gasps. “You... sadistic... bastard.”
Jarek smirked. He stayed crouched with one hand resting casually on his knee while the other held the water bottle just out of Harold’s reach.
“Come now, Harold. This was a short hike. Besides, you’re alive, aren’t you? Your lungs are filled with clean oxygen, and your pulse rate is up, which I suppose doesn’t happen often. It’s a win-win. Your heart will thank you one day.”
Harold sat back heavily with his legs splayed awkwardly as he grabbed at the bottle with shaky hands. He gulped the water down greedily causing some of it to spill down his chin. His breaths were still uneven but slowly stabilizing. The walking stick lay abandoned beside him as his polished image of a man of power and control was in tatters.
“I don’t... hike.” Harold’s voice was hoarse. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “And I don’t... negotiate... after nearly dropping dead.”
With deliberate movements. Jarek rose to tower over him. He capped the water bottle and slipped it back into his vest with a tranquil expression.
“Then you should’ve stayed in your air-conditioned office, Harold. But here you are. You came here because you suspect I have something you want. So, I suggest you get your act together.”
Still slumped on the ground and with his pride clearly wounded, Harold glared at him. He wiped the sweat off his brow with sluggish movements.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Jarek didn’t answer. He turned instead, stepping closer to the edge of the bluff to stare at the landscape. His hands resting at his sides were steady.
“When you’re ready, make sure you’re going to listen and are prepared to take a huge risk. I didn’t hike up here just to listen to you whining,” he said without looking back.
Harold let out a low groan. It was the sound of a man realizing he was completely out of his depth.
“Then let’s not waste each other’s time, Mr. Dark One,” he said, his confidence returning now that he got to his feet. “This isn’t your territory, so I can only imagine you’re here to ruffle some feathers. Spit it out, sir. Why am I here?”
A faint breeze tugged at the brim of Jarek’s cap as he looked Harold over. Sweat still clung to his collar, and his chest rose and fell as he struggled to regain composure. His attempt to sound confident rang hollow since his words were shaky despite the bravado. Harold started fidgeting as Jarek let the silence hang for a moment.
“You’re here,”—Jarek’s voice darkened—“because you’re in the middle of securing a lucrative opportunity for the wrong man.”
Harold’s eyes narrowed as a flicker of confusion crossed his face before he masked it with his usual smugness.
“I am working on numerous deals all the time. What deal are you talking about?”
Jarek’s boots grated against the rocky surface as he stepped closer.
“Don’t play coy, Harold. I’m talking about the casino—to be more precise, the Cherokee Sunrise Casino Resort in Cherokee, North Carolina. You’ve been brokering the purchase of it for Polov. Quietly, behind closed doors.”
“Only three parties know about that. No one else is supposed to know,” Harold croaked.
Jarek tilted his head slightly, reveling in Harold’s reaction. “Except I do.”
The blood drained from Harold’s flushed cheeks. His beady eyes darted toward the trees, as though searching for someone, something, to rescue him.
“That’s... that’s impossible.” His voice climbed an octave. “How the hell could you even know about that? No one outside the principals involved in the deal knows. No one.”
Jarek allowed a thin smile. “I have my resources.” His tone carried an air of quiet dominance. “You should know, Mr. Harold. There’s nothing I can’t find out when I make the effort.”
Harold stepped back and swallowed hard at the subtle boast. “This is still Polov’s deal,” he replied in an attempt to push back, but his voice wasn’t convincing. “You’re wading into shark-infested waters. Do you have any idea what kind of man he is?”
“Oh, I know exactly what kind of man he is. But I didn’t come here to talk about Polov. I came here to talk about you.” He gestured toward the bluff’s edge, where the forest below stretched out endlessly. “You’ve spent your whole career making things happen for men like him. Greedy men. Dangerous men. You know how this game works, so you’re going to make it happen for me.”
Harold’s face twitched as his discomfort grew by the second. “And what exactly am I supposed to make happen?”
