“Glad you’re smart enough to realize that.” John pauses. “What do you want?”
“You mentioned when we messaged that Killian fucked you over. I’d like you to tell me as much as you’re comfortable about that.”
John Tudorwasone of the world’s moguls for luxury imports and exports… up until about five years ago, when his company was dissolved and sold out in parts. According to the reports I just went through on Killian, Killian owns one of those parts.
Killian has a portfolio that’stoodiverse, and one of the pillars of it—one of his greatest revenue streams aside from pharma—is luxury imports and exports.
John releases a long breath. “There’s not much to tell.” His voice is bitter and dejected. Bitterness, I can work with; dejection, I can also work with. Both things might make John eager to get revenge… even though I’ve assured him that the research I’m doing is purely for my personal safety.
In a way, it is. Once I have my exposé ready, if it’s good enough, I might be able to leverage it to get Killian to delete the tape… and use itto ensure I remain alive. It’ll be a tricky, convoluted process, but it could be doable.
“I’m completely in the dark, so any information would be helpful.”
John scoffs. “It’s simple enough, and far too common in my world. I owned a business that King started to covet—luxury imports and exports. Every big label you know of was on my roster of clients, and they paid meextremelywell as a middleman for moving their goods. King came to me and asked if he could invest; I told him to go fuck himself. He didn’t like that, so he came back with a bigger offer, this time with some of his cronies. I gave him the same answer. Fast forward six months and too many threats to count, and my clients started dropping away like flies. Then, my board voted me out—from the company I created—and decided tosell. My revenue was nearly nine figuresquarterlyat that point, which means my board was getting the same pressure and offers as I was to make such a stupid fucking decision. They sold off the company I built from the ground up in parts, and that was that.”
Jesus. “And you think Mr. King forced them to sell?”
“Him and his cronies.”
“Would you happen to know who his cronies are?”
“People powerful enough to dismantle a fortune-500 company without having to show face,” John responds. “I don’t know exactly who they are, but I do know they’re not the people to fuck with. Neither is Killian. Whatever you’re up to, I’ll caution you to beextremelycareful. I’m too high-profile to kill without excellent reason. You, however, can get fished out of the Hudson without any repercussions.” He hangs up with a click.
My phone drops to my lap, and my hands start to tremble. I inhale a deep, shuddering breath. John didn’t mention Silas by name, so I’llneed to dig to see if he’s involved. If this could have to do with the quarterly meeting Rhea mentioned.
I’m on the cusp of something big; I can feel it. Something big enough to threaten my life, but if I play my cards right, something that could also save it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lyra
Ibreeze through work on Monday and Tuesday, at a speed I’ve never before experienced. It seems like the more stressed I am and the less I sleep, the more my productivity speeds up, as if checking off as many tasks on my endless to-do list is enough to fill the void that’s starting to form in my soul.
I can recognize the obvious; spending time with Killian is eating away at me. The constant fear of what he’ll do to me the next time he sees me, the state of sheer survival, is enough to drive any person mad.
In my case, it seems that my madness translates to creativity and manic productivity. By the time Wednesday rolls around, and the clock in my office strikes 8 o’clock, my manuscript is sitting at forty thousand words.
I hook my personal computer up to the office printer, print out the full 40k, and shove them into my bag—along with my laptop, pen, and notebook. I’m heading straight to Killian’s office from my own, and as much as I’m dreading seeing him, there’s a flutter of anticipation in my ribcage.
I implemented the edits he suggested, and I think they made the manuscript better. Ishouldn’tcare about his opinion—in fact, I should do theoppositeof everything he suggests—but part of me does. Maybe it’s because he’s ten years older than me and vastly more successful. Maybe it’s because part of me, a part I thought died long ago, wants to please him and receive his praise.
Whatever the case, I’m jittery as I enter his building.
I notice that Locke—his tatted guard dog—isn’t on duty right now, which raises a couple alarm bells in my mind. Killian’s secretary, however, greets me with the typical haughty sneer I’ve come to expect from him.
“Mr. King’s in a meeting,” he says.
I nod. “I can wait.”
“No, you can’t. He said to send you right in when you arrive before he got on the meeting. It should be wrapping up soon.”
Killian’s inviting me into his officeduring a meeting? He’s not worried that I might overhear something to use against him?
No, of course he isn’t. He has a sex tape of me. That’s enough to assuage any worries he might have of me running my mouth.
If my work on the exposé I’m drafting continues going well, that won’t be much longer. At the end of my time with Killian, I’ll be able to threaten him into either destroying the video, or hold him in a mutually-assured-destruction situation.
There are a lot of variables—first, that he doesn’t discover what I’m doing until I’m ready. Second, that I actually manage to get enough dirt on him.
