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“You okay, mate?” I ask.
“Just grand,” Alec says through the headset. I smile, not believing a word of it.
“What the hell do you think this meeting is about?” I ask.
“I know your old man is happy about the warehouse. But I'm sure he's going to want to kick things up a notch, so be prepared to get your hands dirty,” Alec says.
“My hands are already dirty,” I reply, noticing the sheer cliff face and the cascading waterfall as I bank around the island. I gasp at the sheer beauty. This place is like a live postcard.
When my mother died, my father sent me to Wellington, New Zealand. I was eleven years old. My father didn't want to deal with me, so he had the boarding school I attended, do the job for him. The best part of that experience was meeting Alec Winters. Alec was closer than a brother to me, and he'd been working his way up the ranks of my father's enterprise for the last four years. I stayed in New Zealand to finish my degree in finance with a minor in information technology.
“Your father is just happy you're finally on the islands, so you can help rock the Kalama boat,” Alec says.
I don't comment because I see the landing pad come into view. My father's estate sits on about fifteen acres. I guide the copter down and land smoothly, then go through my checklist. Alec waits until the blades have entirely stopped to get out of the passenger seat. As we get out of the helicopter, he gestures to the older man with no hair standing by the golf cart. “Simon, this is Roger.”
I shake Roger’s hand and follow Alec into the cart. Roger is quiet as we descend the hill. If I had to guess, the landing pad is about a mile from the main house. I notice a guard tower and wonder about the layout of this place. I've never been here before. My father also owns a condo in downtown Honolulu, on Oahu, which is where I first saw him after arriving here.
Roger parks the cart near one of the outbuildings and gestures us to the back door around the pool. “Your father is in his office. Alec can show you the way,” Roger says without smiling, and heads through the door and down the hall in the opposite direction of where Alec starts walking. As we move, space opens up and looks over a living room with a piano off to the side.
The space is modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows in the front. The Pacific Ocean lays out in the distance, looking vast and endless. I notice a guy walking past carrying a gun. I wonder how many cameras are rigged up in this place.
Alec stops at the door at the end of the hall and knocks. When we get an acknowledgment to come in, Alec opens the door, and the first thing I notice is a photo of my mother and me at her place in the UK. It's on the bookshelf behind his desk. I couldn't have been more than six in that picture. I'm surprised to see it. Frankly, I can't remember a time when my parents were happy.
Henry, the Kapulet underboss, turns to us and stands.
My father goes to the credenza by the wall, starts pouring his favorite bourbon into crystal glasses, and passes each to us. He smiles. “Let's toast the success of your first mission, Simon,” he encourages, his accent coming through his words.
“Thanks,” I say without enthusiasm, taking a small sip of my drink. The burn that coats my throat is a welcome punishment, as I don't particularly enjoy being in my father's company.
“I have so much more planned for you, Simon. Before you know it, you'll be my underboss, and you'll get to see what it feels like to have real power.” My father's eyes twinkle. I feel a twist in my gut, noticing we have the same eyes.
“Congratulations, Simon,” Henry gives me a salute with his glass. I bet he's just thrilled about my father's plan to put him out to pasture so I can one day take over as his underboss.
“Simon, I'm going to partner you with Bruno again. I need you to get some information. You'll know more soon,” father says, taking his seat behind the desk. He sits there like he's the king, and I suppose he is in a twisted way—the king of his degenerate band of brothers who take his word as law.
“Fine, what are we looking for, anyway?” I ask.
“All in good time, Son. Why don't you and Alec go change for dinner? Henry and I need to go over some things,” my father coolly dismisses us.
As Alec and I leave the room, I say in a low voice, “All this way for that? He could have texted me that or, better yet, had Bruno relay the message.”
“Don't underestimate your father's ego. He likes to preen on his throne,” Alec smirks.
“Joy,” I say with a bitter smile.
Alec leads the way to the bedrooms, and I notice my duffle bag is sitting on a rack inside one of the rooms. The closet door is open, and there is a half dozen suit jackets and slacks with white pressed dress shirts hanging neatly. I turn and notice Alec at the door.
“What is all this?” I ask him.
“Just roll with it. Tomorrow night I'll take you to a real party,” Alec says with a small laugh and continues down the hall.
***
Dinner is an elaborate affair. The four of us are decked out in our suits, eating duck and washing it down with expensive bottles of champagne. I survey the ample dining space. The luxury is apparent, and I wonder if my father ever thinks of his youth. He grew up in Liverpool. His father was a dock worker who died of lung cancer when he was young, and his mom a seamstress. According to his stories, he ran some local dice games to help his mother pay the bills. It wasn't long before my father had graduated to running with a gang and got into stealing cars. He spent some time in Her Majesty's Young Offender Institution. I never understood why my mother took a second glance at him. A street rat with ambition. She was a Lady with money and status. I always figured she went through a rebellious streak to defy my grandfather. My parents met in a club in East London where one of my mother's friends took her for her birthday when she was at uni.
“Father, have you given any more thought to let me work with your tech guys?” I ask.
My father looks at me sternly, and I recognize myself in his features. The thought disgusts me.
