“I’m going to cut to the chase here,” Nick says, opening the conversation, “and the news isn’t good. I’ve talked to my buddy at the Feds and they are indeed investigating a performance-enhancing drug called ‘Sub-Zero’ on the streets.”
“How do we know that connects the dots to my company?” I ask.
“It’s being investigated as the cause of death of a professional athlete,” he says, confirming what Eric’s patient had claimed. “Toxicology, however, was negative but as you told Seth, that would be expected. And that’s part of the buzz on the streets. Not only is it rumored to produce the same physical benefits of a steroid with an added boost of mental clarity, but it remains invisible.”
“What about hair follicle testing?” I ask.
“Negative,” Nick says. “There’s a hypothesis the drug somehow mimics something naturally created in the body, but there’s absolutely no supporting evidence. Aside from chatter on the streets, the FBI is flying blind on this one.”
“And that chatter is going to lead them to me,” I say, “like it did the doctor who came to me today.”
“Does any of this chatter include the Martina cartel?” Seth asks.
“Negative again,” Nick says. “At this point, they’ve been focusing on high-end sports clinics, college sports complexes, and doctors.” His gaze cuts to me. “If you go to them—”
“Not no,” I say, “but hell no.”
“Think about this, Shane,” Seth argues. “Protection. Immunity. And the chance to take down one of the largest, most dangerous cartels on the planet.”
“That would infer I intend to get in bed with Martina, and I don’t, nor will the Feds drag me, and people close to me, into said bed. It’s a death wish in every possible sense of that saying. And don’t tell me they’ll offer protection that won’t be needed if the two of you do your damn job, and get them the hell out of my business.”
“At the risk of pissing off the man responsible for my generous payroll,” Nick interjects, “I need to insert a warning here. If the Feds come to you before you go to them, they won’t be your friends.”
My jaw sets hard and I give him a steely look. “Are you working for me or them? Because you sound like you’re pushing their agenda.”
“Their agenda is to take down a cartel,” he argues.
My lips thin with my growing agitation. “With acceptable losses along the way. Me, my company, and the people around me, will not be those losses. So I repeat. Who do you work for? Me or them?”
“You,” he says, his voice low, tight.
“Then use that energy to get me out of this,” I say. “Not six feet under.” I glance between them. “At this point, I have nothing but an angry, soon-to-be ex-wife connecting BP to Sub-Zero. If it’s in my building, I should have known before she did. How are we going to fix that?”
“You need an informant inside BP,” Nick suggests.
I give a negative shake of my head. “I’m not risking the exposure that could represent unless I have no other options. If Sub-Zero is inside the BP facility, we need to hone in on who helped Derek get it there.”
“William Nichols,” Seth says, and I assume for Nick’s benefit, he adds, “The head of research and development at BP. My gut says he’s a problem and his behavior on the security film I watched has been suspicious, but far from conclusive.”
“Does he have the control and resources to breach the facility with illegal drugs?” Nick asks.
“He does,” I say, “and he’s weak, which makes him a soft target for Derek, who is far too often shortsighted, considering that it also makes him a soft target for everyone else as well.”
“Define ‘soft target,’” Nick urges.
“Under the right pressure,” I reply. “He’ll buckle under the right pressure, be it from us, or someone else.”
“We need to make sure it’s to us,” Seth concludes.
“Exactly,” I say. “And the best way to shake down a soft target is to scare the shit out of said target, and see where they lead you. If we execute this correctly, we’ll quickly know if we’re looking in the right place with William.”
“So we play Go Fish,” Nick says. “What’s our bait?”
We spend the next fifteen minutes debating exactly how Go Fish will play out, before Nick departs, while Seth lingers with me, on the other side of the island. “Emily,” he says flatly, no lead-up, warning, or further explanation.
“I’m listening,” I say cautiously, a muscle beginning to tick in my jaw.
“You’re sleeping with her.”
“That wasn’t a question. Where are you going with this?”
He pushes off the counter and folds his arms in front of him. “How do you know she’s not working for Derek?”
“I know,” I say firmly. “And this conversation is irrelevant at this point. She’s leaving the company and will be off everyone’s radar. Watch her to protect her, but otherwise, leave her there.”
His eyes narrow, harden with the set of his jaw. “Understood,” he says, and without another word, he turns away to head for the door, but I know Seth, and Emily is no more off his radar than she is off mine. But better ours than Derek’s or the Martina cartel’s.
Look at me. I did this to you. Remember me.
—Sonny LoSpecchio
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SHANE
I wake the next morning to the sweet scent of Emily clinging to my sheets and the bitter memory of why I had to send her away. Drugs. Cartels. Enough lies to create a sinkhole that will swallow us all alive. This drives home why I did the right thing to push her away, but I regret sending her away, but it had to be that way. Had I touched her, if I touch her now, beyond that painful, searing last kiss, I’ll forget how easily I could put her in harm’s way. Knowing this, however, doesn’t keep my mind off her as I shower. Nor does it stop me from pairing my navy suit with the same blue and gray striped Burberry tie she’d chosen for me yesterday. My way of telling her that she might be gone from my immediate life right now, but she is not forgotten.
