Chapter 8
Breely left the hotel room with Moe, feeling proud of herself for standing up to her father and sticking up for herself and what she wanted.
Part of her problem was that she was a people pleaser. She didn’t like conflict and hated hurting others, which was why she’d stayed with her parents all those years. She knew how much losing her brother to cancer had devastated them—especially her mother.
Her brother had been outgoing, adventurous and loving. Breely had always thought fate was cruel to take a boy before he’d had a chance to live. He’d never been on a date, wouldn’t marry and have children and would never know what it was like to hold a grandchild on his lap.
The day her brother had died, Breely hadn’t died, but she’d let her grief and the grief her parents suffered hold her hostage. Her life had gone on hold for all those years.
Closing in on thirty, she knew she had to move on. Her parents had to let go.
As they exited the elevator into the lobby, Breely frowned. A crowd of reporters had gathered outside the glass doors, surrounding one person.
Breely cursed and grabbed Moe’s arm. “We need to find another way out of the building.”
Moe nodded. “Isn’t that your father?”
She nodded. “Someone must have recognized him and let the press know he was here.”
Moe hurried to the concierge’s desk and handed him the ticket the valet had given him the day before. “Could I have my car brought around to a side entrance?”
The man nodded. “Of course.” He motioned toward a corridor. “I’ll have him bring it to the loading dock at the rear of the building. If you follow that hallway, it’ll take you to the back entrance.”
“Thank you.” Moe took Breely’s hand and walked down the hallway to the doorway at the end. He pushed the door open, and they stepped into what appeared to be an office with a glass window overlooking a loading dock.
A woman sat behind a desk, entering data into a computer. She paused long enough to glance up and then dropped her gaze to the page of numbers she’d been working on. “Are you the couple who asked to have your car brought to the loading dock?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Moe said.
She touched a button built into her desk, and the lock clicked on the door behind her.
Without taking her gaze off the page full of numbers, she tipped her head toward the door.
“Stay left of the dock. You’ll find a staircase leading down with a door at the bottom.
Your car will be waiting for you there.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Still holding Breely’s hand, Moe led her through the door, skirted the dock and found the stairs.
As the woman had indicated, the rental SUV was parked outside the door. A valet opened the passenger door for Breely and handed the key to Moe.
As they pulled away from the hotel, they swung around the front.
A limousine eased through the throng and stopped at the hotel entrance.
Breely swiveled in her seat as they passed.
The bodyguards had to physically move members of the press to the side to make a path for her father to get to the vehicle.
“How does he do it?” Breely mused. “Everywhere he goes, they’re in his face.”
“By keeping you at the ranch, maybe he was trying to spare you the hassle.”
Breely nodded. “That might have been some of it. For the past couple of years, he’s received a number of death threats.”
Moe frowned. “Do they know who’s issuing them?”
“Dad has contacts in the FBI and CIA. They say the threats are coming out of Central and South America.”
“Does your father have business dealings there?” Moe stopped at a traffic light.
“He has businesses all over the world. And yes, he has holdings in Mexico, Colombia and Venezuela.”
Moe glanced her way. “He’s received threats, but has anyone attempted to follow through on them?”
Breely nodded. “Six months ago, someone shot at his SUV when he was in Dallas for a shareholders meeting.”
“Dallas has its share of random drive-by shootings.”
“True,” Breely said. “The police found the vehicle the shooter used based on the license plate and description. It had been reported stolen a few hours earlier. Like you, the police called it a random drive-by.”
“Were they able to lift prints?” Moe asked.
She shook her head. “It had been wiped clean. Dad gave the police the benefit of the doubt and accepted their explanation.”
“But there’s more,” Moe stated.
“Yes. A month and a half ago, a bullet hit the windshield of Dad’s truck when he was driving into Kalispell. Missed his head by an inch, only because he leaned over to adjust the temperature.”
“Damn. Did they find the shooter that time?”
Breely shook her head. “No. The sheriff thought it might be someone hunting too close to the highway.”
“Could the sheriff be right?” Moe asked.
“It wasn’t hunting season,” Breely said.
