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“What does that mean?”
“Father is going to be out in less than a year,” he said.
“Okay,” I responded.
“That might not be enough time for us to get everything in order,” he said.
“What’s the concern?” I asked.
I had some idea, but knew that asking him, allowing him to share his thoughts out loud, would be the best approach.
He shrugged, though the emotion didn’t convey the carefree attitude I thought he was hoping for.
“You know how father is. He’s going to get out and have nothing but blood on his mind.”
“That’s not good,” I said, though I had suspected something like that would be the case.
He viewed his imprisonment as an injustice, and I knew my father well enough to know that each day he had spent in a cell was one that he’d used to plot his vengeance.
Elias had tried to warn him before that the path he was taking was not the right one, but he hadn’t listened. And now, he would want those he felt responsible for his imprisonment to pay.
“We’ll get everything in order,” I said.
My father was a wild card, and Elias had spent years trying to solidify the business’s foundation, make it resistant to whatever my father might try to do.
And now, those preparations would be put to the test.
“I’m going to pretend I share your optimism,” he said.
I gave him a smile, and he returned it briefly, but just as quickly, the worry was back on his face.
He blinked, and then finally settled behind his desk.
“There’s something else,” he said.
“What?”
“Raphael James is in Zürich.”
I shook my head. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” Elias said. “But he’s on his way up. So let’s ask him.”
I kept my expression blank, but I was pissed off. I had told Raphael to stay put, and him being in Zürich couldn’t be good. He didn’t know I was here, and there was no reason for him to be, either.
“I think he is up to no good,” I said.
“I’d bet on it,” Elias said.
“I’ll feel him out, try to get a sense of what he’s up to,” I said.
There was a knock at the door, and after Elias said enter, it opened.
Raphael walked in, his gray suit and camel-colored shoes impeccable, though not appropriate for the chill that was in the air.
“Mr. Petrosyan,” he said, nodding at Elias. Then he turned to me. “Davit.”
“Raphael,” I responded.
