47. Forty-Seven
Forty-Seven
Francis
Istepped out of the dark and shook Jack Walker’s hand.
“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
My lip curled in disgust as I looked at the doughy man in front of me.
The moonlight through his office windows illuminated his pale skin, making him look even more sickly.
My father might have been the one to cause the bags under his eyes, at least initially, but the stress of the last few weeks had obviously taken an additional toll.
There was a sheen of hope on his pathetic face as he watched me move through his shadowed office.
It was reminiscent of the look on Carl’s face just days ago.
In his snobbery, my father had a history of overlooking assets, strategies and useful pieces on the board.
I wasn’t so high-minded. Not that I originally planned on aligning myself with Jack Walker or Carl Michaels, but then again, I hadn’t counted on needing to flee into the woods to escape my father’s men, men I’d worked alongside, while he kept his fucking hands clean.
Which left me with little choice but to align myself with them.
And if it meant destroying my father, reclaiming my sister, and destroying her new little family, too, well, there were stranger bedfellows I could have.
It would take time, and planning, nearly a year’s worth.
But when the time came, I would take my sister and my empire, and anyone who got in my way would find themselves buried in the woods beside Mitchell.
Agonde would make for a convenient graveyard.
Next summer couldn’t come soon enough.