The Other Side of Greed
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The Other Side of Greed
The Seven Sins, #5
Lily Zante
Contents
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Epilogue
Booklist
About the Author
Author’s Note
The Other Side of Greed is the fifth book in The Seven Sins, a contemporary romance series of steamy, angsty and emotional stories featuring characters who are loosely connected.
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All books in this series are STANDALONE but loosely connected.
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Other books in the series:
Underdog (FREE prequel)
The Wrath of Eli
The Problem with Lust
The Lies of Pride
The Price of Inertia
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Prologue
Twenty years ago …
* * *
BRANDON
* * *
“Take me with you,” Kane begs.
“I can't. The lady said it's just me for now.” I'm crying inside because I have to show him I'm strong. I'm his older brother and I've got this. Kane hugs me, throwing his skinny little hands around me, like a wretched rat hanging on to a sinking ship.
“Come on, now, Brandon.” The lady from the home walks over to take my hand, but I'm not ready to go. I will never be ready to go, not like this.
Kane wails. “Don't go! Don't leave me.”
“Kane,” she says harshly. “Move away. Your brother has to go.”
“I don't want him to go.” His sobs shoot a round of bullets through me. I can't listen to this and walk away. I've never walked away. He is all I've got, and I am all he's got.
I hug him tightly. “I'll come back for you, okay? I promise.”
“Brandon.” The woman’s voice is stern. “You need to come with me NOW.”
I give Kane the biggest hug of my life. Life is cruel. It’s never been fair for the likes of us. “I'll come back for you, little buddy.” I kiss his head, he tilts his face upwards, looking at me with wet, soppy, sad eyes. My heart breaks into a million pieces.
“Step away before I—” The woman tries to pry Kane’s hands off my body, but he doesn’t give an inch. Instead, he kicks her. Hard. The sound of his boot smacking her shin is loud enough to make me wince. I felt that. She wails, reaching down to rub her leg. “You little—”
Two others grab my little brother. He's so small and skinny, powerless to fight them off. They grab him like he's a convict. “Come here you little shit. Don't even think of trying anything.”
“Brandon! Brandon!” he cries, as they drag him away, a tiny nine year old.
“I'll come back for you. I'll find you, I promise,” I yell. My insides fracture as he is taken, kicking and screaming, away. It’s the last vision I have of him.
When he disappears, I fall apart. My body shuddering as I howl, my sorrow twisting and tearing me to pieces.
“Wipe your face.” The woman shoves a tissue in my face. “You can't meet your new family looking like that.”
Chapter One
BRANDON
* * *
“The scent of money is intoxicating.” I hang up the phone and mimic a chef’s kiss. “Another deal done.” I savor the glow of warmth that spreads through me. There is nothing more satisfying than sealing another deal.
It’s better than sex.
“We should celebrate.” Neville, my lawyer, shuts his briefcase and looks hopeful. Because this deal has put another couple of million dollars into my coffers, he expects that I will celebrate with an expensive meal in one of Chicago’s finest restaurants.
Ordinarily, I would, but I have other plans. “Jessica is expecting me at the art gallery. I should show my face.”
Neville raises an eyebrow. “Are you dating yet, or are you still keeping this purely platonic?”
I pull at my shirt cuffs. “We’re good friends, for now.”
“Still just good friends? You disappoint me, Brandon. You’ve been sniffing around her long enough.”
“I don’t sniff, Neville.” And certainly not around someone like Jessica Montrose. A socialite and an art gallery owner, she is smart, polished, rich and powerful, all thanks to her father who once operated a hedge fund in the city.
I have recently taken over Hawks Enterprises, a conglomerate which my father founded many decades ago. He has recently retired due to ailing health—heart surgery has taken its toll—and he has passed the mantle to me. While I have enjoyed not being in the limelight—and I still prefer to fly under the radar—the idea of having this much power and wealth is overwhelming.
I have my eye on Jessica because she is perfect wife material. It’s one reason why I haven’t jumped into bed with her yet. I want to take things slowly. I’m taking them so slowly that I haven’t even made it to first base yet. I’m not inspired to. There’s no chemistry, yet. She’s … polished. Good for me and my brand. The perfect trophy wife.
“We’ll celebrate another time, then. A five-million-dollar deal is nothing to be taken lightly, even for someone like you.”
“Some other time,” I tell him, glancing at my watch. I want to go home and shower before I go to the art gallery.
