CHAPTER 4 #3
For the Swedish accent he has, I feel like he could be either Bjorn or Leif. I did my research on them, so I know their faces, names, and other details, but it’s not like I know their personalities or their voices.
“Can’t you clean it for me?” Damián asks.
“What am I, Cinderella?”
“I’ll pay you. And if not, leave it like that, and I’ll fix it once I’m back.”
“I am late for work and don’t have time for this!” the voice screams louder. “You fix it now, or I’ll call the landlord.”
“Can you bring me back to the grocery store?” Damián asks me with a pleased smile on his face.
“Sure.”
“Thanks, guapo. I’ll make it up to you on Tuesday.” Damián leans toward the phone. “I’m on my way.”
“About fucking time,” the loud Swedish man says and hangs up.
Woww…
I am shocked at how realistic this call was.
How many calls has he needed like that in his life to be natural at it? Not just Damián, but whichever one of the Swedish twins called.
Still, I concentrate on our way back to the grocery store, and for some reason, the ride seems shorter. I turn the Escalade onto a street, and Damián points at the curb a block away from the store.
“You can park there so you don’t go past the stoplight. I can walk from here.”
“Then I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
Damián pulls me closer, and I hold my breath. He is so close I feel like he’s going to kiss me as he did against my car, but instead, he kisses my cheek before grabbing his things.
“See you on Tuesday, guapo.”
He winks and disappears into the crowd. I wait until he’s out of sight before turning the car back toward the house.
The drive back to my family home does nothing to settle my nerves. By the time my Escalade crunches over the gravel of the Manhattan West estate, my jaw aches from how hard I’ve been clenching my teeth.
I hand the keys to a valet who doesn’t look me in the eye and push through the double doors. The house is silent; it is always silent.
But what do you expect from a place so full of emptiness?
I take off my shoes and give my coat to one of the staff.
“Thank you, Malena,” I say, and walk away.
All I want is my room. I want to strip off this shirt that smells faintly of Damián’s cologne, lock the door, and try to sleep. For the first time in my life, I am so mentally exhausted and so awake at the same time that I don’t know what to do.
I make it exactly two steps toward the grand staircase before Martin appears before me, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Sir.”
Ah… damn it…
“Martin,” I say, slightly annoyed. “I already took off my shoes. I swear I’m not bringing dirt into the house.”
“And we are very thankful for that.” He nods, pleased. “But this is about your father. He is expecting you in his office.”
My stomach falls, and my chest fills with dread. My father never calls to check up or for any dumb reason.
Did Silvio and Franco see something? Did the signal jammer in the car tip them off? My hands start shaking, and Martin notices.
No, no. This is bad…
“Fuck… shit timing to go see my dad,” I say, rubbing under my nose as if brushing something off. “Do I still have any traces of coke?”
Martin checks my face as I stare at him, full of boredom and annoyance. “No, sir.”
“Good. Now, be nice and bring a drink and some food to my room.” I adjust my clothes and fix my hair. “Today’s batch of coke got me extremely jittery.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll bring it up to your room.”
“Thanks.” I wave goodbye and walk toward the east corridor.
Once alone, I thank the stars for helping me think fast. I look at my shaking hands, and though the tremors are softer, they’re still there.
Every step I take toward Elijah’s office feels like I’m walking to my own execution. Especially since this part of the house looks different from the rest.
While more than half of the mansion is modern and clean, this part reeks of an old English, creepy vibe.
The walls are paneled in dark colors and covered with original oil paintings of aristocrats and hunting hounds that seem to watch me as I pass.
The furniture is made of darkened oak, and the carpets are thick enough to swallow the sound of footsteps, making the hallway feel like a creepy, soundproof tomb.
I’m pretty sure when the architect asked my father what he wanted, Elijah gave him a picture of Anne Boleyn’s hanging site and just said, “Yes.”
I reach the end of the corridor where there are two black wooden doors. Everyone else in this house knocks three times before getting permission to come in, but I don’t knock. I never do, because ‘Oliver the asshole heir’ wouldn’t knock.
Instead, I push the doors open and let myself in.
Elijah is standing behind his desk, his back to me, staring out the window while holding a phone to his ear. Without turning around, he raises his left hand and points a single finger at one of the leather wingback chairs opposite the desk.
