Chapter 19
19
“ T his is a mess!” Dr. David Shapiro ran shaky fingers through his hair.
From behind his desk, Javier Reyes critically observed his longtime friend as he paced Javier’s office atop the Celestial Palace Hotel & Casino. With his graying black hair, David would be considered distinguished-looking if he didn’t have such a weak chin and let himself go as he grew older. His lean, muscular frame was long gone and replaced by soft arms and a soft middle. Meanwhile, Javier exercised regularly with a trainer, spent three hundred dollars on his biweekly hair trim, and colored his hair to maintain a polished appearance.
“It’s not a mess. You told me to take care of the problem, and I took care of it.”
“You call taking care of it leaving his body behind the market? Your men should have moved him somewhere else.”
“What difference does it make? He’s dead. When he came to you demanding money in exchange for keeping his mouth shut about what he had discovered, you asked for my help. I sent my men after him. The situation has been handled, and his body will be shipped to his sister in California. Very soon, this will all be behind you.”
“This isn’t just my problem. He has pictures of the two of us.”
“Those pictures are more damning for you than they are for me. Everybody already knows I’m a piece of shit. Besides, they’re not incriminating photos.” Javier was getting bored with the conversation. He walked over to the bar. “Can I fix you a drink?”
David looked at him as if he was crazy. “It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”
“Your point?”
David rolled his eyes skyward. “No, thank you, I don’t want a drink. I want that nosy reporter and her boyfriend to go away.”
“In due time. Dr. Stenner should be able to convince them Doug died of suicide. Once that’s complete, I don’t anticipate they’ll be a problem anymore.”
“You need to keep an eye on her. If she goes digging?—”
“Digging for what? She doesn’t know anything.” Javier poured himself a cognac.
“You’re awfully confident.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? We’ve made a lot of money the past seven years.”
“You more than me,” David mumbled, dropping his gaze.
“Because I’m the one with the capital, David—or did you forget? I bailed you out when your clinic was going under, remember? I infused it with cash and offered you the opportunity to expand by diversifying.”
“Diversifying is what you call what we do?”
“What would you call offering transplant services? If you no longer want to be involved, say the word, and?—”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just nervous.”
“You’re always nervous, and I always take care of our problems—don’t I?”
His friend let out a deep breath. “Yes, you do.”
“My job is to take care of the problems, and your job is to take care of the medical aspects of our business.”
David had been the one who found surgeons willing to do the transplants off the books for a cut.
“And of course keep your wife happy,” Javier continued. “How is the lovely Kathleen these days?”
“Fine. She’s in New York, visiting her mother.” He inhaled deeply and let the air out his mouth, something he did often to calm his nerves.
He went through the calming exercise several more times while Javier sipped his morning cognac, enjoying the burn as the liquid slid down his throat.
“You’ll let me know what happens?” David asked.
“Of course. Stop worrying. Everything will be fine.”
David nodded, though he looked doubtful, and left Javier alone in the office. Swirling the reddish-brown liquid in his glass, he walked over to one of the large windows.
This used to be his father’s corner office, and now it belonged to him. From here, he had a good view of the strip, including the other property he was in the midst of renovating, the Pampered Princess—a princess-themed hotel and casino. When the contractors completed the work, it would be a one of a kind experience catering to female clientele.
There would be a women-only club offering dancing and entertainment, a world-class spa with a beauty bar and salon, as well as wellness programs, yoga studios, and meditation classes designed for women. Other parts of the casino would be limited to female guests, including one of the pools, where they could relax and enjoy the luxurious cabanas—again, without the unwanted attention of men.
He’d gotten the idea for the concept when Kathleen mentioned how much she enjoyed the women-only train compartments in Japan and Dubai. He realized there was a market for that kind of thing, even if he thought it was utterly ridiculous. His father might not have thought he was very smart, but he’d proven to be brilliant in business, growing their holdings by ten percent since taking control a year ago by implementing innovative ideas.
And to think, his father had wanted his second in command to take control of the company because he didn’t believe in Javier—his own flesh and blood. Had called him morally bankrupt and his “mother’s son” as a way to insult him and insinuate he didn’t have the brains needed to take control of the Reyes empire.
Well, he had proven him wrong, and now everyone knew what he was capable of.
