34. Michaela
Michaela
I step out of the elevator and my phone rings.
I rummage through my crossbody bag and check my screen.
Shoot.
“Not now, Daddy. I’m on a mission.” I let the call go to voicemail and place the phone inside my bag.
I stroll, coffee in hand, to the dedicated art storage room in the basement of the Pompadour Beverly Hills hotel.
This is my second official week as Konig Imperial Holding’s Art Director and Principal Art Buyer, and I’m loving every minute of it.
For a person with a double major in art history and business, this is a dream job.
I have my own office on the executive floor, but a bunch of paintings Phoenix suggested I buy last week while we were in Paris via the online auction of a renowned New York City gallery for the Santa Monica hotel reno arrived this morning. I can’t wait to see them.
I swipe the key card against the security pad and push the door open.
The moment I step inside, the lights turn on.
There are motion sensors hidden underneath the floor. So high tech.
I scour the space, a huge grin stretching my lips.
I’m surrounded by pristine art that could rival any top gallery in the world.
It doesn’t get better than this.
Humming a little tune in my head, I stroll to the back of the storage room with a spring in my step.
The shipping and receiving manager for the hotel called not long ago to announce the arrival of my shipment.
I instructed him to have one of his guys deliver the thirty paintings to this location, since I had made room for them.
I’m so giddy.
I drop my coffee on the top of a tall wooden crate, pull out a retractable utility knife from my crossbody bag, and get to work.
For the next long minutes, I unwrap canvas after canvas.
Once I’m done, I discard the mountain of protective wraps.
I stand with my hands hooked to my hips as I admire the finest art money can buy.
Wow.
I ready myself to inspect each painting to make sure I received what we purchased when the door slams shut. I didn’t hear it open.
I turn around and stretch my neck out.
Footsteps clank against the cement floor.
I’m just about to ask who’s there when a man’s voice echoes in the space.
“Okay, I can talk now,” the man says.
Who’s that?
“It has to be quick, though, because the board’s weekly meeting is about to start,” the man says.
Potter?
“I’m in the art storage room in the basement,” Potter says.
How did he get in here?
Given the value stored in this room, Phoenix assured me there are only a handful of people who have a key card. Potter’s name wasn’t on the list.
“I snatched the former art buyer’s key card. She thought she lost it and blamed her forgetfulness on pregnancy brain. I never had to use it until today. All my usual hideaways are buzzing with activity.”
Weasel.
“Sue me. I had to be creative. I needed to find another private place inside the hotel to talk so I can report back to you every time you snap your goddamn fingers.”
Who is he talking to?
Why would Potter need such privacy?
What’s going on?
“You keep asking me to do sketchy things,” Potter says. “Hence, putting me in situations where I’m flirting with the wrong side of the law.”
Huh?
“No, Ripley. You listen to me.”
Potter knows Ripley?
“Things aren’t looking too good for any of us. My source just informed me, we’re in deep shit. The fire that destroyed Niels’s house is about to cast a dark cloud over our heads.”
Huh?
“Instead of telling me to calm the fuck down, you need to figure out a way to shut up Thana for good. If not, the stupid cunt will be our demise.”
Thana? As in Thana, my soon to be ex-stepmother?
“You told me to seduce Thana Annunziata to get her in our corner. You said she was a sure thing. Guess what? You were wrong, Rip,” he says.
I can’t believe my ears.
Potter knows Ripley and Thana?
Why was he seducing her?
What the hell?
I hide behind a tall crate so I can listen in on the conversation.
An idea pops to mind.
With trembling hands, I fumble for my phone, unlock it, and activate the voice recording app. I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to capture anything at this range, but by God, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I don’t try.
“Yeah, you’re right on that front. The whiny bitch was useful when she was on her back or on all fours.”
What is he talking about?
“The fact she begged for me to double-fist fuck her filthy cunt, gag her, choke her, and fuck her ass instead of her pussy were the only good things about the woman. Other than that, she was a giant pain to deal with.”
Dear God, the imagery is disturbing and disgusting.
“Thana lied to me,” Potter says. “She was fucking another guy—a crook and potential pedo enabler—while she was fucking me.”
What?
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she was still fucking Niels, even though she said she wasn’t.” Potter’s words have the same effect as a wrecking ball.
Thana was cheating on Daddy with two men—one being Potter?
What the fuck?
“She was probably fucking you and another guy at the same time. I’m willing to bet my fortune on it. The woman has zero allegiance. For the right price, she’ll let any cock fuck her.”
