At end of the hallway, Zane opens a door to a bedroom.
“This is you,” he says, entering ahead of me.
I step inside cautiously. Burgundy wallpaper covers the walls, and the windows are draped with heavy curtains. A four-poster bed stands against the far wall. Two stuffy armchairs face a fireplace. The decoration is somber and masculine. I don’t need the faint remnants of Damian’s cologne to tell me this is his room. The scent is earthy like a misty day and tangy like citrus. Cold like winter. It’s both disturbingly male and refreshingly clean. I can’t stay in this room that bears Damian’s stamp on all sensory levels. I don’t want to share a room with a man who’s a stranger.
Oblivious to my consternation or simply not caring, Zane takes my clutch and phone and leaves them on the table by the cold fireplace.
I’m curious as to this man’s friendship with Damian. For someone who doesn’t know me, his hostility is fierce. “How do you and Damian know each other?”
“From jail.”
“Oh. What were you in for, if I may ask?”
“Same as Dami.”
“Theft?”
“Come,” he says again.
I follow him awkwardly to an adjoining dressing room. The closets don’t have doors and the shelves are open cubbyholes with smaller ones for belts and ties. There are a few shirts, one spare jacket, and a pair of pants. Damian only got out a week ago. I suppose he hasn’t had time to fill his sadly lacking dressing room. Those lonely shirts in all that vast space look forlorn. The sight elicits an involuntary and unexpected pang of sympathy for a man who, not so long ago, didn’t even own a jacket. Zane pulls my nightdress from a drawer and shoves it into my hand before pulling me by the arm to an en suite bathroom.
“You have five minutes to shower.”
The door slams in my face. It takes me two seconds to register the dull ache his fingers have left on my arm and another for panic to set in. Dropping the nightdress, I fling myself at the sealed exit. I grip the doorknob, twisting it in my clammy palm while jerking on the door. I’m about to yell for someone to let me out when the knob turns, and the door opens. I’m not locked in. Resting my forehead against the wood, I drag in deep breaths. When my heartbeat calms, I open the door wider and peer around the frame. I’m alone. The bedroom door stands open. I leave the bathroom door open a crack and rush through a shower, finding my shampoo on the shower shelf.
When I’m done with my shower, I take a little time to familiarize myself with the bathroom. My cosmetic bag is set on the vanity and my robe hangs on a hook behind the door, next to a robe I assume to be Damian’s. Half of the cabinets are stocked with male toiletries—shaving cream, razors, hairbrushes, and deodorant—and the other half is empty. The arrangement screams at me like a taunting message. Refusing to give it too much thought, I brush my teeth. Instead of using the space left for me, I pack everything back into my cosmetic bag. If I don’t put my toothbrush next to Damian’s, I can pretend it’s just temporary. I can pretend I still have a choice in something.
Pulling on my robe, I go back into the bedroom, but stop in my tracks. Zane sits on a chair next to the door, filing his nails.
“Feeling better?” he asks with a mocking smile.
I prefer to ignore him, but it’s hard to do when he grabs my arm and manhandles me to the bed.
“Take off the robe,” he says.
When I’ve done so, he drapes the robe over a chair, pushes me down on the left side of the bed, and pulls the covers up to my chest. With my long-sleeved nightdress, it’s too hot, but I lie stiffly while he arranges my arms on top.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he says, not sounding apologetic at all.
“What for?”
He yanks my arm above my head.
“What are you doing?”
I’m wrestling with a renewed bout of fear when he takes a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket and cuffs my wrist to the bedframe.
“Dami’s orders. In case you feel like jumping out of a window.” He grabs my face in one hand, his fingers digging into my cheeks. “Do you know what Dami is capable of? Do you know what he’ll do to you if you try anything stupid?”
I have an idea, but I say nothing as we stare at each other. Refusing to avert my gaze from the hatred that burns in his green eyes, I take a good, long look. I let the emotion settle in and lock it away in my heart where I keep stock of my enemies.
