Chapter 11
COLE
My monthly visit with the Andersons behind me (and my refrigerator filled with the leftovers Mrs. A insisted I take home), it’s time to get back to the real world. I need to decide if marrying Kate is worth the twenty million dollars her father is offering.
She says she hates me. That she’ll never willingly come to my bed. That her safeword is permanently set to red.
I’ve tamed plenty of brats before, and I know how to practice patience. I can tolerate a certain amount of sass, giving my sub room to express herself so she doesn’t break permanently.
Kate Lynch isn’t a brat.
Sure, she has a mouth on her—she’s not afraid to swear, in public or in private. She’s got a wicked sense of timing—her throwing the champagne proved that. She’s willing to test boundaries, to break my rules—she earned herself ten strokes without even trying.
But none of this is a game to her.
Kate behaves like a cornered animal. She’s all teeth and claws, snarling defense. She’s desperate.
Her mother’s a piece of work—I learned that in the side yard. Her father’s not much better; he’s willing to pawn her like a used Rolex.
But there’s more at play here than a strong-willed woman pushing back against Mommy and Daddy.
Kate’s a Red Cap Raider. She’s an expert coder who’s been targeting my clients for years. I should walk away on those grounds alone.
But I don’t want to walk away. I’d rather follow the ancient proverb: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. The idea of keeping Kate close appeals on far too many levels.
I don’t know what made Kate the way she is. But I know one man who might.
I’ve got his number in my phone. I’ve done work for him, securing a computer system at a temporary residence in Philadelphia. We see each other at Diamond Freeport’s monthly meetings for the tax haven’s most important clients.
I wait until nine in the morning before I call. I can pretend to be a civilized man.
“Kelly.” He answers on the first ring.
“Cole Wolf here.”
He waits, which makes sense, because I’m the one asking for a favor.
“You and Samantha got back from Boston without any problems?” Christ. I sound like I’m digging for gossip, hanging out at the office water cooler. If I ever worked in an office. If anyone ever stood around a water cooler anymore.
“We’re home,” he says.
“No problems with your computer system? The firewall isn’t giving you any trouble?”
“The firewall is fine,” he says. “It has been for months.”
I’m wasting his time. Wasting my own. I’m acting like I’m ten years old, asking another kid to pass a note in homeroom.
Squaring my shoulders, I dig in, the way I should have done at the start of this call.
“I have a job offer from one of your captains. I hope you can tell me if he’s worth taking on as a client. ”
“Go on,” Kelly says. He didn’t get to be General of the Grand Irish Union by gossiping about every clan in the country.
“It’s Barry Lynch.”
Silence.
“A substantial project,” I finally add. “Promising generous compensation.”
“Payback, then, for Kaitlín’s bad behavior.” He says her name the way Lynch did, with a vowel sound that isn’t part of English.
“Something like that.”
“So you want to know if Lynch is good for the money? He runs a cash business like the rest of us. Some years up, some years down.”
“This is about more than money. I may be entering a more…long-term arrangement.”
An even longer silence.
I finally dangle another fact. “A joint venture of sorts.”
“Lynch won’t lie outright,” Kelly says after another pause. “But he’ll do his best to turn every step to his own advantage. Keep your eyes open. And don’t make promises you aren’t willing to keep.”
“Good advice,” I say. “Thanks.”
He hesitates a moment, and then he says, “A word to the wise. That wife of his is a fierce one. She’ll knife you in the back without blinking an eye if she thinks Himself’s in danger.”
I’ve seen the woman for all of a minute, and I believe every word Kelly just said. “Thanks for the warning. Anything I should know about the daughter?”
I keep my voice casual. I’m not ready to tell anyone that Lynch put Kate on the auction block. If I decide to walk away, I don’t want her seen as spoiled goods. Any more spoiled, that is, than she’s already presented herself, with her clothes and her makeup and her expert aim of champagne.
“Breagha?” Kelly asks. “She’s the cream of the clan. Quiet. Polite. Knows her place and doesn’t try to rise above it. Not bad to look at, either.”
“Not Breagha,” I say. “Kate.”
He laughs. “She throws champagne in the face of goddamn overreaching fuckwads.”
I deserve that. But I try again. “Anything other than that I should know about? I get the feeling Lynch wants her to be part of this deal we’re setting up.”
Kelly laughs again. “Anyone who’s spent more than a day with the Canton Crew knows Kaitlín has a mouth on her. And rumor has it, she’s got a nasty right jab.”
More a slap than a jab, but I take the point.
Kelly volunteers: “Lynch has his hands full, finding a match for that one. But he has to marry her off before Breagha. If Breagha goes first, he’ll be stuck with Kaitlín forever.”
I think about reminding Kelly this is America, not Ireland. And we’re living in the twenty-first century, not some storybook past. Kate and her sister aren’t cows to sell at auction.
Instead, I say, “Thanks. This has been a lot of help.”
He signs off, and I drop my phone onto my desk as my computer chimes with an incoming email. It’s on my personal account, not one I monitor for Lone Wolf. The subject is A Business Proposition. Curious, I open the message.
What do these five companies have in common?
Banque Wagner Privée
Diamond Freeport
Sungold Logistics
Lyon Momentum
White Apple Systems
All five are clients of Lone Wolf Enterprises. The first three were exposed on the hit list that started circulating when I shut the Red Cap Raiders out of Banque Wagner. The other two, though, have remained confidential. Until now.
The rest of the message is terse and to the point:
Ten million dollars in Bitcoin
Deposited to the account below by noon on Sunday
Or else The Wall Street Journal will know too