I ignore him and stay on my couch.
He might see it as me pushing his boundaries, but in reality, I always pick this couch because it is the only place where I can sit in the main area while still being far enough from everything… like a secret magic bubble that keeps me protected from all this freaking darkness.
“No, tell Ashton to go north,” he says, and I sigh.
If Ashton is involved, this call can take another hour. So I look around the office, finding little things to distract myself so I can calm down my nerves.
To the left of my couch is a glass-fronted cabinet that displays a collection of antique Purdey shotguns. I actually used to like those when I was an ignorant kid.
Above the fireplace hangs the mounted head of a lion… very creepy… and in the middle is a custom-made crystal box with a black, leather-bound ledger inside.
I recoil… I always do whenever I see that stupid book.
My father might treat that thing like his most prized treasure, but for me, it’s a reminder of what I found and lost at the same time.
The ledger I should’ve never opened, should’ve never read, with the discrepancies I noticed and should’ve never, ever told my father about.
To this day, a part of my soul dies with regret for what I did that day, but part of me knows that the knowledge I gained by reading that ledger led me to where I am and helped me save the people I saved.
Including Zara and her mom.
“Yes, make sure it’s handled by Wednesday,” Elijah says, cutting off my internal freak-out. He turns around with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Oliver, you’ve been out.”
“I was. Did you need something, or am I just here so you can admire my outfit?”
Elijah fills his whiskey glass and takes a sip.
“I have a problem on the docks that needs to be resolved now.” He throws me a notebook, and I catch it mid-air.
“Last three pages. A shipping container arriving from Bogotá needs to bypass the standard customs sweep on Red Hook. I need your mind on it.”
I open the notebook and skim through the last three pages. “Pier 4? Isn’t Daniel running that sector? Just have him route it through the agricultural bypass.”
“Daniel is no longer with us… He and his family stopped breathing this morning,” Elijah says, his tone so flat he could be telling me the weather.
Oh, God… his family too?
My stomach turns, and I feel like puking, but instead, I roll my eyes. “What for? You know how hard it is to find good help these days?”
Elijah laughs. “Incredibly difficult, son. Which is why he died. You know we’ve been looking into the rat that’s been passing info to the agencies. Well, after some digging, I discovered Daniel sold some sensitive information to one of our competitors.”
It takes everything in me… every ounce of survival instinct I have gathered over the past fifteen years, not to scream. Instead, I force the corners of my mouth to curl upward.
“You’re right, Dad. Besides, Daniel was always a fucking idiot anyway.”
“Indeed. So, the container?”
I check the numbers and lines of the shipment.
“You can’t use Red Hook for a while. The area’s been crawling with cops ever since our shipment was blown on the day of the masquerade.
Reroute the ship to the Brooklyn Navy Yard and tell the harbor master you have a perishable cargo of exotic hardwoods that needs immediate quarantine inspection.
Pay off the night-shift inspector and swap the container tags while the real wood is in holding.
The cops will be too busy looking for Daniel’s missing shipments to check an agricultural quarantine. ”
Elijah writes it down. “Brilliant, as always. Thank you, Oliver.”
“Don’t mention it,” I say, standing up. “Are we done? I have a headache, and I’m extremely bored.”
“We are done.”
I wave goodbye, but I don’t look back.
I walk out of the office, down the long hallway, past Martin, and up the grand staircase. I walk slowly, like I’m tired and indifferent to everything around me.
I walk into my bedroom and lock the door behind me.
Once locked inside, I see that my dinner and a bottle of wine are already set on the table for me. I ignore it; instead, I walk into my en-suite bathroom, making sure to also lock this door.
I get into the big glass shower, reach in, and turn the water on full blast.
I don’t even bother to take off my damn shoes or my jacket… I just step under the water. Then my knees buckle, and I hit the tiled floor hard, pulling my knees to my chest.
The laugh I had given my father in the office claws its way back up my throat, morphing into a ragged, pathetic sob. I clamp both hands over my mouth to muffle the sound, but the tears come too fast, blinding me.
Daniel’s family… they were innocent… and now they are gone, and it’s all because of me.
Because I passed a tip.
Because I exist in this house.