The Empire will help when I file my mid-September return. But even with all the dire warnings my lawyers delivered, I won’t have enough write-offs to offset my massive debt.
If I had the time, I’d grapple with the hard work of identifying more business losses. I could create a family foundation. Acquire enough property that the annual depreciation reduced my tax burden in a meaningful way. Consider giving up my US citizenship and moving abroad.
But I don’t have time for any of that. I haven’t had time since I got myself thrown out of the fucking freeport in the first place. The Tarasov bratva has been three steps ahead of me for months.
Buying the Empire was a start, at least. I’ll see what else I can do after the Big Store shuts down. After my thirty-day window closes on the divorce petition.
When I have nothing else to lose.
Megan argues that she needs a suite at the Marriott next to the Convention Center, so she can start interviewing business partners.
Business partners.
She means the cast of grifters, con men, and crooks who will make the MAJAT floor come to life. She has a list of contacts on her phone that reads like the docket in a year’s worth of arraignment hearings. Each listing has a name, a phone number, and a note about that individual’s unique identifying characteristic—scars and tattoos, foreign language abilities, accents they can fake, and God knows what else.
We’ll have to provide a clothing allowance, Megan says, or better yet, supply a full wardrobe so we retain control. She’ll only choose people with basic computer skills, but we’ll have to put together some busywork to make them look like diligent government employees instead of bored criminals with too much time on their hands.
Lanyards. Megan remembers we’ll need lanyards, each one mocked up like an official ID.
“Why does all this have to be at the Marriott?” I ask, after she’s laid out her plan.
“I need a place to stay while we’re making all this happen, and I suspect you haven’t changed your policy on letting me into your home.”
She smiles as she says it. She’s having the time of her life.
“Besides,” she adds. “The Marriott has the best room service on this side of town.”
I wonder how many of those meals will go to my newbusiness partners. For that matter, I’m pretty sure Megan will be walking away with a full new wardrobe by the time we’re done.
“Don’t look so worried, Cocoa Puff. I’ll take care of everything. In fact, why don’t you just give me your credit card? Then you won’t have to waste your time with details.”
Megan’sdetailscould drive me to bankruptcy faster than any IRS claims on my freeport holdings. “Details are my bread and butter,” I say.
“They always have been,” she says woefully. But she starts to make her calls.
I have one call of my own to make.
“Fiona,” I say when she answers.
“Wolf,” she says. I’m glad she sounds cautious. She needs to understand the risk behind what I’m asking her to do.
“When you first needed access to your clan’s computers, we made a deal,” I remind her.
“We did.”
“You hired me for three hundred grand. Plus one personal favor.”
She’s too fine a businesswoman to try backing out now. “What’s the favor, Wolf?”
I tell her.
“And when everything blows up in your face,” she says, “I’m right in the Tarasov bratva’s line of fire.”
“This won’t blow up.”
“You’re insane to even try it.”
“Not insane,” I counter. “Determined. I’ve had enough of Nikolai Tarasov thinking he controls all of Baltimore.”