Neville rises slowly, as if his portly and round body is too heavy for his knees. His jowls hang around his neck, giving him a St. Bernard Dog air. His love of red wine, blue cheese and rich foods have no doubt helped.
He gets rich off of people like me but he lacks the killer instinct that I have, which is why he’s a lawyer charging me by the hour, and why I’m where I am. Making deals, and obscene amounts of money, being driven by the urge and greed to possess, these things run in my blood.
Strange, because that wasn’t how my life started.
While I also like the finer things in life like fine dining, thousand dollar bottles of wine and whiskey, and watching sunsets from my private jet, making money is what truly makes me happy. Amassing things, possessions, properties.
Emma, my PA, who is smarter and sharper than I give her credit for, notices that my newfound interest in Jessica has a similar trait to my desire to own things. “She’s not a building or a commodity, Brandon,” she said to me when Jessica first came on the scene, “she’s not a ‘thing’ that you can own or pos
sess; she’s a person.” I beg to differ. People, like things, can be bought, and owned and possessed. I believe that after much wining and dining, and whisking away on exotic holidays, after gifting her expensive trinkets, and clothes, and accessories, there will come such a time.
My lawyer grabs his briefcase by the handle and swings it off the table, then pauses.
“Greenways. Have you given it some thought?” His greedy little eyes settle on me awaiting orders for my next project. A fun project, I think, before I step into the limelight as Philip Hawks’ successor.
“I have.”
Neville cocks his head expectantly. “Care to share your plans with me?”
Greenways is a plot of land I am interested in acquiring. It’s a prime piece of real estate even if, to the unknowing eye, it looks like an eyesore. Once ignored and forgotten, the area is slowly becoming gentrified—due to money being pumped into the infrastructure in the surrounding areas.
It will be worth a hell of a lot in years to come. Naturally, I want it. My contact, Charlie Stagg, in the city’s planning and development department, is available to help as and when needed. The land presently houses a few factories and stores and it’s just a matter of getting business owners to move. The problem is, getting them to move isn’t easy; they’re stubborn, but Stagg can help us.
Reaching out to them in the hopes of coming to some sort of financial agreement isn’t going to work. I’ve seen other companies fail. I’ve come up with another strategy—which Charlie will help to facilitate by designating Greenways to be a redevelopment project area due to blight. Then the city can rehabilitate it later.
‘Later’ is when Hawks Enterprises will be given the contracts to build new condos. We’ll make a shitload of money in the process.
“I told you, I want to try another way,” I tell Neville.
When Neville’s thick caterpillar brows meet angrily in the middle, I try to assure him. “Don’t look so worried, Neville. I’ve got this.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.” Neville’s brain has short-circuited, and he seems to have forgotten who I am. When I broached this idea with him before, albeit briefly, he didn’t sound so eager.
“You are crazy to think you can change Kyra Lewis’s mind.”
“Shhhh.” I hold my finger to my lips. I scratch my chin, bored by this talk of worrying what the peasants at Greenways may or may not like. “Let’s not talk about her right now.” I’ve read up about this feisty little upstart. This poor girl do-gooder. Someone needs to warn her that I eat people like her for breakfast. “I want to have some fun with this.” I put on my jacket and adjust the cuffs of my shirt.
I’m also eager to be on my way. Working late is the norm for me, but tonight is a rare social evening. Art galleries are not my forte. I find them boring, but if my future wife-to-be is involved in that world, it’s something I’m going to have to get to like.
Though the door to my office is open, Emma still knocks on it and hovers, not coming in. “I have some paperwork for you to sign. It’s urgent.”
“Don’t you worry about Lewis,” I tell Neville. “I’ll update you in due time.” I motion for Emma to come in, then survey the sheaf of papers she hands me.
Neville doesn’t look amused. “You underestimate people sometimes, Brandon. The Greenways store owners are a different breed.”
Emma chortles. “You can say that again.”
I give her a not-you-too look before flicking through the pages. She has thoughtfully put bright blue and green stickers on the pages I need to look at. I continue signing as if I don’t have a care in the world.
Because I don’t.
Worrying is Neville’s problem. Not mine.
I’ve learned from my father, and he is the best. All business deals, all the projects, deals and proposals he was involved in, he’s always managed to come out on top. It has benefited him in some way. That’s how he operates, and that’s what he’s taught me. He created opportunities and made boatloads of cash by taking buildings, then breaking them up, and selling them for parts. I watched and learned from him as he took land, bulldozed the crap out of it, and built something better and more upmarket in its place.
