Page 1 of Cozen

December 24th, 2012

A family with a history as old as time, and one they refused to muddy or be ashamed of, the Astors were a force to be reckoned with. And not one very many people felt comfortable going up against in any kind of way.

They controlled the gun trafficking business—carving out a mark as the biggest, and likely only, gun trafficking organization in North America. They dominated politics by either being directly in the Senate, or having a foot-long list of politicians they could call on at any time to do their bidding. They owned one of America’s biggest banks, newspapers, and a branch of television media.

It meant they could control what was put out in the world, and in a way, influence the goings on in their own country. They had the means, the tools, and the wherewithal to use it to their advantage, too.

They couldn’t stand competition.

They were excessive to a filthy point.

They never backed down.

Proud.

Arrogant.

Dangerous.

They earned it.

And they knew it.

When an Astor summoned someone—today, it was Ace, a black market broker able to find anything or anyone that might be needed to get a job done, or a deal made—that someone picked up their shit, and they went. No one needed the trouble of ignoring an Astor’s call or request.

“The mansion is quiet today,” Ace noted.

Pearl Astor glanced over at the broker she had called in, and smiled. “I had to get the rest of them out of my hair for this.”

Ace lifted his brow at that. “Oh?”

“Fourth thinks the best way to go about doing this is the flash and dash. Make a big scene, and deal with the clean up later.”

“That might be a faster way, sure.”

Pearl shook her head. “The Astors cannot afford any kind of problems in the criminal world at the moment. We’re gearing up for some … well, that’s none of your business, but I meant what I said. We’re going to have enough to deal with soon, and we don’t need to be adding anything else to our list of problems.”

“Fourth does have his ways,” Ace said.

“Usually, I’m tempted to go with his ways,” the old woman said, smiling in that unsettling way of hers, “but not this time. Are you going to show me what you have, or diddle around longer, Ace?”

Straight to the point.

As always.

“Pearl, you have a call—”

“I am not taking calls, Mathieu,” Pearl said, never looking away from Ace.

The butler—a man in his fifties, at least—continued to stand in the doorway. “It is your son, ma’am.”

“And Senior can wait, I am busy.”

“If you’re—”

Pearl’s sharp gaze drifted to the side, and narrowed when she had Mathieu in her line of vision. “Child, if you ask me if I am sure about the words that just came out of my mouth …”

Child.