Lips curling, he pushes my head into the pillow. “Try to get some sleep.”
When he moves away, hysteria sets in. I’m trapped. I can’t breathe. “Unlock me.”
He keeps on walking, not sparing me a glance.
“Please, don’t lock me in. Don’t close the door.” I’m blabbering, but I can’t stop. “Don’t lock me in. Please.”
At the door, his patience snaps. Before I can blink, he’s back at the bed, his backhand connecting so hard with my cheek my ears ring.
“Shut the fuck up, you crazy bitch.”
“You don’t understand.” I can’t breathe if I’m constrained.
“I said quiet,” he yells. “It’s bad enough I’m saddled with being your babysitter. I don’t want to listen to your wailing all night.” Mumbling lunatic under his breath, he marches back to the door.
I buck and yank on my constraints, saying please and promising to be good, but my pleas fall on deaf ears. The door shuts with a bang.
“It’s fine,” I whisper. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
I’m not.
Panic gets the better of me. I start to struggle in all earnest, jerking and pulling on the metal around my wrist like a mad person. It feels as if I’m drowning. I can’t breathe. Shit, I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe! Twisting and kicking at the sheets trapping my feet only makes it worse. I can’t think. It’s mind over matter, but I’m not a cognizant human being. I’m an animal, trapped and pushed into a corner. I behave like an animal, the sounds coming from my throat scaring even me. I’m vaguely aware of the burning of my skin where I’m fighting the cuffs like a feral cat. My tears and silent wails degrade me further, lower than an animal and closer to a pathetic, wild creature at the most basic form of existence, fighting for every breath.
Breathe. Breathe.
I can’t give in to this. I can’t.
With enormous effort, I still. It takes inhumane willpower to calm myself enough to drag in air. When I finally manage, I choke on oxygen. I cough and choke, and choke and cry. It’s no big deal. It’s just a panic attack. I’m breathing. It’s going to be all right. The door is just closed. It’s not locked.
I repeat the mantra until I’m calm enough to breathe normally, and it doesn’t feel like my lungs are collapsing. I’m not fighting, any longer, but I’m far from relaxed. Every muscle in my body is taut. Every conscious moment is a battle to hold onto the calm and not slip back into panic mode. I need to distract my mind. I mustn’t think about the fact that I can’t get up and move freely. I grasp for straws, sifting through my brain for a buoy that will keep me afloat, and the first thing that drifts within reach is hope. The thought I grab onto is the one thing I’m set on finding. It’s the evidence Damian holds over my head, the scraps of paper that threaten Harold’s life and affect mine in ways no one can understand. It’s where in this house he keeps it, and how quickly I’ll find it.
Damian
The chartered Cessna lands on an airstrip outside the heavily secured area south of Sanddrift in the Richtersveld, a stone-throw from the Namibian border. It was only a three hour-long flight, but the minute I step off the plane, I power up my phone and look for an update from Zane. His text message says Lina is in bed and all is well.
All is well.
Nothing can be further from the truth. All hasn’t been well since the day I set foot in her father’s house. It will only be well again when I see the look on his face as he realizes I’ve put him out of business.
Shielding my eyes against a dust storm, I send a quick reply to Zane, telling him to keep me up
dated, and shake the hand of the nervous Dalton Diamond Corporation mining representative waiting next to a car. My reputation exceeds me, no doubt, but that very reputation prevented the Senior Operations Manager, Fouché Ellis, from declining my request. I may also have hinted at wanting to make a big investment. It’s an unorthodox visit Dalton is unaware of, but one he’ll learn about soon enough.
“Welcome, Mr. Hart. I’m here to drive you to your accommodation.”
“I know why you’re here,” I say, buttoning up my jacket.
The evenings in the semi-desert are cool. The familiarity of something as simple as a weather pattern strikes a chord of homecoming in me, as well as the perverse thrill a hunter feels when his prey is within grabbing distance.
