It’s supposed to be my father sitting in this very chair. He is supposed to be running this empire. He is supposed to be here, not me. I wasn’t supposed to be here, not until I turned thirty-two.
“How is he?” I ask her as I shake off the regret and acrid memory of finding my father lying prostrate on the floor of this very office, trying to catch his breath.
I didn’t know he was having a heart attack, but I knew whatever was happening was as a result of the headlines across the large T.V screens on the left wall.
“You would know the actual answer to that question if you came home!” My mother chides, her voice becoming lighter, making me forget, for a bit, the shadowed memories.
“Mom. . .”
“No, just be there at seven p.m sharp. And bring a date!” She says, her attention now divided.
“Mom, I don’t have a date.” I try to argue but she isn’t listening to me. For some reason that I don’t want to examine closely, I visualize her.
It’s always her.
“Bye dear. Your father wants to go play golf now. See you Friday night. Oh, and your sister is going to be there. Bye!”
And the line cuts off.
I can’t believe she just tricked me into this. And my damn sister and her idiot of a husband are going to be there. I don’t like that fool and my sister talks way too much for my liking.
But then again, I can’t disappoint my mother or rob her of a chance to celebrate life when everything else is bleak in our lives.
“Do you have a second?” Max says as he walks in my office.
“Man, can’t I ever have a second in here.” I mutter under my breathe.
“Ha, how is Mama dearest?” He asks with a smirk. Urgh.
“You know how she is, since you are the one who told her I’m available on Sunday.” I accuse. Max is like a little brother that snitches on you to your parents, getting you in trouble.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, how could I say no to that apple pie?” He says, laughing.
“Well, just you wait until I call Nana Jones about all your shenanigans.” I threaten knowing damn well that if there is anyone who can get Max together, it’s his Grandmother.
“Don’t you dare. Ain’t you ever heard that African American Grandmothers are not to be trifled with? I ain’t looking for an ass whooping, sorry.” He says as he visibly shudders, making me smirk.
“Why are you even in here anyway, don’t you have codes to crack and systems to hack?” I question, getting back to the files in front of me.
“Oh, about that. Peter worked that asshole pretty good and we got a few leads to go on.” Max informs, effectively grabbing my attention.
“Tell me they moved that piece of shit out of the building.” I demand, suddenly thinking of what would happen if our guest ever found out about that. No matter how you piece it together, a woman like Chloe will still be alarmed at seeing a person being tortured and interrogated.
“Yeah, they moved him to the warehouse. We wouldn’t want my new best friend to find out about this now, would we?”
“No. We wouldn’t” I respond. “So, what did you find?” I question.
The underbelly is a whole other world. Everything and everyone is connected to something and because the system is so big, it means the layers and the webs are interwoven, making it hard to actually pinpoint or trace.
But I excel in the art of patience. So, does Max. We’ll get there.
“You see, we. . .” Max is cut off when an unexpected knock on my office doors sounds and in strides my least favorite people in the world, with one of my secretaries rushing after them.
“Mr. Black.” Special Agent Alec McGuire greets, nodding his head in my direction.
“Sir, I tried to tell them that you were unavailable but they just charged past the reception area. . .” Annie blurts out, trying to explain. Everyone here knows I hate being disturbed, but you can’t exactly explain that to the Bureau of Investigation, especially when they feel entitled to do whatever they want.
“That’s alright Annie. These good agents work for the greater good of our good land. Fighting crime, isn’t that right gentlemen?” I ask, looking directly at the older agent, Alec McGuire. There is something about the man that I haven’t figured out yet but I’m getting there.
“Of course, which is why we want to talk to you.” Agent Mark Felix, the younger and more eager one says sternly, with an intimidating pose about him.
“Of course, please take a seat.” I gesture to the sitting area, moving away from my desk, I want to effectively read their body language as I talk to them.
As I move, my gaze connects with Max as he leaves the room with Annie and I know he knows what to do. He gives me an inconspicuous nod.
“So, gentlemen, how can I assist you this afternoon; after bursting into my office assaulting my stuff like you own the place?” I begin, trying to play nice but still throwing cautionary warnings to them. They better tread carefully.
“We wouldn’t have done that if you had just cooperated with us yesterday.” Felix starts, he must still be using the manual. First time in the field most likely. I choose to ignore him.
“Gentlemen, I’m already working with the FBI. I’m sure you are aware of that.” I inform, hating having to explain this, again.
“I’m sorry.” McGuire starts, shooting Felix a look. “What Agent Felix meant is that we would like to discuss an important matter with you.” He informs, as Felix begins taking about papers and placing them on the small table between us.
“And what is this?” I question.
“This is a court order, ready to be signed by a judge.” McGuire explains.
“A court order to work with you or throw me in jail?” I question, looking him dead in the eye. If he thinks he can walk into my office and give me ultimatums then he hasn’t heard of the Black family. Hasn’t heard of me in particular.
“I will be honest with you, there is one of those in there somewhere but that’s not my style. I like to ask people for their cooperation nicely. It makes for a comfortable friendship.” He says.
