I don’t have to look at the screen to know what’s there.
I’ve watched it already.
Jonas opens the door to his study—the one he thinks is private—and he’s looking nervous.
Following him inside is Arben Sarkisian.
The man smiles like the shark he is.
“I will give you a chance to explain the delay, Jonas, but you should know. My father is not happy.”
“Look, Arben, it’s not my fault,” Jonas says. “The permits were delayed. Complications I couldn’t foresee, but your father is a smart man. He knows I'll deliver.”
Arben says nothing.
Jonas wipes his forehead.
“Did you do the thing we discussed?”
“It has been done. But it comes with a price.”
“Yes, I know. Five percent off my fee, I understand.”
“Then it will be done as planned.”
“Good. Excellent. I'll call next week with news about the construction site.”
The footage ends.
Ego stares at the screen.
“Jesus.”
“I didn't know what that little side deal meant yesterday.”
“But now?”
“Now I know.”
He nods slowly.
“The reporter.”
“Exactly.”
Rosa Vardanyan.
Armenian.
Connected.
“Joel Jonas had his mafia friends smear my girl in the newspaper. Now, that sonovabitch will answer to me.”
Silence fills the truck.
Then Ego suddenly sits upright.
“Stop the truck.”