Thana was fucking Ripley?
And Potter?
And potentially other men?
And she had a lover?
And she was married to my father?
Oh. My. God.
Oh. My. God.
Oh. My. God.
“I pleaded with her not to burn Niels’s house down.”
Potter knew?
“I told her such a rash decision would not only be criminal, it would expose us and make us vulnerable.”
Dear God.
“But no, Thana wouldn’t listen. She wanted revenge so bad, she flipped the middle finger to the consequences… and to her partners in crime––us.”
Nausea churns in my stomach at Potter’s shocking revelations.
“In the meantime, her offshore accounts were lined with money she diverted from Niels upon your request on top of the money you paid her for her willing participation in your demonic plan.” He lets out an audible sigh. “How greedy can you get?”
Apparently, a lot.
“Thana’s reaction made no sense whatsoever since she didn’t even love Niels. She was using the poor bastard.”
I knew it all along.
“She played him like a fiddle, and then she robbed him of the last thing of value he possessed. She should’ve been joyfully skipping all the way to LAX when she was served those divorce papers, not plotting to further destroy Niels.
” He lets out a derisive laugh. “Stupid, stupid cunt. Get out of town. Lie low. Shut your fucking trap. Enjoy your payout money. End of story.”
The woman is evil.
“I told you from the get-go, Thana was volatile. But you didn’t care because you were so intent on getting your hands on Niels’s hotel at any cost. There are other family-run hotels in prime locations in New York.”
This conversation explains so much.
“Right, not like that one,” Potter says.
“Not located in a heritage building. I hope you’re happy now.
One, Phoenix Konig owns the Villiers Grand, not you.
Two, you didn’t get your hands on the pussy you so desperately wanted to fuck since she belongs to King Konig.
He gets to enjoy fucking her ass, you have to make do with your new eighteen-year-old girlfriend and the rest of your harem. ”
Shock reverberates through me.
“I still have my suspicions about that speedy marriage, but it’s too late now,” Potter says. “And three, Thana––your slutty pawn––just became a liability. She was charged for arson.”
She was?
“I might have to disappear for a while.” Potter keeps talking.
“It’s not going to take much for her to sing like a canary to save her own skin or lessen the severity of her sentence, Ripley.
The police are going to link Thana to you, Brock, and me, and our plan to sabotage Niels.
Then, they’ll keep digging. It won’t take investigators long to find out you make a habit of playing God by getting a pawn to weaken the position of a family-owned hotel you set your sights on so you can swoop in like a Goodman white knight savior and offer to buy them out at a discount, knowing full well they’re desperate. ”
Jesus Christ.
“You have enough money to buy your way out of this cluster fuck of a mess, Ripley. I don’t have infinite funds. No way am I ending up in the slammer.”
I have to warn someone.
I end the recording and place my phone back into my crossbody bag. I take a step back, but bump into something.
Shit.
The cup of coffee that was sitting on another crate hits the cement floor in a loud splash.
“What the fuck?” Potter says. “Hey, who the hell is in here?” He stomps towards the back of the storage room.
Panic settles in.
I have to get out of here.
My eyes land on the exit sign.
I don’t think twice.
I plan my escape, but I bump into something else.
I freeze.
The clattering noise that ensues is deafening.
When I peek up, Potter is starring right at me from where he stands at a distance.
Dear God.
“You were listening in on my conversation?” His eyes are murderous.
Sheer terror robs me of my words.
Run, Mikki. Run.
On trembling legs, I take off, bolting through the doors.
I race towards the stairs and take them two at a time.
Thank God I’m wearing Chanel Ballerinas and pants today. There’s no way I could escape in heels and a pencil skirt.
Potter’s loud steps grow closer.
I run faster.
He swears up a storm from behind me.
I keep running.
I grab hold of the handle of the door leading to the lobby of the hotel. I open it with such force, it goes crashing against the wall, making a ruckus.
Myriad pairs of shocked eyes stare at me as I bolt into the lobby.
Potter is closing in on me, I can feel it.
I sprint faster.
Agitation and commotion run through the guests.
“You can’t outrun me, bitch. I going to catch you.” Potter’s threat is like a shot of adrenaline that propels me.
People gasp.
Someone shrieks.
I let out a murderous scream.
A bunch of people yell.
“Call the police!” Frantic, I bolt towards the security desk, yelling for help at the top of my lungs.