Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The Golden Cobra
DUNCAN REEVES
Duncan Reeves was obsessed. Not with a place or a thing. His massive fortune meant he could purchase or procure most any house in any country, or any item, no matter the cost. No. Duncan Reeves was obsessed with a woman.
Chanel Emam, to be exact.
Thirty-six years old. Heir to an Egyptian coffee empire, top model for Hermès, Oxford educated, and impossible to impress—not even with all his piles of money from his online dating empire, TwinFlame.
Chanel would not give him the time of day, let alone a blow job in his Porsche Taycan Black Edition.
Especially since his outburst at the museum over the stupid waiter who brought him the wrong drink.
Things were going well with Chanel up until that moron screwed up his drink order.
He’d been trying to make amends ever since, and this was the first evening she deigned to have dinner with him, under the guise that he had a rare surprise for her.
But she was no ordinary woman. He had to get creative.
Chanel represented a tantalizing challenge.
And challenges were in short supply if you were the third-richest tech mogul in the world.
He’d built his tech empire from the ground up, constructed the biggest mansion on the beach, and had the Dalai Lama on speed dial.
He’d acquired a superyacht, a fleet of private planes, and acreage in New Zealand.
But the nagging thought, the endless whisper that taunted him, was that he would never find another Elizabeth.
Elizabeth had been everything. First love, founding business partner, former wife. A true challenge. No one had ever challenged him like she had. It made him a better man, a tech god, and then, a billionaire. But that time was over. Elizabeth was gone forever.
The only logical thing to do was to seek out women who vehemently declared they would not sleep with him, only to prove them eventually wrong. Chanel was just that woman, and so much more. She could be the perfect replacement.
Duncan was in his prime, even if he had no swagger, bad hair, anger management problems, and adult acne. He had other attributes in spades. He had more money than Sweden. He had the power to change the world, just not the desire to do so. And he never needed Viagra.
Duncan was a grown man with too much money and not enough impulse control.
When he was denied the object of his desire, it only made him want it more.
So, like a bloodhound on the scent of an escaped convict, in this case, a statuesque, aloof, raven-haired Egyptian beauty, Duncan sank his teeth into the project at hand.
After having Chanel thoroughly investigated by a private detective, Duncan had found a kernel of information he could work with: Chanel Emam was obsessed with priceless Egyptian artifacts, particularly those of female goddesses and queens.
In the space of six days and a sizable bribe to an art handler by the name of Basil Grimsby at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art who suffered from a fairly serious gambling addiction, Duncan had procured an extremely rare and exquisite gold and ruby necklace named the Golden Cobra, a priceless artifact that had once lain upon the slender neck of Queen Nefertiti in 1345 BC.
The Golden Cobra was set to be transferred to Egypt in two days to be housed in the national museum in Cairo forever. But Duncan had cut a deal with Basil Grimsby to have the priceless necklace for one night only. And that night was tonight.
When he bribed Grimsby with an obscene amount of money and told him to meet him at his Manhattan Beach mansion earlier that day, the art handler had come dressed in a tan trench coat and dark glasses. Duncan couldn’t help but chuckle. “I don’t think you could be more obvious if you tried, Grimsby.”
Grimsby ripped off the sunglasses and scanned the immediate area. He was nervous and rushed. He thrust the small leather box into the hands of Duncan, as if it were radioactive. “Listen, Reeves, I think it’s important for you to know that the Golden Cobra—”
“It’s priceless, irreplaceable, yadda yadda, I get it.” Duncan grabbed the box with both hands and held it up, triumphant. “I’ll only have it for one night.”
“There’s something else.” Grimsby wrenched his wrist to stop him from opening it.
“I am bidden to tell you that I believe this necklace to be cursed. It is said to bring ruin to anyone who tries to possess it beyond Nefertiti herself. That’s why the museum is sending it back to Egypt.
It’s not just out of the goodness of our hearts.
