Chapter Thirty-One
Phoenix
I made the deal with Christensen.
Using my work cell, I logged into one of my offshore accounts, completed the transfer, and confirmed the transaction. “Four hundred million.”
Cash sale, over asking.
The Huntsman was richer, and I didn’t care what I’d spent. I had thirty-one floors to work with, a security setup already in place that rivaled my other properties, secure underground parking, and a handshake contract for him to retrofit the floors as needed.
Standing at his desk in his home office, the blueprints laid out in front of us, Christensen gave me a look that was more severe than his usual austere expression. “That is fifty million over the agreed upon amount.”
“Consider it prepayment for any buildouts.”
Not checking his account to confirm the transfer, maintaining his steeled glare, he crossed his arms. “This is not how I do business.”
Six-foot-seven, more ripped than when he was active duty, a fucking beast in business and on the battlefield, Christensen wasn’t just a warrior.
He was a one-man army. “Understood.” Dealing with him only reconfirming that I’d made the right choice in coming back to Miami, I defended my position.
“When it’s time to do any retrofitting, I may be unreachable. This ensures availability of funds.”
Christensen held his stare. “It is a long path from a SEAL stipend to Paragon’s holdings.”
“It is.” Except that wasn’t what he was indirectly asking. Neil Christensen wanted to know if my income was earned legitimately. It wasn’t. Not all of it. But the five billion in the account I’d paid him from was. “This transaction is aboveboard. Are the arrangements in place for tomorrow?”
“Ja.” Christensen uncrossed his arms and rolled up the blueprints. “You will take occupancy tomorrow morning.”
“Time?” He’d been on the phone since I’d gotten here, navigating his network of attorneys, building department connections, title officers, and insurance companies.
“Oh seven hundred. As you requested.” He handed me the blueprints I’d already memorized.
“Appreciate it.” The top two floors were already tricked out.
The next floor housed all the building’s security systems with ten thousand feet for a command room and Cypher’s servers.
Five of the floors below those were set up as individual residences.
The rest of the space, I could build out as needed.
My plan was coming together.
“Do you need to walk the space tonight before your hacker moves in?”
Meaning, did I need to check the twenty-ninth floor that had a dedicated interior space with twelve-inch-thick walls, reinforced doors, and its own clean agent fire suppression system—none of which was on the blueprints, all of which had been built after I’d first asked him to sell me the building. “I’m good. But I do have one favor.”
Christensen tipped his chin.
“Tomorrow at the property, nineteen hundred hours. Twenty-ninth floor.”
“Why?”
I told him. “My operators will need secure places to live. Residences, multiuse. Some will want airstrips.” I’d talk to him later about my own airstrip needs.
“I’m sure there’ll be other parameters, but all will need locations that are built with the maximum level of security.
” Which had become Christensen’s specialty.
“I’ll offer the residences in the high-rise, but none will want to stay there. ”
“You are assuming, or you are requiring they all relocate?”
“Neither. Which is why I’d like you there.
Your reputation and discretion precede you.
And since they know I’ve dealt with you before, they’ll be more amenable to discussing local property options with you.
The closer I have them, the better it is for me.
If they want remote, I know you can facilitate that as well. ”
He brought up a subject we’d never discussed. “A decade ago, I was contacted by a foreign property agent with an unusual request. An estate in the South of France. Specific parameters. I was only a builder in Florida then.”
I knew. I didn’t comment.
He asked. “How is the Cap d’Antibes property?”
I acknowledged what had been a long time coming. “Empty, but it was the right property. Thank you for finding it.”
“You are welcome, but you did not trust me then. Neither did I trust you. I have since revised my opinion. Do not give me reason to change it again.”
“Understood.”
The former Huntsman eyed me for a beat. “You are doing this for the woman.”
For a split second, I was taken off guard. “I’m not.”
“Women change everything.”
“So does family,” I admitted warily.
“Ingen er saa rig, at han ikke traenger til en nabo,” he replied in true Christensen form, recycling the proverb I’d used on him.
“To neighbors,” I acknowledged.
“To family,” he countered, staring me down.
Nodding once, I got the fuck out of there.