Chapter 30
COLE
The freeport employee passes me the last page from the towering stack that makes the sale of all three paintings final. The paperwork went substantially faster once the buyers finished their end of things. The Russians are all drinking each other’s good fortune in one of the galleries.
The serious young woman sitting next to me says, “And this one will authorize the deposit of all funds into your account by no later than—”
The paper flies across the room. The stack of completed documents follows in a flurry. The high-back leather chair I’m sitting in tilts like a carnival ride and my head whips to the side like a medical school demonstration of whiplash.
I’m sprawled across the chair before I realize I’ve been punched. My jaw feels like it’s been dislocated and lightning bolts of pain burrow into my throat, my sinuses, and my brain.
“On your feet, motherfucker.”
I shake my head, trying to drive away the fog.
“Jizzstain! I told you to fucking stand!”
My feet won’t follow my commands. My head slams back in reaction to the fist that grips my necktie. I’m hauled upright and left to sway as the room breathes in and out.
A blow lands in my gut, a solid uppercut that sends me reeling.
My knees threaten to buckle, and I stagger toward the window.
“Not so fast, cocksucker!” Another fist finds my belly like an anvil, doubling me over.
I have just enough presence of mind to raise my forearms, to keep from taking a knee to my nose.
“Trap!” The command comes from the door.
Trap Prince growls like a subway train, pulling back his fist to aim for my face. Alix pushes her way between us before he can land the blow.
“Get out of here, Alix,” Prince snarls.
She doesn’t answer him. Instead, she snaps at me, “Over there.” She points to the far end of the table.
“I swear to fucking God,” Prince says, lunging to follow me.
“Stop!” Alix shouts, slipping between us once again. She flattens both hands against Prince’s chest, spreading her fingers wide. “Stop,” she says in a calmer voice.
I’m panting through my teeth because it hurts too much to take a solid breath. I realize the assistant who was hand-feeding me papers has retreated to the doorway, where she’s backed by a dozen curious onlookers. Kate stands just inside the door.
Prince points at me, the knuckles on his fingers cracked and bleeding. “You’re out of here.”
I hold up both hands, a mockery of innocence. “I didn’t—”
“You just dragged Diamond Freeport’s name through your shitty con.”
“I don’t know what—”
“One more word, and I’ll choke you with your fucking teeth.”
“Trap,” Alix murmurs, convincing him to take a step back.
“It’s not just the freeport you fucked up the ass. Alix has a reputation to maintain, and you just took a dump on it.”
“Alix knew nothing about—”
“That’s not the way this works, shitfucker. Alix brought in our preferred group of bidders. She put her name on that goddamn catalog. She stood in front of that crowd, and she delivered your motherfucking scam.”
“I’ll make it right.” The plea comes from somewhere deep in my past, from smoky memories of Shannon begging after she was caught.
“Here’s what you’ll do. All funds in your escrow account will be transferred to your bank in the next thirty minutes.
You have precisely twenty-four hours to empty out your gallery.
Your security profile and the profile of all your delegates will be deleted at—” he checks his watch.
“At 7:04 tomorrow night. Any attempt by you or any agent you designate to set foot on freeport property after that will be considered trespass and prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”
Twenty-four hours.
I have two dozen legitimate paintings in my gallery.
A collection of world-class watches and another of jewelry, including half a dozen pieces that have been appreciating since the freeport opened its doors.
There’s at least a million in gold and five mill each in uncut diamonds, rubies, and emeralds.
I own a set of rare coins from the United Arab Emirates and another from Bahrain, both of them purchased from another freehold client the first year I had my account.
All of it needs to be shifted to a secure location. And every single item will result in a catastrophic tax burden the instant it leaves the freeport.
I don’t allow myself to think about what the bratva will do, once they know they’ve been duped.
“Trap,” I say. “Let’s be reasonable. Put my gallery in escrow. Give me a month to transfer assets to one of your other clients.”
“Fuck you.”
“This can bankrupt me.”
“You should’ve thought about that before you ran your fucking con through my goddamn freeport.”
“Alix…” I say, appealing to her sense of reason.
Trap takes one lunging step toward my end of the table. “Keep her name out of your cocksucking mouth. Get out of here before I need to call a motherfucking ambulance.”