“Montana’s like Texas,” Moe pointed out. “Everyone carries a gun. Maybe someone was shooting at a rattlesnake, and the bullet ricocheted off a rock.”
“Another coincidence?” Breely shook her head. “The death threats have been escalating over the past year. The day before his truck was hit, he’d gotten a warning. Stay out of places you don’t belong or suffer the consequences.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Moe maneuvered through Denver and out the east end, heading for the airport.
“I talked to Dad after the attack near Kalispell. He said there’s political unrest in Mexico, Colombia and Venezuela. He relies on local businessmen and politicians to monitor his interests and smooth the way.”
“That’s hard to do from Montana.”
“He’s made many trips to those countries and has men living there that he pays to maintain those relationships when he’s not there.”
“Isn’t it risky operating businesses in countries with unstable governments?”
She nodded. “Always. But it’s lucrative, and they need what he provides.
In return for allowing him to operate in those countries, he’s set up aid programs to help the poor.
He’s even established orphanages to get children off the city streets, fed and educated.
His philanthropies help families in rural communities by teaching them better ways to farm, gifting them with livestock or sewing machines, so they have the means to earn money and feed their families. ”
“You said you work with your father’s philanthropic foundation. Is that the same one doing all these good deeds?”
She nodded. “I help by managing the people who provide the training, run the aid and orphanage operations, procure the animals or products and organize the logistics. It’s my way of contributing to the family business and building goodwill.”
“You’d think these countries would be happy to have your father’s businesses there.”
Her lips twisted. “You’d think so, but it seems that no good deed goes unpunished. In Mexico, the cartels raided the homes and farms of those people we’ve helped and stole their livestock and produce.”
“There’s not a whole lot you can do to keep that from happening. The Mexican government would have to make a big push to rid the country of the cartels.”
“I know.” She sighed. “In the meantime, all we do is keep trying. Venezuela has been in turmoil for several years. They’re going into an election this year.
The incumbent, Xavier Salazar, has done more to hurt the country than help.
His rival, Jesus DeVita, is running on a campaign to clean up corruption and bring prosperity back to the people.
He’s received endorsements from more than a dozen countries.
Even the rest of the world wants the current president out. ”
“What are the chances of the opponent winning?” Moe asked as he took the airport exit.
“He has the backing of the people. If he makes it to the election, he could win the popular vote. But based on past experience, anyone who’s dared to publicly speak out against the current government has either been thrown in prison or has disappeared.”
“Mexico’s a hot mess. Venezuela’s unstable.” Moe drove up to the building they’d passed through the night before and parked in the same spot they’d found the rental. He switched off the engine and faced Breely. “What about Colombia?”
“The Venezuelan government is mad at Colombia, claiming they killed one of their most prominent generals. Rumor had it that this general was terrorizing civilians on both sides of the border. He’s ordered raids on villages, killing the men and raping the women.”
“Sounds like Colombia did Venezuela a favor.” Moe got out of the SUV and came around to open the door for Breely.
When he held out his hand, she smiled up at him and let him help her out. “Has your father had any dealings with those governments? Has he made someone mad?”
“I don’t know. The last time he was in South America, he visited his companies in Colombia and Venezuela. That was over a year ago. He was happy with the people he’d left in charge and touches bases with them often through video conferencing. He was in Mexico City not long ago.”
Moe wished he’d known about the shootings before he’d met Breely’s father.
He’d have taken more time with the man, been more understanding.
Brantt was taking the death threats seriously and was worried about his family being caught in the crossfire.
The attack on Breely had shaken him enough to fly all the way to Denver to find her.
Moe reached into the vehicle for his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.
Breely slipped her hand in his as they walked into the building.
He liked the way she fit beside him and how she wasn’t afraid to take his hand. For a woman who’d led a very sheltered life, she was making up for the lost time by unashamedly seizing the things she wanted. For the moment, it appeared that she wanted him.
His lips turned up on the corners.
He was smiling when he reached the counter, where a different woman from the night before greeted him. She was young and pretty with blond hair and blue eyes.
Moe decided he was more into red hair and green eyes lately.
“May I help you?” the clerk asked.