“I’m not looking for friends, Special Agent McGuire.” I state.
“Of course, you being a busy man and all.” He counters.
“And it’s because of that, that I can’t entertain you for long. Would you like to get to the point, Special Agent?” I demand, my patience running out.
“Sure. This court order, as I said, waiting for a judge’s signature, is already drawn up and ready to be given to you. It will exonerate Black House Inc and will give full rights back for your financial company to start operating without the interference of the FBI.” He states, watching me as I pick up the document. And sure enough, it does say that.
“Just like that?” I ask, going through the document.
“Well, not really. There are technicalities involved and. . .” Agent Felix starts, itching to get his two cents in. His voice fades on when McGuire shoots him another look.
“Of course, you know it doesn’t work like that, Mr. Black.” He informs. “We, in turn, require your full cooperation in our ongoing investigation.”
“An investigation on who exactly?” I know on who but I need to be sure.
“It doesn’t really work like that. You need to formally agree to working with us first before we can share our intel.” Agent Felix says.
“Is that so?” I question, looking directly at McGuire. “You ambush my girlfriend, bug her office and monitor her movements then tell her to work with you. And still have the energy to conjure up the audacity to tell me that horse shit in my office?” I demand coolly.
You want to play hard ball? I was born for hard ball.
We stare each other down and I don’t back down. I also ignore the fluttering in my chest when I mention the word ‘girlfriend’. I don’t particularly think much of the word but for her, it has a certain appeal to it.
“Okay. This is off the record.” McGuire says to Felix, then turns back to look at
me. “Our investigation is not really on Demetri, though he is no doubt connected.” He waves a hand in the air, as if trying to physically wear my patience thin.
“Connected to whom?” I interrupt.
“We have an investigation on an underbelly crime syndicate that operates in the country. They run by the name, MIAMI.” He informs. I do my best not to seem like I know what he is talking about.
“Sorry, who?” I question, acting dumb, hoping that Max is getting all of this. Seems like the FBI has caught wind of that damned syndicate as well. I wonder how they actually know.
“We’ll explain later but you, Mr. Black, are just the man for the job.” McGuire says. “That is, if you still want your company credit to be restored.”
This should be interesting. I wonder what they think I can do for them.
“This better be good.” I say as I lean back into my chair, crossing my legs so that my right ankle rests on my left knee. “Proceed.”
Chapter 12
Chloe
I feel the tension in my body, the freezing of my blood and the halting of my racing thoughts. In this moment, I finally see that this is danger.
When I open the envelope, the first thing I see is the name “Hamilton.”
“What is this?” I demand as I look up at him. No way!
I don’t know what this is but my gut is telling me this is something. Something huge and important. Does this man also know who I am? My real name?
“It’s something or nothing. Depending on how you look at it.” He says in a mocking voice as he leans into the backrest of the large office chair. He sits there as if he enjoys it too much, as if he feels he has the right to be here.
I take the whole thing out and see that it’s an old newspaper clipping. And the headlines have absolutely nothing to do with me.
“Why don’t you read it?” He suggests, steepling his fingers together and resting his chin there.
I glance back down at the old newspaper clipping. The headline isn’t even that captivating, definitely something I would skip over if I was the one reading the paper. It’s simple and the picture there is of a hotel, a hotel I vaguely know.
I look carefully at the picture and then read the headline again.
Hamilton Luxury Hotels becomes the world’s largest hotel chain! A statement from the Kennedy’s say they have excellent service that other hospitality companies could learn from.
"So, you came in here with an old newspaper article. And you think you can use it to threaten me?” I ask, tilting my head a bit to the left, studying him the way Gideon does at times.
“Don’t antagonize me!” he exclaims as he suddenly stands up, his face red. I think I might have made him angry. “Don’t insult my intelligence, you may not like the consequences.” He declares when I remain silent not saying a word to him.
“Of course.” I say quietly. This guy is a joke. He looks appeased by my words and assumes his seat once more. I guess this is his first time trying to intimidate and threaten someone? Yeah, I think so.
“Like I was saying, you should take a closer look at that.” He points to the article again.
“What should I be looking for?” I question. I mean, it would make this whole “menacing” session go much faster than this snail’s pace.
“You are an impatient one, aren’t you?” He observes as he gets up, buttoning his expensive suit jacket. “Let me help you out.”
How generous of you.
He comes around the large office desk and then reaches to grip the envelope and the newsletter. He takes the clipping out and spreads it directly in front of me on the desk.
“Anything familiar?” He questions as he looks at me with a sick, twisted sinister smile that makes my flesh creep.
I lean over and really take my time to study the newspaper article past the headline. This must be at least twenty-six years old, if not more but whatever. I look at the rest of the article.
I start off bored, feeling as if my time is being wasted. I really just want to come across as though I’m actually reading the article, just to pacify the strange guy who is busy breathing down my neck. He is obviously agitated.
