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“It’s my job. Having endless money to throw at problems makes things easy.” He beams at me.
I laugh and head back up to my room, not sure how I feel about this situation, but willing to give Liam the benefit of the doubt for now.
Chapter 16
Liam
Riker Corgan is sweating as he shakes my hand. “I’d say you overpaid, but, uh—” He clears his throat. Corgan’s a heavyset man, bald, middle-aged, wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants. “I suspect you already know.”
“Consider the excess a friendly gesture. I’m aware of the risk you’re taking by selling to me.” I walk with him toward the conference room door. We’re in a nondescript office I rented right in downtown. Bottles of water gleam in the middle of the table. I have the entire twenty-first floor, although only two rooms are furnished. “Do you need anything else?”
“A drink,” he says, not smiling. “Something strong. And a plane ticket to Mexico.”
“I could help with both, but I suspect you have them well in hand.”
Corgan chuckles as I escort him to the elevators. We pass empty space for cubicles, empty offices, empty halls. “Can I offer some advice?” he asks, and he doesn’t look like he cares whether I agree or not. I definitely don’t give a damn what he has to say. He goes on anyway. “Rustik Aslan’s not the kind of man to take any of this lightly. The Russian’s got an iron fist. You know what I’m saying?”
“I’m aware of the Aslan organization’s disposition.” Violence and fear first. Those methods have their place—but a real leader has more tools than just a hammer.
“Sure, sure, you would.” Corgan rubs the top of his head. “I just mean, uh, ah, there are employees at all my dispensaries—”
I stop walking and force him to stop as well. “You have my word that I won’t let anything bad happen to anyone under my employ.”
I don’t add: that would be very bad for business.
He looks somewhat relieved. “Good. That’s good. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt, you know? When two elephants fight, flies tend to get crushed, you know what I mean?”
“Your people are mine now, and I treat my employees well.”
We make more small talk, shake hands when the elevator arrives, and I watch as the doors slide shut. I doubt I’ll ever see Riker Corgan again—he seems smart enough to run far, far away from here—though I almost feel bad for him.
“Now you’re in the game for real.” My top lieutenant, Sean McTafferty, watches me from the door back into the main office space. “He just sold you, what, the fourth largest dispensary chain on the West Coast?”
“Third,” I correct with a shrug. “And it’s only a start.”
“Rustik’s going to be livid.” Sean checks his nails. He’s older, in his mid-forties, with reddish-brown hair beginning to turn gray at the edges and a grizzled, weather-beaten face. Generally, I work alone, but I’ll need a real army if I’m going to take on Rustik, which includes bringing out experienced soldiers from the home city. Sean’s one of the best.
“That’s the idea.” I turn toward the windows. “I need him to make the first move. I suspect now he won’t be able to help himself.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Then I’ll keep on buying up every small dispensary business until I’m too entrenched to stop. It helps that I’m working with Crowley money now, which means it’s essentially unlimited. From there, I’ll use the contacts my wife can provide to start building my marijuana growing empire. In a few years, I’ll take down Rustik the legal way, by stealing all his customers.”
“You sure about that?” Sean doesn’t look convinced, but he’s a soldier, not a businessman.
“I can afford to take losses on all my businesses, thanks to the Crowley fortune. I’ll undercut him until he’s squeezed out of the industry, then I’ll reap enormous profits once I’m the only man left standing.”
“Ah, yes, the Uber theory.” Sean taps a finger against his lips. “Heard a podcast about them. Sorry, are they profitable yet?”
“I’m more like Amazon. Big and inevitable.”
He shrugs, grinning. I keep looking out the window, thinking about poor Riker Corgan. As the first man to sell to me, he’s painting a target right on his chest, one that I hope Rustik is smart enough to ignore. Corgan’s not the real enemy. Though men like Rustik can’t always tell the difference.
As I turn back to the office, the door to the emergency stairwell bangs open. One of my soldiers stands at the top of the staircase, hands on his knees, sweating and breathing hard. The kid’s gasping like he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. Sean looks bewildered as he walks over to the young man. “What the hell? Did you run up twenty floors?”
“Yes,” he wheezes. “I think I’m going to die.”