Newer and better. Upscale buildings, exclusive enclaves. That’s what we build and we’ve never not been able to do as we please.
“I’ve told him,” I hear Emma say to Neville as I skimmed the fine print. “He doesn’t take her seriously.”
“You don’t need to worry,” I tell Emma.
“Share it with me, your proposed plan, and then we’ll see how much we need to worry.” Neville is about to set his briefcase on the floor when I shake my head.
“I don’t have time.”
“He has an appointment.” I can’t figure out if Emma’s tone is sarcastic or if she’s being serious.
I tilt my head and look from one to the other. These people should know me better than that. I always get what I want, and I always win. “If my plan doesn’t work, burning the place down will ensure Lewis and her crew leave.”
Neville nods his head as if he approves. “That’s something we could revert to as a last resort.”
“I was joking, Neville.” I may be a lot of things, but criminal isn’t one of them. Though, technically, what I’m about to do to Kyra Lewis might be deemed as such to some.
Emma snorts loud enough for me to hear as Neville disappears. “I shouldn’t have to listen to this,” she mutters, giving me a disapproving glare. “I swear, it’s like working for the mafia sometimes.”
“Surely I’m more palatable?” I suggest, winking at her.
“Did you sign them all?” She ignores my remark and shuffles through the pile of papers I’ve left on my desk.
“I signed everywhere you indicated.”
She nods appreciatively, clutching the papers to her chest. “Date night with Jessica?”
My jaw tightens. “Not quite.” Looking at paintings that make no sense, sipping champagne and picking at canapes isn’t what I would call date night. I’m not the type of guy who wastes time and money chasing skirt, but Jessica Montrose is a worthy endeavour. These things take time and there is no rush.
Emma clutches the sheaf of papers to her chest. “Just an appointment, then.” There is a glint of amusement in her eyes. For a PA, she’s upfront, and takes risks in the way she addresses me. She says things that many wouldn’t dare. She would be my social conscience if I possessed such a thing.
An appointment.
I open my mouth to put her in her place but I raise my eyebrow instead. She’s only a couple of years older than me, but behaves as if she’s thirty-four going on seventy.
But she’s not far from wrong. These sterile-as-a-science-lab encounters I have with Jessica are closer to an appointment than anything else. The pursuit of this socialite is slow, and not exactly fun. It often seems like work.
Kyra Lewis and Greenways? Now, that to me seems like fun. Emma moves towards the door. “Have you had a chance to read the notes I collated for you on Kyra Lewis?”
“I skimmed through them.” I know enough about the woman to go ahead with my plans.
“If anyone is going to stand in your way, it’s her, and, to be clear, I disapprove of your plan.”
“You don’t know my plan.”
“I know you, Brandon. Enjoy your evening.” She saunters away before I can say a word. I replay her cautionary advice to me. No one stands in my way. Because I’m fucking invincible.
Chapter Two
KYRA
* * *
“We have more pasta. Just give me a moment, okay?” The woman smiles at me. There is embarrassment in those eyes. I see this same look every time I hand out hot food, drinks and napkins to the people standing quietly and politely in line. We’ve run out of pasta, but Fredrich quickly empties out a big pan into the serving platter.
We do this every Wednesday night; provide food for the homeless and hungry. It’s something that Redhill, the company I run, decid
ed to do when the factory was up and running, and started to become successful. We make blankets, sleeping bags and clothes for homeless people. They’re made from lightweight insulated waterproof material and are easy to roll up and put into a bag without taking up a lot of space.
They are made by homeless people and victims of domestic abuse which I hire from homeless shelters. The food program was born out of Redhill’s mission that every person deserves to live a good life; has enough to eat, has a place to live and has some type of employment.
Simona says I’m not content until I’ve fixed the world’s problems, and then she tells me I can’t. But I can try.
The evening goes on without drama. Everyone is obedient and grateful. They thank us for everything we give them as they go down the line. I put a couple of scoopfuls of pasta into polystyrene boxes and Simona adds a few slices of bread. The other servers add in fruit, crackers, bags of chips and cereal bars. Fredrich takes care of the drinks. There are plenty of water bottles to be handed out and there are also urns for tea and coffee.