Chapter 12
Matt
After the gym and shower, we go to what I call Dad’s “control room.” Rows of monitors and servers line the walls, and a specialized A/C unit keeps it all from overheating. We arm ourselves with heavy coats against the artificial chill.
Though it’s only day two of the prescribed three-day waiting period, a few former Syndicate members have already checked in … in a manner of speaking.
Chaos reigns back in the city. Some of the explosive fires still smolder despite the fire department’s best efforts, and the death toll keeps rising. Surviving Syndicate employees, though, have started popping up in the form of armed robberies, shakedowns, and fistfights.
Dad’s men, checking in the only way they know how.
Aron crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, so they found a way to get a message to you that they’re still alive. How are you supposed to reach them, though?”
“I guess we’ll have to get creative, too.” I rub my chin while I ponder it.
Despite the ruckus they’ve caused, none of our men have been caught or arrested.
They move through the city, evading the cops, while at the same time conspicuously starting trouble in sight of security cameras and even the general public.
It’s a sure way to know I’ll see them, but it’s a bit foolish.
There’s too big of a risk of getting caught, plus the small matter finding them after they run away. How am I supposed to signal back?
“We might have to use the same tactics,” Aron says after a while. “I mean, how else will we get to them?”
“What are we going to do? Broadcast live?”
“Maybe we should.”
“What?”
Aron chuckles at my response. “Think about it: Beto assumes he killed you. Whoever infiltrated the Syndicate thinks they’ve won. What better way to stick it to them than to announce you’re alive?”
“So they can finish the job?”
“I’m not saying reveal our location. We can stay here but ping the broadcast off another tower or something. Disguise it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “When did you learn how to do that?”
“I paid attention at St. Mary’s of the Divine Light, remember? While you were screwing around, I actually learned something.”
“I find it hard to believe that St. Mary’s had a class on broadcasting.”
He clicks a few keys with a mischievous grin.
“Okay, so Father Browning’s class on ‘modern day technology and how the Devil controls it’ wasn’t quite that informative, it did teach me a few things.
For instance, people trust everything they see online, despite the fact that they’re constantly told not to.
Pop a new background on the screen, show us somewhere we’re not, and they’ll believe it.
” An image appears on a monitor of the two of us in real time, but we’re not in the control room; we’re in my old penthouse.
“How the fuck …?”
“The Devil’s tech, that’s how.” A few more keystrokes, and Beto’s onscreen with us. “I thought so. Tito had all the Syndicate surveillance piped here. We’ve got footage of everyone in the Syndicate at our fingertips.”
“Why does it benefit us to be seen with a traitor?” I’d rather never see Beto’s face again, unless it was at the end of my fist.
“Does anyone besides the enemy know he’s a traitor? No, probably not. So, if we show him alive and well and siding with us, that places doubt on whoever hired him to kill you. They’ll think Beto took their money without doing the job.”
Shit, Aron’s vicious! “And they’ll do our dirty work for us.”
“We hope, anyway.”
“Is this live now?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. I’m just setting up. Why?”
Leaning in over the keyboard, I inspect the closest monitor. “Can you do fancy shit like fake static and stuff?”
Aron rolls his eyes. “This isn’t a Hollywood production, Matt. I’m limited here.”
I pause while I think of our options. “Can you make it not look live? Like it’s a recording?”
“Why would we want to do that?”
“Because if we’re going to set up Beto for a fall, it can’t be live.
They’d have to believe it was recorded after the explosions but before he’s wherever he’s at now.
” Aron eyes me quizzically. “Think about it: If Beto’s with the assholes who ordered the hit, they’ll know it’s not live anyway.
But if we make it seem like it was recorded right after the blasts, they’re more likely to suspect him.
” And if I can get my enemies to start taking each other out, all the better.
“Ah! Yeah, that would be easy enough. I can fake a timestamp.”
Half an hour later, Aron has everything set up. He offers to rig one of the monitors as a teleprompter for me, but I decline. I know exactly what I want to say.
“Okay, counting down. Three … two … one …”
Aron gives the signal, and it’s time to go.
“Hello, fair citizens of our great city. I’m afraid I must apologize for the chaos of the past twenty-four hours.
It seems someone has a grudge against me, and unfortunately they chose a rather violent path to resolving that grievance.
However—” I flash my most charming smile at the camera “—as you can see, thanks to my loyal friend Beto in the background, rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.”
I gesture at the phantom bodyguard. Aron found footage of Beto smiling at the camera, so we’ve used that to show his supposed pride in saving my life.
“To those who attacked this city, be forewarned: I will not take this affront lightly. The Royal Syndicate does not tolerate betrayal. Sleep with one eye open, if you dare sleep at all.”
Aron presses a button on a hidden remote in his sleeve to end the broadcast, and I relax.
“Seriously, Matt? ‘Rumors of my demise’? That’s the line you went with?”
“Sometimes the classics are the best,” I reply. “Besides, if it looks like I’m not shaken by this, it works better. Let them think I’m lax enough to be flippant about it. Then they won’t be prepared for my wrath.”
I hear a soft snort, and when I look back at Aron, his shoulders shake with laughter.
“What?”
“Nothing. It just seems you’ve inherited Tito’s penchant for melodramatics.”
“What would you have said?”
Aron shakes his head. “Oh, no. ‘Rumors of my demise,’ ‘sleep with one eye open,’ and ‘prepare for my wrath’ are just fine. Really. Totally normal phrasing … for a cartoon villain.”
If it was anyone else poking fun, I’d gut them. Aron gets a pass, though.
“So,” he says once he’s regained his composure, “what next?”
I pause to think about it. We need a safe place for the remaining Syndicate members to meet up and rally.
Not here; this compound needs to remain a secret.
Somewhere outside the city proper would be good, on the outskirts, maybe in an unassuming suburb.
But where? Several of our holdings went up in smoke, and whatever’s left might be compromised.
I’ve been such a simp over Aron that I haven’t even checked the bank accounts.
Did they get to our funds, too, or did they just destroy the physical locations?
Sitting at one of the consoles, I start typing. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. This was obviously an inside job. If they got to our accountants, we could be wiped clean.
Of the dozens of various accounts, funds, and holdings belonging to the Royal Syndicate, roughly half have been emptied.
We’re still rich, but not nearly as wealthy as we were before the attacks.
That’s not what concerns me the most, though.
What concerns me isn’t the amount of money stolen, but which accounts were liquidated.
They’re all accounts that Javier had access to.