Chapter Four
Harmon
He’s lying.
It should be enough to turn him down and not let this go any further, but something is stopping me. Something wants him.
“I’ll call you back in one hour,” I say. “Have your address at the ready.”
I end the call without waiting for a response, then I send his phone number to my assistant, Oliver, and tell him to get every bit of information he can on the owner. I give no other information. Oliver will do as he’s told.
I go back to my emails, browsing through what accumulated while I was in a meeting with the design team. Twenty minutes pass before there is a knock on my door.
“Sir, I have the information you requested,” Oliver says.
“Come in, then.”
I gesture for him to come in, and he sits at the chair across from my desk and wakes up his iPad.
Oliver has been working for me for close to two years.
He came here looking for an internship and never left.
I don’t know what changed in his life for him to settle as my assistant, but I can’t complain.
He’s the best one I’ve ever had. Oliver does as he’s told without question.
He’s organized and polite. Quirky, smart, and the right amount of social.
He doesn’t talk too much, doesn’t pry, but asks questions when necessary.
The only issue, if I had to pick one, would be his wardrobe that consists of only dark browns, greens, and creams. Though he manages to make the colors work and look professional, it wouldn’t be my choice of outfit.
“Unfortunately, the phone is a burner. It was purchased with cash. No owner information. All I have is that it’s only been used in the same location, which is in Oak Hills, but I cannot narrow it down any further.”
“That is unfortunate,” I say distractedly. “Why do you think that is?”
“Maybe it’s a burner used as a house phone? Some people do that since it’s cheaper than paying for a landline these days.”
“And the rest of it?”
“He likes his privacy?”
I nod, agreeing. Liking his privacy makes sense. And the only way I’m going to get anything out of him is by speaking with him directly.
“How long has the phone been used in that location?”
Oliver glances at the iPad, then pushes his glasses up his nose and says, “Almost one year.”
I’m curious to know what address he gives me, because it’s clear he did not just move in. Maybe he’s embarrassed of where he lives. The west end isn’t the best part of town, and he does come across as wanting to please. Which could be a good thing, but not if he’s going to lie.
This boy needs a lot of training, but still, it could work out.
Now I have to see if he calls me back in an hour like I told him to, and if he shows up to breakfast on time in the morning.
“You’re late,” is what I say when I pick up the phone to answer his call.
“I know, I’m—shit, sorry. I was dealing with a situation at home, and the time got away from me.” There’s a bang, and then a crack like something broke.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
Creaking sounds, then another bang. The background noise changes, like maybe he’s gone outside.
“Yes. I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. “My life is slightly chaotic at the moment.”
“Hm,” is my response. I say nothing else, and it’s quiet on the line until he says, “You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?”
“I never made up my mind,” I admit.
“So, we can still have breakfast in the morning?”
He sounds hopeful.
“Do you have an address for me?”
He sighs. “Yes, but you won’t be in the car when they pick me up, will you?”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”
“It’s…” He sighs again. “Where I live is embarrassing.”
Well, there it is. I’m so proud of him for admitting that, for not lying or hiding it from me. There is so much potential here. I can’t possibly deny myself this opportunity.
“What is your name?” I ask.
“Cassius.”
“Okay, Cassius, if it will make you feel better, I will not be in the car when it picks you up tomorrow morning at eight. But I will say this: do not get used to calling the shots. If you agree to this, what I say goes.”
“Yes, sir.”
I smile as I pick up my pen.
“Give me the address.”
I scribble it on the pad when he rambles it off, then I tell him I’ll see him in the morning, and he should try his best to have a good day and get a good night’s sleep. I email the address to Oliver and ask him to have a car there at eight sharp, and to bring the occupant here for a meeting.
I always bring potential slaves here to chat and possibly go over the contract. Doing it in public is no good, and I don’t want them in my home if they can’t be trusted. Posing it as a potential client or employee has always worked.
At least here, there is a conference room and security, if needed. Which reminds me… I forgot to ask Cassius one very important thing.
I stare at my cell, wondering if I should call him back.
I always make sure they’re prepared to sign an NDA before we get into any details.
I can’t have them panicking and running off to tell the media what the CEO of Stone Timeworks is into.
It would be the end of my career and ruin the lives of thousands.
Because of my line of work, I have to be careful.
My lawyer has told me more than once that I shouldn’t go to Dark Rose at all, but outside cameras are not allowed in there.
Their security system is all outfitted with Phantom tech, which when researching, I found was so good that I decided to use it for myself—both in business and personal.
On top of all that, in my position, it’s not common for me to be recognized.
I’m not all over the media or doing public meetings.
I’m not an actor. There is a lot I handle, and I attend a lot of meetings, travel, etc.
But it’s extremely doubtful any of those men I deal with would be at Dark Rose.
And if they were—we’d both know enough to keep our mouths shut.
I stand and stretch, turning to look out the window and down to the Chicago River that’s, as usual, bustling with people. Chicago is a city that’s always on the go, and despite it being chaotic at times, it’s where I thrive best. It was the perfect place to relocate the company when I took it over.
Texas was terrible. Houston was awful. Though, perhaps it's the childhood memories that ruin the place for me. Still, the moment my father passed, and this company came to me, I moved. I’d been planning it all along, making sure that it would work.
I’d put everything into place and then all that was left was waiting for him to croak.
It was a Sunday morning, the perfect start to the week, when I got the news.
I made arrangements immediately, had the wake and buried him within a few days. I paid the lawyers extra to push everything through so I could sign, and then I found the best realtor I could to get me the best spot in Chicago.
They did not fail.
I didn’t own the building when we first moved here, but I own it now.
Other businesses rent floors, as we don’t need that much space.
Only a few floors are what’s necessary for us.
A lot of our products are made overseas while the rest are still made in Texas.
Most of our sales come from Europe, so there is a small Timeworks location there as well.
I’d considered moving base there entirely, but I wasn’t ready to leave American soil yet.
Though, it feels like a better choice with each day that passes.
Our main shipping port is still through Houston, so I go down there roughly once a year to see how things are running—show my face and let them know I’m still around and am willing to help with anything they need.
Somehow, my father spread his vile words to everyone in Houston, because they’re the only people who still give me a problem in this company.
I’d considered switching ports, but at this point, it’s too expensive…
and for what? Leaving is only letting them win.
It’s not the workers at the port that are an issue, it’s my actual employees.
The older ones that were around when my father was still here.
They should be at retiring age, and soon enough they’ll all be gone anyway.
I could fire them, but then I remember it’s not their fault that they were raised the way they were. You learn bigotry and hate from somewhere. Problem is my father encouraged that sort of attitude in his company.
He didn’t only leave behind a company. He left behind habits. Attitudes. People who still think the way he taught them to.
I don’t know why I’m thinking of him now. That irritates me.
Funny how things can leave lasting scars, no matter how long ago they happened.
I clasp my hands behind my back, looking down the forty-seven floors to the bottom, then outward to look at the rest of the city.
My computer dings with a message from Oliver, pulling my attention. I see the pop up in the corner of my screen and move closer to read it.
Oliver
Everything is set for the morning, sir.
He is a good little assistant.
I type back to say thank you, then let him know he can leave for the rest of the day, if he’d like.
I have one meeting left and then I’m leaving as well.
But before I prepare for that, I go to my closet, where my safe is built into the wall.
I put in the code, it beeps three times and the door pops open.
I slide out the folder I will need for the morning, look through it to ensure all the appropriate paperwork is there, then put it away and lock the safe, tugging on the handle three times to ensure it’s closed securely.