Cartel Rose (The Cartel Brotherhood #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Leisel

“No! No! No!”

This cannot be happening.

“Anne, what’s wrong?”

I look over at my assistant, Johan, and shake my head. I shift my attention to the man who just walked into the conference room. He prowled—fucking prowled, not walked—into the office as though we’re here to serve him. As though this is his investment firm.

It’s not. It’s not even his country.

“He’s half an hour early, and my computer won’t connect to the network. I knew I should’ve brought my own instead of relying on this old piece of shit. It’s updating.”

“Use mine.”

“Thanks.”

I watch as Jorge Diaz turns toward my office, and our gazes lock. The man is beyond gorgeous…and he knows it. The arrogance rolls off him in tsunami size waves. He’s so damn sure of himself.

Smug bastard.

“If you keep scowling like that, you’ll give him the wrong impression.”

“More like the right impression. He’s here to tank the deal I’ve worked on for the past four months. It’s been a house of cards since the beginning, and he’s about to flick the bottom cards out from under everything.”

“You can’t be sure of that, Anne.”

“Maybe not, but it wouldn’t be the first time his family’s done shit like this. Swooped in and fucked over everyone in sight.”

The Diaz family is one of the wealthiest in the world.

It’s no secret that wealth comes from more illegal enterprises than not.

They’re originally Colombian, so take that for what it is.

They’re narco-traffickers. I’m certain of it.

No court has ever proven it because evidence and witnesses get lost on the way to trial.

They’re that powerful. With their home now in New York, their power and influence reach around the world.

Right now, it’s reaching into my German office and wrapping itself around me, threatening to strangle me.

“Here. I pulled up the presentation. I’ll come with you and connect it to the projector while you schmooze. That’s what Americans say, right?”

“Yeah.”

I hate schmoozing, but it’s an integral part of my job when I’m trying to get companies to invest millions—even billions—in each other.

I wanted to be an analyst and stare at numbers all day.

I enjoy putting the puzzles together as I watch market trends and company valuations.

I enjoy creating investment plans. But my father insisted I be front and center.

A pretty face and a brain that works. I never should’ve let anyone know I’m competent.

Nepo-baby.

I’ve been called that plenty of times. It wasn’t nepotism that got me into Oxford to read PPE—Philosophy, Politics, and Economics.

It wasn’t nepotism that got me into the Wharton School of Business for my MBA.

If nepotism benefited me, I wouldn’t be walking into a conference room to shake hands with Jorge.

I inherited my father’s Germanic height, so I’m five-eleven.

I look most men in the eye. A lot of them don’t appreciate it.

I also inherited his blonde hair and green eyes.

People have complimented my looks my entire life.

I know it’s made life easier many times, but it’s also meant that—combined with the nepo-baby label—plenty of people underestimate me.

I’ve learned to use that to my advantage, but it still stings.

Jorge turns as I enter the room and flashes me a smile.

It’s polite but reserved. His hand dwarfs mine when we shake, and that’s saying something since I don’t have man hands, but they’re bigger than plenty of women.

He has to be at least six-three, six-four.

I wonder if everything is proportionate to his height and ridiculously broad shoulders.

The man is fucking en fuego. On fire.

Like insanely hot.

It’s even more obvious now that we’re standing in front of each other.

“Welcome, Mr. Diaz. On behalf of Schlossberg & Sons, we appreciate you coming to Frankfurt.”

And Sons.

Doesn’t exactly leave much room for me, but I’m still the Chief Operations Officer and second-in-command.

I don’t appreciate him sending my father an email two days ago announcing his impending arrival. We definitely didn’t ask him to come. But here I am schmoozing.

“Thank you, Ms. Schlossberg. I know this was a last-minute imposition, and I apologize for the inconvenience. I’m certain you rearranged your schedule to indulge me.”

That’s unexpected.

“It’s all right. We’re happy to accommodate you.”

Fuck.

I internally wince.

I sounded like a complete bitch. He just apologized, and I threw it back in his face. People say the Germans can be—brusque. Apparently, I’m proving that.

His lips twitch as though he’d smile, but that wouldn’t fit with his commanding presence.

“Anne, everything’s ready to go.”