“I want the casino, and you’re going to make sure it happens.”
The words hit Harold like a gut punch as he choked out a nervous laugh. “You’re mad. Polov agreed to add an additional ten percent for me on the price he pays. Ten percent above the commission I already earn from the seller! Do you have any fucking idea what that amounts to? Do you honestly think I’m going to throw that away and risk my neck for you?” He added an expansive gesture to illustrate his point.
“This is Atlanta. Consider it the private domain of one very powerful and unmerciful tyrant. Your reckless intentions to trespass on his territory will only have fatal consequences for you. You’ve been warned. You would do well to heed my words.”
“A stirring message, Harold.” Jarek’s resolve didn’t waver from the threat of violence. “Now, listen carefully. I’ll offer you the same deal—ten percent additional on the purchased price. But I’ll also throw in an additional two percent of the annual profits of the casino for as long as the place belongs to me. At a minimum, that’s an extra three to four million a year in your pocket.”
Harold froze as the numbers sank in. For a moment, Jarek glimpsed a look of possible reconsideration from a man who knew how to beat the odds. Then, just as quickly, it disappeared. It was made plainly clear with the shake of his head that he feared the risks more than any monetary reward that Jarek offered.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking. Polov would kill me. He’d kill both of us. This isn’t a game, Dark One. He’s not the kind of man you cross.”
Jarek met Harold’s gaze with the cold, unyielding stare of a man who never backed down.
“I always get what I want, Harold, and besides, I’m a ghost, remember.” He gestured to his face. “What you see here is a facade. Once I walk away, it changes. You won’t be able to identify me, neither will he, especially since the deal will be secured using a closed corporation shell company. No one will ever associate me with the deal… or the Somerville Irish Gang, for that matter.” His chin tilted an inch higher.
“Let me sweeten the deal a little more—one million cash the moment the deal is signed. Either you make your life easier and guarantee this happens, or I’ll find someone who will.” Jarek stepped into Harold’s personal space to drive the point home. “You can become a multi-millionaire in a short space of time or end up diving into dumpsters for your meals.”
Harold’s breathing quickened again. He glanced toward the bluff’s edge, as though searching for an escape route.
“You don’t get it,” he muttered in a pleading tone. “Polov’s resources, his connections... he’ll find out. He always finds out. I’ll be a dead man.”
Jarek straightened. “Not if you’re clever. Obviously, the ownership details of the closed corporation owning the shell company can’t be disclosed. So, Polov will never know you switched sides or that you were even involved in the casino being sold to someone else. You’ve hidden bigger secrets for worse men, haven’t you? Besides, there’ll be other deals, other opportunities to pacify him. For one, I heard a rumor that Atlanta Resort is looking to sell. It’ll be the perfect pacifier to offer Polov.” He tilted his head as his piercing gaze locked Harold in place. “And as for protection... I’ll take care of that. You’ll be safe, Harold. Safer with me than you ever were with Polov.”
Harold stared at him as he weighed the offer. With his lips pressed into a thin line, his beady eyes flickered again as the promise of untold wealth was dangled before him.
“One million additional in cash and two percent of annual profits.” His voice edged sharply as he did the math. “That’s a lot of money.”
“It is,” Jarek said evenly. “And it’s all yours as long as you deliver.”
Harold wrestled with the enormity of the consequences he faced. “And if I don’t?” he finally whispered.
“Failure to agree isn’t an option.” Jarek’s expression hardened. His tone left no room for doubt. “Either you make this happen, or I make sure you’ll never work another deal in your life. It’s your choice.”
Harold nodded slowly. “Fine,” he muttered bitterly. “I’ll do it. But if this goes south—”
“It won’t,” Jarek interrupted in a firm voice. “As long as you do your part, Mr. Harold, you’ll be fine. You need to understand one thing—this isn’t just business for me. It’s personal, so losing this deal isn’t an option.”