It starts off as an ordinary article, you know the ones that report on the social trends set by the rich and famous. Something about the owners of the hotel being in good relations with one of America’s beloved families. The Kennedy’s blah blah blah.
I wonder what exactly he wants to bribe me with, using an old newspaper article.
It’s as I get to the bottom of the article that my attention is piqued. There is no way I’m reading this correctly though.
I pick up the offending item and really bring it close to my eye sight. No way this is real!
According to the nation’s sweetheart, Jackie Kennedy, the hospitality of the staff starts right from the moment one arrives at the hotel. She specifically pointed out the name of one of the employees of the esteemed hotel, the bellhop, who goes by the name Smith. (His first name is not mentioned). Below is a picture of Jackie Kennedy and some of the staff who. . .
I FREEZE.
Smith? Smith who?
I hurriedly turn the newspaper over, not caring in the least if I tear the thing apart.
Could it be? No way.
I look at the picture of the famous, beautiful and elegant Mrs. Jackie Kennedy. I mean, her regality stands out even in this old photo; but I’m not looking for her.
In the picture, there is a line of smartly dressed staff members of the biggest hotel in New York and maybe even the world. The picture has a lot of men in it but I make sure to look among the row at the back. The row where the tallest of the bunch always stands whenever group pictures are being taken.
I mean why not? He was tall.
My daddy was tall. So, it only makes sense that he would be standing in the back row.
Like a magnet, I spot him. I spot him standing there, with the biggest, brightest smile of the bunch.
My heart stops. Literally.
And all I can do is just stare. I don’t move, I don’t make a sound. I’m not even cognizant or aware of the other person in the room or that he is talking. I don’t even know where I am.
There’s my daddy. Yes, in this picture he is really young but still, I would recognize the king of my life from anywhere.
I don’t remember much of my parents but I do remember their faces as clear as day. I remember their smiles, especially the one my dad is wearing in this old photo.
My vision blurs, and I realize that I literally stopped breathing for a full minute. I come back to the present when I feel darkness enclosing in on me, from the edges of my vision.
“What the hell is this?” I gasp out.
I push away the chair I’m seated on and hastily stand up. I don’t care that the chair falls over or that the strange guy is startled by my strong reaction for a second, then his expression morphs into pleasure.
Sick, twisted pleasure.
“I see you finally caught up.” He observes.
“What is this?” I demand once more, my heart is now beating really fast as if it’s competing to get out of my chest. I can feel the pounding rocking my ribcage and the rest of my body.
“Where did you get this?” I demand once more, looking at an excuse of a man that I don’t even know. A strange man who wears an evil smirk across his face like he enjoys the agony that is spreading throughout my body.
“Ah, wouldn’t you like to know more?” He mocks as he moves around, back into the seat that isn’t his.
He is an imposter. It’s as simple as that. An imposter that thinks he has all the right in the world to do whatever he wants. Walking into an office that isn’t his in the first place, bearing a picture of my father. And no, this isn’t a coincidence.
“Please, take a seat now, would you.” He says with mock concern in his faux soft voice. I have no problem observing that this guy likes having the upper hand in many situations, too eager for it really. It’s almost as if he is testi
ng out the ‘muscle’ that he thinks he has. But, he doesn’t know who he is dealing with. I have been known to excel in acting like a fool, especially in situations that I stand to gain something, in order to learn what I want to know.
So, I turn around and pick up the fallen chair and proceed to sit down on it, slowly. All the while, clutching the old newspaper article.
“I’m seated. Now explain.” I can’t help my impatience.
“Oh, my dearest Miss. Smith. I think you know exactly what that is. It’s an article about your father.” He states what I clearly know.
“I know that.” I grit out “But what does he have to do with anything? What does he have to do with whatever you want with me?” I demand.
I want answers damn it, and I will get them, no matter what I have to do.
“Don’t you ever wonder about what happened to your parents?” He taunts, rocking himself in the large chair from side to side, “I know you must have wondered, being bounced around from one foster home to another, with nobody wanting you.”
“You don’t know anything about what I wonder!” I spit back, my anger getting the best of me. I must remember not to mention that I was actually there when my parents were murdered.
I hate this man. I don’t even know his name but I do know that I hate him. I hate the smirk across his face and it would help if he was ugly, but he simply isn’t.
“Oh, but I do.” He states, “That was really entertaining. Would make for a touching movie, the way you tensed up a moment ago. I mean, did you see the way the color in your cheeks drained? I just knew it was because you recognized your father.” He mocks, unbothered by my anger or my impatience. This man is vain, everything about him is really silly. He tries too much.
“But, I’ll tell you this, you are a smart woman. Just really naïve and ignorant but smart nonetheless.” He observes, twisting the ugly band on his thumb around.
“What do you want?” I question again, trying to keep my temper in check. Something tells me that shouting at this fool won’t get me anywhere.
“What I want? No, no. Wrong question. It’s what you want that I’m here to help with.” He gloats.
A Billion Broken Pieces (Incongruity Series Book 2) Page 9