Heading downstairs, I make coffee, and cup in hand, I head to my home office, where I settle behind the desk, my phone next to me, my gaze falling to the wall Emily and I worked our butts off to turn into a bulletin board. Among the data pinned there are true jewels of information I can use to grow the pharmaceutical division, none of it relevant if I don’t shut down the threats to the company that the Martina family, and my own, represent.
Glancing down at my tie, my concern over Emily being too close to potential danger swells and I reach for my cell phone, punching in her number. The call goes straight to voice mail. Grimacing, I decide against a message to confirm today is her last day working for my father. It could be taken as cold, rather than concerned, which is what I intended. Whatever the case, her leaving the company today is not an option.
My cell phone rings and Seth is on the line. I turn my attention to the game of Go Fish, while Seth and I spend the next several hours setting our trap for William and hopefully Derek in the process. Namely, locking down surveillance on anyone either of them might contact after I’ve rattled a few cages today. By the time everyone we need to have eyes on is in view, it’s nearly two o’clock, and I drive to a coffee shop practically in the parking lot of the pharmaceutical plant. Parking by the door, I dial William Nichols, our suspected traitor. “Mr. Brandon,” he greets me amiably. “What can I do for you today?”
“I’m negotiating an acquisition that will directly impact your work and I need immediate feedback. I’m next door at Mountaintop Coffee. I need you to come over.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“I’m right in the middle of—”
“Now,” I repeat, adding a hard push to my voice.
“Yes sir.”
I end the call and send a group text to Seth and Nick: I’m here and he’s on his way. I exit the Bentley and head inside, claiming a booth that allows me to see the door and setting my phone o
n the table, only to have it buzz. Glancing at the caller ID, I answer and hear Freddy “Maverick” Woods, the head partner of the firm I left for all this joy I’m living, say, “Have you considered my offer from last night?”
“I don’t remember saying I would.”
“You’d be the youngest senior partner in our history.”
Senior partner in New York, away from the Martina cartel, and with Emily by my side. I want it, but I can’t have it. “We talked about this. My father’s dying. I have a company to run.”
“Let your brother run it.”
“To the ground,” I say. “No thank you.” I push steel into my voice. “My answer is still no.”
“Subject to change?”
“Balls to the wall,” I say, repeating what he and I had said often in my days as his employee. “I’m here to stay.”
“I’ll ask again in a month.” He ends the call and I set the phone down.
“Shane.”
At the sound of a far too familiar female voice, I look up to find Lana Smith, an attractive brunette with her hair tied at the nape, standing at my table. She’s also a brilliant scientist, Will’s second-in-command, and a woman who’d been a much-regretted college fuck buddy I prefer not to acknowledge.
“Do you have a moment?” she asks.
“If that,” I say. “I’m about to meet with your boss.”
“I’ll be fast,” she says, wasting no time settling into the seat across from me, and in typical Lana style, she leans in to expose the ample cleavage of her gray dress, which I ignore, as she adds, “I seem to have bad timing with you, though you buying the company I work for seems like a twist of fate.”
“Fate didn’t bring us together. Business did.”
“But what are the odds of you being the one behind the acquisition of a company I work for?”
“Big-money pharmaceuticals drawing the attention of a major conglomerate like Brandon Enterprises is more likely than not.”
“Right. Of course.” She gives me a keen look. “You haven’t forgiven me, have you?”
I don’t pretend ignorance I don’t appreciate in others. “It’s ancient history, Lana, and better left there considering I’m one of your employers.” My brow furrows as the past becomes a little too present to be ignored. “However, it is a bit ironic that you hid drugs in my car and almost cost me Harvard, considering you now work for a drug company.”
Her eyes go wide with surprise. “It was weed and we were young. You can’t seriously see that as an issue.”
I look at her, trying to decide if this is a red flag or a bad coincidence.
She obviously reads the questions in my silence, straightening in her chair, her attempts to show her breasts forgotten. “I’m good at my job. I’m one of the best in my field, an expert in—”
“I know your credentials.” My gaze flicks to the door, to the gray-haired, slender man in a white button-down and khakis. “Your boss is here,” I say, leveling her with a stare. “Was there something you needed that I haven’t addressed?”
“Nothing we can cover with an audience.” She stands, and turns to greet William, who visibly jolts with her presence. “Hello, William.”
He looks at me. “I didn’t realize Lana was attending this meeting.”
“I’m not,” Lana says quickly. “If you remember, Mr. Brandon and I went to college together and I came for coffee and he was here and … I’m going back to work.” She steps around him and walks toward the counter.
Already focused on William, I motion for him to sit. “Thanks for coming.”
“It sounded urgent,” he says, joining me.
“I’m not going to mince words. It is.” He slips his hands under the table, a classic way to hide a tremble. “I didn’t bring you here to talk about acquisitions,” I continue. “I have a problem.”
He swallows hard. “What kind of problem?”
“The board of directors is not pleased with our profit margins.”
“That’s crazy,” he says, his hands finding their way to the table. “Our margins are exceptional.”
“They aren’t at the level you and I discussed.”