His private line rang, and he picked up on the second ring, already knowing who was calling because he’d been waiting for the call.
“Yes?”
“It’s me.”
He placed his cognac on the desk and sat down, crossing his legs. “How did the meeting go?”
“I think I convinced them that it was a suicide,” Dr. Stenner replied.
“You think ? You better have convinced them.” He paid handsomely for absolutes. Not maybes.
He was still upset his man had been discovered in the parking lot of Dr. Stenner’s building. Fortunately, he escaped, but Javier hated he had been noticed in the first place, a development he’d purposely kept from David because he was already acting like a nervous ninny. He’d wanted his man to keep tabs on the couple—find out where they were staying and what their next moves would be.
“I did convince them, but I believe the man could be a problem. He seemed… skeptical.”
Alejandro Sanchez.
Javier flipped open the file on his desk and looked at the photo of the man inside who had killed two of his men. He was an agent for The Cordoba Agency, a company based out of Georgia with an excellent reputation, but there was an aura of mystery surrounding them. His people were still doing research, but so far he was intrigued.
“Is that all?” Javier asked.
“Er, I’m just wondering, was this visit because she was writing another article? It wasn’t clear.”
Javier ignored the question. “I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.” He hung up.
He picked up his cognac again and took a sip. Pushing to his feet, he returned to the window. Despite his dismissive attitude toward David, he had concerns. He didn’t know what Doug had told Camila, but she didn’t seem to know much. If she and Mr. Sanchez discovered what was going on at the clinic, then he’d have a serious problem.
The idea of taking organs from the homeless had come from an unexpected place. His beloved mother.
After purchasing a kidney for her on the black market in Eastern Europe, she had lived for almost ten more years before he lost her to a heart attack. His father had been fine with the purchase of the kidney, but he didn’t like the idea of Javier going into business supplying kidneys and other organs to people who could afford to buy them.
Selfish prick.
Why should people go without when willing donors existed? Why were people allowed to sell plasma, bone marrow, and eggs, but there was a prejudice against selling a kidney or part of a liver? At the time, Javier saw the opportunity to expand his finances beyond the paltry allowance his father gave him.
He did his research. He learned that an estimated seventeen people in the United States died every day waiting for an organ. There weren’t enough to go around, but there were individuals willing to alleviate the shortage if they were compensated.
And so, he became part of the billion-dollar illegal organ selling trade. He started small with kidneys, using patients who came to the clinic, thanks to his good friend, David Shapiro. They’d paid them for their body parts—a thousand, two thousand dollars—while they made at least one hundred thousand during the sale. An incredible markup!
With such a return and the demand so great, they needed more inventory. The defining moment came when they needed a pancreas for an oil heiress in Texas. No one can live without a pancreas. Using the organs of the homeless could be hit or miss, but they’d been fortunate and taken the pancreas of a young homeless woman—someone who hadn’t been on the streets very long, so she was very healthy.
The heiress had paid $400,000 for the pancreas, and the young woman—well, she ended up in a crematorium’s furnace, her disappearance buried under layers of fake paperwork and bribes.
During the seven years since they had started, they expanded to Tijuana. Unbeknownst to David, Javier had also expanded to the Philippines, India, and Eastern Europe—all locations where he could receive a steady supply of organs from willing—or unwilling donors.
The buyers didn’t know where the organs came from. They didn’t care to know. They simply wanted to make their payment and go about their business, absolved of guilt. They weren’t all rich either, but they were all desperate. Buyers had taken out second mortgages, drawn from their retirement accounts, sold family heirlooms—all to purchase something more valuable. Life.
His favorite was when there was a bidding war. That’s when he netted the highest sales.
There were people who wouldn’t understand what he was doing. It was easy to be dismissive until your own survival, or the survival of a family member, hung in the balance, desperation influencing what previously would have seemed to be an unthinkable choice.
Yes, there was plenty of money to be made. The ROI was extraordinary. But more importantly, he was providing a service. He was saving lives—most of the time. He was altruistic. A goddamn humanitarian.
Javier took another sip of his drink, chuckling to himself. He liked describing himself in those terms, and he liked making money. Lots of fucking money.
Hopefully, Ms. Hughes and Mr. Sanchez were going to mind their own business and move on. If not, he would make sure to solve that pesky little problem for good.