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“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, amused by this.
“I hate it.” And you can hear the pout in her tone.
“Why? Has he ever done anything to—”
“My cousin is forcing me to order his lunch every day. To file stuff in those big metal boxes with drawers.” There’s a cough, not sure from who, but it holds a hint of a laugh. “My nails look like crap at the end of each shift and my curls lose their volume. This is hell on earth.”
“I’m so sorry you—”
“Christ, Shawn,” Marcelles snaps, silencing his partner. “Mariah is Malcolm Asher’s cousin and secretary. Whatever angle you’re trying to play…just stop. We’re not here for anything other than a word with the owner.”
“Always a pleasure, Paul.” Mariah laughs, the clack of her heels following her to my door. She pauses just outside and gives a knock. “May I?”
Brat. “Yes.” The door opens and she enters first, walking behind my desk and taking her position to my left. They follow her in, stopping behind the two chairs on the opposite side. One looks normal and the other overexcited. “How can I help you, agents?”
“How did you know?”
“How are you, Malcolm?” they reply in unison, but my attention is on the older man. He extends a hand out for me to shake and I reach across my desk to do so, ignoring the now visibly annoyed toddler beside him. “How’s your father?”
“Battling boredom at the golf course.”
“Since when does Anthony golf?”
“Since my mother decided that they needed to be handier around the house in their old age. Her honey do list is a mile long, hence the new appreciation for golf.” I can see that this small talk is angering the other man. Shawn doesn’t like that a criminal—although I’ve yet to be indicted or convicted of anything—is acting as if their visit is of no consequence.
He doesn’t appreciate that his partner isn’t rude or demanding shit. He has a lot to learn. About me. About the way the world works.
Unless you have solid proof and come with an arrest warrant, you can’t touch me or my belongings. And even worse, the fact that I’ll never see the inside of a cell or receive anything other than a slap on the wrist grates on some people’s nerves.
If I go down, so does the precious economic standing—luxuries—some high-ranking members of government enjoy. More money runs through this bank than any other in the United States, Europe, and China. Hurting my empire will crumble theirs.
No more hush money.
No more lobbying.
No more power.
Even if it tastes rancid in their mouth, I’m to be treated with respect.
Moreover, Shawn hates it. I see it in his face.
His eyes narrow and nostrils flare. “We need access to every deposit made into the United States from clients outside the country. Everything from late July to now.”
“Is that so?” I scratch my chin, flicking my eyes from him to Marcelles. “His first job?”
“Yes.”
“So, he knows procedure?”
“Yes.” Poor man looks embarrassed.
“I’m right here,” Shawn sneers, and it’s hard not to knock his teeth back into his skull. “We have reason to believe that your bank is aiding in the illegal move of drug money.”
“You’re accusing me of a federal crime. Be very careful with that, agent. Your career can go—”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m stating a fact.” I narrow my eyes, leaning forward in my seat with both hands flat atop my desk so I’m not tempted to reach for the gun. My eyes remain on his, even after Marcelles tries to intervene. With a single hand up, I stop him and direct myself solely to a now visibly uncomfortable Shawn. “I’m going to let your disrespect and unprofessionalism pass this one time. Take it as a will of good faith because you are new and clearly don’t do your homework before throwing that badge around. What you’re doing is overstepping the boundaries, the same laws you are pretending to uphold, yet feel as though you can now trample because of what? What is the point of this visit other than to harass and throw out weightless allegations?”