I forgot Johan was in here, setting everything up. The man is quieter than a church mouse. He also works harder than just about anyone I know. He’s completely unflappable, so perfect in a crisis. I rarely get rattled, but if I do, I know I can count on him.

“Thank you, Johan. Please have Alex bring the tray. Mr. Diaz, would you prefer coffee or tea?”

“Just water, please.”

I twist to look at Johan, who slips out of the room.

“Ms. Schlossberg, I know I’m early. I wished to speak to you before everyone else arrives.”

This feels as ominous as a partner saying, “we need to talk” right before a breakup.

“Please have a seat.”

I gesture toward the table and chairs. He walks to the seat directly to the right of the chair at the head of the table.

My chair. I force myself not to scowl when he doesn’t stop where I assumed but at mine.

I’m unprepared for him to pull it out for me.

It’s on wheels, so he steps aside and pulls out his own seat.

The one I thought he’d choose. He doesn’t sit until I do.

Old world charm.

His parents must’ve drilled that into him because it’s as though he gave it no thought.

He twists in his chair, so he can face me more easily.

My gaze takes in his permanently sun-kissed skin, milk chocolate eyes, and five o’clock shadow.

He fills the chair with his athletic build, and it’s clear he’s all bone and muscle. The man didn’t skip leg day.

“Ms. Schlossberg, my uncle sent me as the Diaz Holdings forensic accountant rather than my other uncle who’s a financier. We have reservations about the valuation you sent. I hoped you could explain it to me, please.”

Please.

It’s difficult to be in a snit with someone with impeccable manners. However, I struggle not to narrow my eyes when he insinuates I made an error in my analysis.

“What part of the valuation concerns you?”

“All of it.”

My chin notches up, and I know I’m looking down my nose at him. It’s a reaction I’ve honed over the years when I feel someone’s underestimating me. He’s going to argue the company he wishes to invest in is worth less than I proposed.

“Perhaps you could be more specific. Please.”

I can be polite too. I swear I can.

“This company is a dolled-up shell corp. Kutsenko Partners currently owns the real holding. That’s what we wish to buy.

The numbers you reported are vastly under the true value.

They only include the shell, which is an asset.

But it’s not what we want. I suspect it was Pasha Kutsenko, not Sumiko Kutsenko, who sent you the information. ”

I neither confirm nor deny.

Now he does smile. He knows I’m unwilling to give more information about my client than I must.

“The information Pasha provided made your estimation correct but incomplete. I believe you knew Kutsenko Partners withheld vital records, yet you prepared the offer anyway. Not only that, you submitted it to us.”

“Mr. Diaz, I did my own investigation. Kutsenko Partners owns the company that once held the asset you want to invest in. It no longer does. They sold it five months ago, which you already knew since we began the negotiations four months ago. Your suggestion that they still own it is inaccurate. The Kutsenkos offered the historical data as a courtesy.”

He smirks, and I think he’d have snorted if it weren’t rude.

“If you say so. Your firm’s commission increases substantially if the larger deal goes through. We’re buying the shell corp and the parent company.”

Presumptuous ass.

We’re buying.

No, you’re not. The parent company isn’t for sale.

“Unfortunately, that’s not an option. Heidemann Labs is what you hired us to invest in, not buy. Heidemann BioTech isn’t for sale.”

“With the Kutsenkos, everything is for sale at the right price. Before Diaz Holdings will conclude the Labs’ purchase, we’d like you to do a more thorough valuation that includes BioTech.

If it’s what we expect, then we’ll proceed with the offer to Kutsenko Partners.

If they won’t agree, we’ll acquire it by more hostile means. ”

“A takeover is beyond our purview. A corporate lawyer would be better suited to handle such a transaction. We manage investments. If you’d like to include Heidemann BioTech in your portfolio, we’ll happily set that up.”

Jorge sits back in his seat as he listens. He appears entirely relaxed, but I sense he’s coiled like a snake, ready to strike. I don’t trust him.

“Perhaps your father’s available.”

I force myself not to curl my hands into fists I want to slam into his chiseled jaw. That was an utterly dick move, and he knows it. He’s baiting me.

“He is not.”

“Then we’ll save everyone else the time of coming in here for a meeting that won’t happen now.”

He rises and buttons his suit coat with just as much suaveness as he unbuttoned it before sitting. I stand as well, but I’m not as ready to leave.