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“How’s it drive?” I ask as he comes aboard.
“Like a dream. German engineering, you know?”
“Glad you got your money’s worth.”
“Herzog drove a hard bargain.” He says it like the fiction he created is real, like he actually purchased the car after intense, good faith negotiations. I wonder if he’s lying for my benefit, or if that’s just the way his mind works. Water under the bridge. No reason to look back. No reason to dwell on the past.
I could use more of that in my life.
Too bad I’m about to fuck up his game plan. Him, and the rest of the Ring.
But forewarned is forearmed. At least that’s what I tell myself as I gather my clients in the Faraday cage boardroom below deck. I make sure everyone has his drink of choice before I drop my bomb.
“Gentlemen. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just tell you all the truth. The last meeting of the Diamond Ring was filmed without my knowledge. I’m being blackmailed to avoid the release of the video. While I have no intention of complying with the blackmailers’ demands, I’m doing everything else in my power to guarantee the recording won’t see the light of day.”
I almost wish Alix was here, just so she could see the variety of reactions. I’m sure she could write her long-overdue thesis about how a bunch of rich fucks deal with the news that they can’t control every aspect of the world around them.
Arsene Dubois laughs, like I’m telling a lousy joke with a worse punchline, and I wonder if something got lost in translation from my English to his French. Wolf’s not surprised, not after the phone call we had last week. Kelly, either.
Braxton takes out his cell, only to discover he’s blocked from calling his lawyer or his accountant or his priest, whoever the fuck he thinks is going to help him out of this shitstorm.
Marcus shouts, “This is bullshit!” He repeats himself twice for good measure, just in case that’s enough to change the threat. He owns the largest fast-food chain in the world. He probably can’t imagine a problem that can’t be solved by offering up an order of free fries.
Sawyer Best’s steely voice cuts through the chaos. “What are they asking?”
Steve Torrington, who made his billions in insurance, says, “Yeah, what’re the demands? Better to pay up than face those consequences.”
I don’t bother mincing words. “They want to turn the freeport into their East Coast distribution hub for illegal drugs targeting kids.”
A couple of assholes clearly think it’s worth the risk. I’m fully aware of the flexible ethics that make each of these guys worth ten thousand times the average US citizen. Most would sell their own mother if the price was right.
Speaking of prices… I lower the second boom. “And they want a billion dollars.”
The typical guy on the street doesn’t have a clue how big a billion is. But if that John Doe dumbfuck earned a hundred thousand dollars a year for fifty years, he’d bring home five million bucks. Five percent of a billion. To get to a billion, he’d have to earn fifty-five grand aday.
So, yeah. The Herzogs’ ask is enough to knock the room silent.
Cole Wolf recovers first, but he’s had a few days to think. “What’s on the video?”
Again, no reason to hold back. “Herzog’s front and center. There are clean shots of Alix and me. Kelly’s identifiable, and Best, too. Probably Marcus and Wolf.”
Relief rolls through half the crowd anyway, until Wolf says, “That’s in the footage they sent you.”
Bingo. He got there fast.
But Marcus bitches, “As opposed to what?”
“As opposed to all the footage they actually have on hand,” Wolf says before he turns back to me. “I assume Best’s crew found the cameras when they tore your place apart. How many?”
“Three,” I say. Best nods narrow-eyed agreement.
Wolf says, “So there’re two more videos out there. Maybe they don’t show the main event, but reaction shots are just as damning. Any kid with a laptop can splice them together.”
In case anyone’s stupid enough to miss the real point, Best chimes in. “We’re all accessories after the fact. And once they pocket Prince’s billion, what’s to keep them from coming after the rest of us?”
“Whoarethese assholes?” Marcus demands.
“Herzog’s brothers.” I hold up my hands, like I can ward off a million questions and demands. “I’ve got a dossier six inches thick, including where they’re holed up and the names of their fucking dogs. But none of that does me any good if they won’t come to the table.”