The representative shoots me a wary look. I’m ruder than intended, irritated that the meeting had been scheduled for this evening when I only got married in the afternoon. Given, Ellis had arranged the date before my wedding plans were made.
“May I congratulate you, sir?” the man asks as he runs next to me to keep up. “On the wedding.”
At my look, he clears his throat.
Wisely, he keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the drive, only handing me the reports I’ve requested. After we’ve cleared the security checkpoint, we follow the dust road to the mining office and accommodation area. We pass the excavation site, visible from beyond the barbwire fences in the floodlights. The last time I saw this part, it was virgin ground. Now it’s scarred by Dalton’s bulldozers and the black metal construction of the screening plant. Heaps of sand lie like rejected mountains on the south side of the riverbed. Muddy puddles reflect in the yellow spotlights that shine from the guard towers.
The accommodation doesn’t look much better. It’s a hostel built from pressed wood that has to get as hot as hell in the high day temperatures. Ellis meets me at the canteen. We order two beers and take them to a private meeting room at the back.
It’s no industry secret that Ellis and Dalton disagree on everything from operating procedures to environmental conservation and safety controls, which is why I’ve chosen him. Plus, he holds thirty percent of the shares. They were given to him as part of his remuneration package when Dalton employed him, and he knows as well as I do those shares will soon be worthless.
“I’ll play open cards with you,” he says once we’re seated on opposite sides of a small table. “I don’t like going behind Harold’s back. He’s still the CEO.”
“I’m sure you’ve guessed there’s a good reason for meeting off the grid.”
“Yeah. Harold won’t approve of whatever you’re proposing.”
Adjusting my tie, I smile as kindly as I can manage. “I wouldn’t use approve to describe Dalton’s reaction to this meeting.”
“There’s not a lot Harold and I agree upon. Still, it’s a hell of a far way to come for a meeting. We could’ve talked on the phone.”
“This is a meeting I prefer to conduct in person.” You can’t read someone’s non-verbal language over a phone. I need to know if I can rely on Ellis. “I also wanted to see the mine. I assume a visit has been arranged for tomorrow before I leave?”
“You said you wanted to invest. What do you want to know?”
I like a man who cuts straight to the chase. “I need the geology reports of the initial exploration.”
He motions at the file in my hand the representative has given me. “You have them.”
“The ones before these.”
“What makes you think there are earlier ones?”
“The fact that I requested them when I applied for the reconnaissance permission.”
He braces his meaty hands on the table. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I’m saying I want the reports.”
“Wait a minute. The application for prospecting rights was filed by Harold.”
“Who granted them?”
“Jack Clarke from the Department of Mineral Resources.”
“Convenient that Clarke, who I may point out was the same age as Dalton, then became Dalton’s son-in-law.”
“You’re saying Harold’s daughter married Jack for mining rights?”
“Why else would a pretty eighteen-year-old girl marry a man old enough to be her father?”
He moves to the edge of his seat. “Are you trying to prove you have a stake on Dalton Diamonds?”
“I already have the proof. I’m not here to dwell on the past. I prefer to focus on the future. What I’m offering is pumping new money into the project.”
“You’ll be wasting your money. We’ve depleted the gravel bed. There’s nothing left to bulldoze.”
“You have to go down to the bedrock.”
“We’ll need a vacuveyer. Too costly.”
“Money isn’t an issue.”
“The kimberlite we tested yielded lower quality diamonds. It won’t be worth the investment.”
“Not if those diamonds are colored.”
“The colored diamond market has been existing for as long as the natural diamond market. It’s never been in as high demand.”
“Not black.”
He rubs his chin. “Black diamonds? Who the hell wants black diamonds? Yeah, there’s a new fashion thing going on, but they’re still well below the natural diamond value, and it’s nothing but a phase. It’ll fall out of fashion as quickly as it became a rebel slash gothic craze.”
“In a few months’ time, it’ll be all the rage.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“I believe in making the waves, Mr. Ellis, not in surfing them.”