Strange happenings have been going on at the museum since it’s been in my care. ”
“Do I look like the superstitious type? I didn’t grow my empire from magic beans, Grimsby. I’m nothing if not practical and have no room in my brain for poppycock like ancient curses. Please. Besides, I’ll return it tomorrow.”
Grimsby did not smile. He stared a moment too long at Duncan.
Duncan felt a little weird about it, which was a rare feeling, but he chalked it up to his morning kombucha being uncharacteristically potent.
Like beer that had gone yeasty and given vinegar a run for its money.
He let out a wet burp and from his phone, sent an encrypted wire of $1.
2 million to Grimsby’s offshore account in Grand Cayman.
When the transaction went through, Grimsby checked his account from his phone, saw the balance, and logged out.
Grimsby tipped his hat and said, “I expect to have the Cobra back in my possession by tomorrow at noon. Do not be late.” He turned on his heel and left.
Duncan put the necklace in his secret bedroom safe and counted down the minutes until he picked up Chanel. It had proven a productive morning.
Nine hours later, after dinner at the most exclusive sushi restaurant in Malibu, Duncan grinned as he drove his Porsche Taycan down Vista del Mar under a dark sky and a slivered moon toward his opulent Manhattan Beach estate which, of course, looked out over the Pacific Ocean.
Duncan reached over and touched Chanel’s bony, elegant knee.
Chanel gently plucked his fingers off her silk dress one by one.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Duncan,” Chanel murmured. “Let’s see your surprise first.” But she had also smiled. He had gained ground. He’d be plundering her Egyptian gardens within an hour.
As he pulled onto Manhattan Beach Boulevard in his posh beach town, he wondered at how dark it was.
When they crested a hilltop, he could see the power had gone out citywide.
Random car alarms were going off and sirens could be heard in the near distance.
How odd. Not personally alarming for him as he had a backup generator installed for just such an annoyance.
Besides, they could do it by candlelight with Chanel wearing the necklace. The stones would dazzle by firelight.
He took a left on Ocean Avenue, his anticipation rising, and passed the darkened homes belonging to a late-night TV host, several ex-LA Lakers players, and a dozen other tech moguls just like himself before pulling into his driveway.
Power was off here, too. Strange. What had happened to his generator?
The hair rose on the back of his neck. He slammed the Porsche in park, got out, and ran to the imposing back gate.
He punched in the code, heard the screech of the gate open (thankfully on battery backup), and rushed up the marble steps to the front door.
He punched in another ten-digit code, gained access, and threw open the door to darkness.
Nothing was out of place. But something was wrong. Where were the dogs?
“Duncan, what is it?” Chanel came up behind and looked at him, alarmed.
His hands were balled into fists. He stood there, on high alert, thinking. “There’s no way.”
He rushed up two flights of stairs to the master bedroom, opened the closet, pushed a button, and a small but mighty safe rose from a hidden spot in the floor. The safe was secure and locked. He exhaled loudly. He’d been holding his breath since he pulled up to his house.
Chanel was now standing at the door to the bedroom. “Everything okay?”
Duncan knelt down and fumbled with the tumbler. The safe’s locks made a soft click and the steel door opened.
50K in cash, check.
Small bag of blood diamonds. Check.
Access code for his sperm donations. Check.
Flat black leather box housing the Golden Cobra. Check.
He grabbed it with his sweaty hands and cradled it to his chest, relief flooding through him like cool water.
He turned to Chanel, box in his hands as he opened it and presented it to her. “Feast your eyes on that, my queen.”
She stepped closer, looked at the contents of the box in the moonlight streaming through the window, and touched it. She chuckled and said, “Is this some sort of joke?”
Duncan turned the velvet box around so he could see. Where the stunning Golden Cobra was supposed to be, there was a necklace all right. Made of elbow macaroni.
“NOOO!” Duncan yelled so loud it woke up every labradoodle in the surrounding neighborhood.
Above the chorus of barking dogs, Duncan reached for his phone and with the will of someone who was convinced he was above the law, dialed 911.