Chapter 12
Quantum of Malice
“Do you think they told him?” Giselle asked, the slim cigarette held delicately between her fingers.
“I suppose they must,” Clarence said.
“I presume he will hate me now,” she complained.
“He will not remember.” Clarence sat facing her. He held a slender leather briefcase on his lap. It had gold clasps.
“How long is our drive?”
“An hour. We will fly from Syracuse.”
Giselle stared out the window glumly.
“I do so much hate snow.”
Clarence remained silent. He was so polite. So professional. She hated him, too. She watched him through slitted eyes and white-grey smoke. She shook the ashes of her cigarette onto the floor of the SUV. The guards in front and back could not hear them through the glass that separated the compartments. Bullet-proof and soundproof on all sides. She felt like she was sentenced to prison.
“Will my father require me to quit my position at Sinegem?”
Clarence clucked his tongue, cleared his throat and then sighed heavily. He did not enjoy being questioned. Or perhaps he hates me as much as I hate him, she thought. She had tried on occasion to flirt with him, show him some leg, some cleavage, and breathe on him huskily. He was iron, cold and distant. Or gay. Or a eunuch. She had literally no power over him other than the fact that her father paid him handsomely for his services.
“Your father will undoubtedly want you to remain. I did not speak to him about this. You should pose this concern to him yourself. I am merely here to retrieve you.”
She arched her eyebrows.
“I see. You are a golden retriever and I am a bone. Is that it?”
He ignored her while staring directly at her. He had a talent for that. He reminds me of my brother, Geirmund, Giselle thought wistfully.
“Did Mr. Monday accept your offer?” He asked instead. His decidedly British face and voice betrayed no emotion. It was as if he had an overdose of Botox treatments and a robot voice box.
Giselle squirmed in the heated leather seat. She still wore the trench coat she had been given aboard the jet. She liked the way the wool scratched at her wrists. It reminded her of the way the nicotine felt as it entered her lungs.
“No. But it does not matter. Sinegem will hire Galbraith Alliance to perform this. And they will use Mr. Monday for this assignment. I will see to it. The farce to which I was subjected was performed for just such a reason as this.”
Clarence smirked and then nodded.
“I bow to your wisdom and foresight, Ms. Giselle.”
He was mocking her. She felt her anger rise in her throat.
“I did not spend three days at sea bundled up in a wool sweater and rubber boots to have you mock my plans, Clarence,” she said as she emphasized her point by stabbing the cigarette at him.
He blinked and raised his eyebrows.
“Actually, your plans are sound. However, Mr. Nicholaisen will not be pleased to hear that the man who was so instrumental to his incarceration is not closer at hand.”
She tried to temper her fear and her hatred long enough to get an answer to a question that had bothered her for weeks.
“Have we discovered who hired Galbraith Alliance to embarrass my father?”
Clarence looked quite pleased that she had asked that question. He smiled and splayed his fingers out across the dark leather of the briefcase on his lap. She did not know what to think. She had never seen him smile before. His small, square teeth and short pink tongue were exposed when he did, which might explain why he refrained.
“Why, Ms. Giselle, it was your esteemed employer, Sinegem.”
She furrowed her brow and extinguished the cigarette on the seat beside her. She could smell the burnt leather.
“What? How? Why? Father is on the board of six of their acquisitions.”
“Many questions. Good ones, all of them,” Clarence said, tugging his right shirt sleeve out past his jacket sleeve. “It seems you are missing the best question of all. Who? We know the what: three murders were performed in his house and staged to appear that Mr. Nicholaisen was to blame. We know the how: someone hired the most expensive and sophisticated terrorist and assassination group in the world to murder two of his guards and to plant a body and a weapon to appear as though Eilif was the murderer. Of course, in the course of the investigation, many of Eilif’s white collar crimes came to light and therefore his sentence was an open and shut case. We even know the why.”
She had never heard him talk so much since she had known him. Stunned, she had allowed him to continue. He tugged on his other sleeve. Clarence was quite fastidious. She suspected that he even oiled and waxed his bald pate.
“Why, then?” She asked impatiently.
“Mr. Nicholaisen has been buying more shares of stock than some of the other stock holders are comfortable. Of course, Eilif could not accomplish this without using other revenue streams. Revenue that comes from some of his more, shall we say, illicit profit centers. We simply have some who have become weary of Eilif’s propensity for gain.”
She chuckled.
“They should have embarrassed you and sent you to jail, then. You are the master of Eilif’s coin.”
Clarence nodded. His smile was thin, hiding his Chiclet teeth. He was quite proud of his prowess for increasing her father’s fortunes.
“This is true, actually. I regret that very few are aware of my role in this. But, that is not the point. We knew all the answers but the who. Until yesterday.”
“Good. I can kill him, then,” Giselle said. The venom in her voice was genuine.
“Them,” Clarence corrected.
“More than one? Who?”
“It seems that Eilif has angered someone who has a large following. Someone who has much more power than he deserves.”
“You are speaking in riddles, Clarence.”
“Some would say that Eilif’s enemy would be untouchable.”
“I thought you said there was more than one.”
Clarence stopped smiling and turned the briefcase around. The clasps snapped open. He turned the briefcase around. A single folder sat inside. She took it, impatient and irritated at Clarence’s attempts to be an enigma.
She opened it and rifled through its contents. She saw numbers, and columns, names and corporations. Without studying them closely, she saw nothing that connected these with the who. Confused, she looked at Clarence and shrugged.
“What am I seeing here, Clarence? Stop being diffident.”
Clarence cleared his throat again. He was always clearing his throat or sighing. Giselle was sick of his pompous nature.
“Clearly, the files you are glancing at are the companies and individuals who have invested in our enemy.”
“Our enemy?’
“Your father’s enemy. His comrade, fellow investor at Sinegem and hundreds of Sinegem’s investitures, and his great nemesis, the mysterious client of Galbraith Alliance.”
“So, these individuals, these companies invested in this enemy? So this is where you get the ‘them’ comment.”
“Yes. Just.”
“How are these people to blame?”
“Why, they supported his campaign.”
“Campaign for what?”
Clarence smiled and slid a photo across to her. In it, a man in a suit stood atop a podium, jubilantly raising his hand, a woman in a sensible dress and three children stood behind him, smiling. Red and blue confetti littered the air around him. His face was very familiar.
Of course it was.
Her stomach lurched. This is too big. Even for father, Giselle thought.
“I know what you are thinking. But, perhaps your plan for Galbraith and Mr. Monday contain more wisdom than you think. Don’t despair, Ms. Giselle. Tears and blood will flow soon. Debts will be paid in spades. Mr. Nicholaisen is a vengeful man and I am a dutiful servant. And you, my dear, are a talented daughter that can
make all this work.”
She swallowed and looked again at the photo. Clarence was trying to inspire her, but she only felt dread.
“I am going to need some more champagne, I think.”
Clarence smiled and checked the nails of his fingers.
“Besides, Giselle, I happen to know someone who wants this man dead more than your father does. Perhaps I can speak to him and get his input and influence.”
Giselle stared at him. Clarence would be a very dangerous enemy, she realized. She brought a smile to her face and raised her empty champagne glass in a silent toast.