“You’re going to create a new trend? May I ask how?”
“Let’s just say I have the resources and contacts to make it happen.”
“Why aren’t you presenting this directly to the board? Why tell me?”
“I’m going to take over this mine, and when I do, I’ll need a skilled Operations Manager. The mess Dalton Diamonds made of this site is going to be cleaned up. I want to turn this place around and give the miners better working conditions.” I wave the report in my hand at him. “The records you made public prove if you don’t change your prospecting program, you’ve reached your excavation limit. My initial geology report proves there’s more to this mine. If this mine remains with Dalton Diamonds, it’ll be dead before the end of the year. I’m offering to give it a facelift and a lifespan of at least twenty years longer, if not more. Are you with me, or not?”
“It’ll be one hell of an output. How much money are we talking about?”
“Ten billion.”
“Not easy to come by.”
“I’ve got the means.”
He regards me from under his bushy eyebrows. “Yeah, I heard you got married yesterday. Lina is a sweet woman. If what you say about her is true, then you and your wife are cut from the same cloth.”
He has no idea. “Oh, we are.”
“Don’t you think if going down to the bedrock was worth a shot, Harold would’ve made the investment?”
“Like I said, Dalton stole my prospecting work. I spent two years of my life searching this soil. This land is in my blood. Dalton did nothing but ruin it. He depleted the riverbed and destroyed the environment. I know you disagree with his methods. No doubt he’s paying the right people at the Department of Mineral Resources to turn a blind eye. Dalton couldn’t make this mine a success even if he wanted. He might’ve stolen my plans, but he couldn’t steal my vision. My vision has never been to yield high quality diamonds. There are too little of them in the gravel bed. My vision has always been to extract the lower quality diamonds of which there is a much higher yield in the bedrock. My vision is to color them and build a new brand of diamonds that will become the next most sought-after gemstone.”
“I’m going to be frank with you. This sounds a lot like revenge.”
“Dalton fucked me over, and I’m about to return the favor in so many ways he’ll never see them coming. Yes, it’s about revenge, but it’s a
lso about realizing this mine’s true potential.”
“Excuse me for pointing this out, but as an ex-convict, you’re not exactly great management material, especially not in the diamond industry.”
“Don’t be naïve. This whole industry is made up of crooks.”
He’s quiet for some time. After a while, he says, “Let’s say hypothetically I’m on board. What do you want from me?”
“Your vote.”
“What for?”
“For me taking over Dalton’s shares.”
“Taking over? He’s going to give them to you, just like that?”
“Call it a wedding gift to his new son-in-law.”
He rubs a hand over his head. “I don’t know which one of you is more corrupt.”
“We may both be corrupt, but there’s only one of us who can save this mine.”
“What about Warren and Stone? They each hold twenty percent.”
“Let me worry about them.”
“Warren might consider, but Max Stone is as loyal to Harold as a puppy to the hand that feeds it meat.”
“Max Stone and Bell Warren will sell out to me. If you vote for it, it’ll be a done deal.” That’ll make seventy percent of the shares mine.
“How can you be so certain they’ll sell out?”
“Trust me.”
“You’ve got dirt on them.” His eyes bulge. “You’re going to blackmail them? You’re joking, right?”
“Life’s too short for jokes.” It’s a lesson six years in jail has taught me. “Whatever the case, I give the mine another twelve months, eighteen at the most, before it’s depleted. Dalton knows this. It’s in these reports.” I wave the file at him again. “In another few months, he would’ve sold his shares and bailed on you when the mine closed down and the workers got paid off, leaving you with a pocket full of worthless shares. I’m offering you a chance to grow with a mine that’s going to triple its profits in a year. You can walk away unemployed next year—let’s not forget how hard it is for a man of your age to find employment in South Africa—or retire in twenty years with a nice pension fund and flourishing shares. What’s there to lose?”
Beauty in the Broken: A Diamond Magnate Novel Page 4