“We set a one-year goal,” he argues. “We’re only halfway there and on pace to be right on target.”
“That might be true, but I need something to excite the board, teasers that show we can be more and do more.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting.” I glance up at the sound of a male voice to find a man in a dark suit with graying hair standing by our table. “Actually,” he adds, grabbing a chair at the end of our table and sitting down, “I really don’t care if I’m interrupting.”
“Who the fuck are you?” I demand.
“Richard Jones is the name.” He reaches in his pocket, flashes a badge, and starts to put it in his pocket. “FBI.”
As soon as he hears “FBI,” William jerks his hands off the table, hiding them again, while turning fifty shades of green, proving my assessment of how soft he is to be true.
I tap the table. “I’ll take a look at that badge.”
The agent smirks but slides it across the table for my inspection. I give it a longer look than is necessary before sliding it back to him. “What can we do for you, Agent Jones?”
“I have questions,” he says. “And what better time to ask them than when you’re with your head of research and development?”
“You know who I am?” William asks, and then looks at me. “How does he know who I am?”
“It’s my job to know, Mr. Nichols,” Agent Jones answers.
“What can I do for you, Agent Jones?” I repeat.
His head snaps in my direction. “I’ll be direct,” he says. “I’m investigating a member of the FDA staff with some rather suspect drug approvals. In short, we believe he’s been taking cash payouts to improperly approve sometimes quite dangerous drugs.”
“‘Direct’ means explaining what this has to do with us,” I say. “Not throwing out the information in hope that we squirm.”
“You recently had a drug approved by this FDA representative,” Jones explains, his attention cutting sharply to William. “I assume in your role, you’d be the person deciding it was ready for submission?”
William pales. “I … I don’t know what drug you’re talking about. I submit many drugs for approval.”
“An asthma drug,” Agent Jones says. “The name escapes me, but then, I’m not a world-class scientist like you, William.”
“Tenza,” I supply the name of the drug connected to my brother’s FDA bribe. “It’s called Tenza.” I glance at William. “Did we get the official approval?”
“Just yesterday,” he replies. “I planned to document it in next week’s reports.”
“This approval must have been a shock,” Agent Jones interjects. “I mean, from what I read in the reports, even to me, a complete nonacademic, especially when it comes to the complexity of drug manufacturing, it’s not market ready. Surely a man with your experience, Mr. Nichols, knew that. Unless…” He looks at me. “Management told him to submit it, and you’d take care of the approval?”
“I don’t think I like where you’re going with this, Agent Jones,” I say, my voice low, hard.
“The FBI is far less concerned with what you think, than what you’re doing,” Jones replies dryly. “And if this is going where I think it is, it’s a good thing you’re an attorney. You might be needing those skills.” He stands and sets the chair back at the table behind him before giving me a mock salute. “I’ll be in touch.” He walks away and I watch his every step until he disappears, only then turning my attention back to William, who has turned yet a deeper shade of green.
“Is there something you need to tell me?” I demand.
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Agent Jones certainly seemed to think something is amiss.”
“I admit I was shocked the drug was approved, but I did nothing but submit it.”
Semantics, I think, leaning fo
rward, and tightening my voice. “I plan to make Brandon Enterprises the greatest brand on the planet. Do not let me find out you’re working against that.”
“I’m not. I swear to you, I want the same thing.”
I don’t immediately reply, letting my gaze cut through him. “Go back to work.”
“What about—”
“Go back to work.”
He nods and quickly stands, all but running across the coffee shop. My lips quirk and I dial Seth. “I’m pretty sure William’s shitting his pants right now.”
“I have eyes on him and the man stumbled twice on the way to his car.”
“I’m headed to the office to show my outrage over what just happened and ensure the Brandon clan believes it was real,” I say. “I fully intend to use this to back Derek the fuck off, and hope I keep him in the shadows long enough to take over the board, and get him out of it for good.”
“Get him out for good,” he repeats. “You’ve never said that before, and let me tell you, those words are music to my ears.”
“Blood only goes so far,” I say, wondering how I understood that with my clients but only now accept it with my family. “I’ll give you an update after I talk to my father.” I start to hang up, but pause to add, “By the way. Tell Nick I still have my reservations about contracting an active federal agent for this job, but his man Jones made that easier to swallow. He played William like a star quarterback. If he didn’t break William today, he will.”
* * *
Thanks to a hellish traffic jam, it’s nearly an hour later when I arrive at the office and ride the elevator to our floor. Jessica lets me know that Derek is in the building, and that he shut his door about the time Seth observed William standing outside the pharmaceutical plant on a phone call. I also know Emily’s still at her desk working. That’s a problem I’ll solve while chatting with my father about “Agent Jones.”
Entering the lobby, I offer the receptionist a two-finger wave and head down the hallway toward my father’s office, my blood pumping a little faster with the knowledge that I’m about to see Emily. Rounding the corner to her office, and my father’s, I stop at the sight of her on the phone, her gaze averted, and damn if my heart doesn’t race just looking at her. And my heart doesn’t race in reaction to anything, not even a courtroom full of people during closing statements.