I’m out of options.
I leave.
As I exit the room, Kate wraps her arm around my waist. I don’t want to settle my weight on her shoulder, but there’s no way I’m making it to the parking lot without her support.
Freeport employees line both sides of the corridor, mouths open, eyes wide.
I glance back at the conference room to see Alix and Trap framed in the doorway.
He’s still breathing like a bull, one possessive hand on her shoulder while the other taps out a rhythm against his thigh. Alix’s face is carved from stone.
The parking lot stretches like a superhighway. One foot in front of the other. Again. Again. It takes a century to reach the Mercedes, and I’m gasping like a beached trout by the time I slouch against the hood.
“Come on,” Kate says, tugging me toward the passenger side. “I’ll drive.”
“I’m fine.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I can drive my fucking car.”
She holds up her hand, flashing me a peace sign. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Eight.” I make my way around the car, supporting myself heavily with one hand on the hood.
“Cole…” she says.
Part of me notes she hasn’t asked a single question. She hasn’t challenged anything that’s happened. She hasn’t pointed out that I’m the one who made my fucking bed and now I have to lie in it. She’s loyal despite the fucking mess I’ve made.
“Let’s go,” I say. “I’ll call Nilsson as soon as we get past the gate. He can start researching transport logistics. I need you on the phone with my tax lawyer. We need whatever tax breaks he can come up with in the next twenty-four hours.”
It’s a good plan, as far as it goes. I just don’t take into consideration how much a human body has to bend to get into the driver’s seat of a Mercedes.
“Jaysus!” Kate shouts, twisting to catch my weight.
I’m halfway in the car as she stretches for my far leg, trying to lift it into the vehicle. As she contorts her body in the tight space, something falls out of her pocket.
It’s a handful of fur, dirty white and orange and black. The fabric is crushed into a weightless ball. One green eye dangles from a few threads. Whiskers splay like they’ve been electrified.
It’s Kitty Mew-Mew. Megan’s favorite toy.
“Where the fuck—” I start.
Kate picks up the mangled kitten. Shoving it deep in her pocket, she reaches for my other leg.
I grab her wrist, holding on like a drowning man. “When did you see Megan?”
“Can we not talk about this right now?”
“No. When did she give you that toy?”
Kate glances over her shoulder at the freeport office building. I can just make out bodies standing behind the glass, their faces too blurred to distinguish. “I think we have more important—”
“When the fuck did you see my sister?”
I can’t undo the auction, make peace with Prince, or apologize to Alix. I can’t preserve the privileged freeport status I’ve enjoyed for years. There’s no way to stave off the economic disaster that will consume me in the next twenty-four hours.
But I can sure as hell find out why my wife saw the one person in the entire world I’ve forbidden her to see.
“She reached out to me,” Kate says. “She wasn’t safe.” When I growl, she says, “You don’t know what it’s like to be woman in a world run by men. You don’t know how it feels to live without power, to fight without protection, to try to get by on your wits.”
This isn’t the argument I expect from Kate. When she feels trapped, she goes wild. She calls names and throws wine and punches hard below the belt.
But the Kate standing beside my car is someone new. She’s calm. Measured. She’s telling the truth, the one she’s lived on a daily basis for her entire life.
I should admire her. Tell her I can see how much she’s grown, how much she’s learned.
But I have rules about Megan for a reason. My sister is the reason Tarasov made it past my gate. She’s the root of the disaster that just unfolded inside the freeport—she and her goddamn forged paintings.
I. Have. Rules. I maintain control. And Kate consciously and purposely did exactly as I warned her not to do.
I reach out with both hands, dragging my left foot into the car. When Kate tries to help me, I push her away. “Get back,” I say.
“Let me—”
“You’ve done enough.”
“I can—”
“You can find your own way home. That’s what you can do.”
I drop the mangled Kitty Mew-Mew onto the ground and slam the car door closed.
I can’t manage the twist to bring around my seatbelt, but I can start the car and put it in gear.
Gritting my teeth, I measure out pressure on the accelerator.
As I stare at the road, avoiding the rear-view mirror, I leave Kate behind with the rest of the fortune I’ll forfeit in the next twenty-four hours.