Grayson’s luck has finally run out, or I should say, the cream has risen to the top. The pure poetry of how I found him makes me laugh.
My stupid girlfriend’s attempt of seduction in New York failed to break up his marriage so I’d almost given up hope but what it did is make me see things more clearly. I’m going at this all wrong. Like the first time I went after Patten, I need to go high tech.
I reach out to one of the best programmers-for-hire who builds me this kick-ass software. If the Pattens are out there, it will find them.
My computer pings, I hit enter, and an online article pops up on my screen.
Billionaire’s Wife Overboard.
It shows that cunt, Isabella, wrapped in a towel with her husband nearby, looking ready to kill. Well, well, well. The article says the couple is having some marital discord.
With a chuckle, I sit down with my coffee on the deck and read. While her husband was parasailing, Isabella fucked the boat attendant. I knew it. I had her pegged the moment I hired her. The woman is a money-grubbing whore. Why else would she marry Patten and have his child?
Fuck it. She was supposed to have married me. That was the plan. Because of the government deal, I would’ve had plenty of dough and she would’ve been happy to throw in with me. Dammit. I found her. I hired her. She’s mine.
Reading on, amusement snorts out my nose. Apparently, the incensed Patten threw her overboard, bought the parasailing company, and fired everyone.
That sounds so like him.
The couple gave no comment and is staying at an undisclosed location in the Bahamas.
My God. This is so fucking perfect. When I stand too quickly, my ladderback chair topples back with a clunk on the marble floor. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. It’s like fate has handed them to me on a silver platter.
I pick up my satellite phone and call my personal assistant, Jeanette. “Listen up. I just found out Grayson and Isabella Patten are vacationing in the Bahamas. I’m sending you the link.”
There’s a long silence followed by her terse, “Got it.”
I may need to remind her what happens to people who don’t show the right respect. I tempted her out of Patten Securities with a very generous salary. She can always go back to being a paper-pushing loser.
“Listen to me very carefully, Jeannette. Find out who wrote the article and who took the picture. Hire whatever local talent you need. Tell them I’m willing to pay five-thousand-dollars to the first one who brings me their location. I want Twitter, Facebook ads, hell, I don’t know… posters on buildings. Do whatever it takes but I want this by end of day. Understood?”
“Sure.” Her tone is way too calm so I annunciate more clearly so she gets the seriousness. “I said, DO…YOU… UNDERSTAND?”
She clears her throat and in my mind’s eye, I see her swallow hard, eyes filled with fear. “I got it. You can count on me, sir. Just, ah, don’t hurt Isabella.”
Hurt her? Hell no, I’m going to fuck her.
“Keep me apprised. I want an update, hourly.”
“Yes sir.”
That’s more like it. I hang up quite pleased with my excellent management skills. By day’s end I will personally shoot Grayson Patten III and take his wife for my own. She will get me access to the fucking source code and I can get those Uzbeks off my back. Then, if she’s nice, I might let her live.
No, wait. Better I force her to marry me and take over Patten Securites. A sweet plan forms as I sit and wait for Jeannette to call.
Way after midnight, my patience is all but gone when my phone rings. “We have their location, sir. I’m sending a driver who’ll bring you to the airport and drop you off in Nassau. From there, you’ll be driven to a dock. A boat will be waiting for you along with two locals with the special skills you requested.”
“Perfect. Get yourself to Nassau, I need you there.” Good thing she came through, otherwise I’d need a new assistant and she’d be pushing up daisies.
It’s morning when I duck out of the Cessna, open my umbrella and exit onto the tarmac of a small, private airport.
“I’ll be back this evening around five. Make sure you’re ready to go.” This, I say to the drug-runner pilot with shifty eyes, beard and a stupid looking man-bun.
He spits, takes a drag on his cigarette, then smashes it into the ground with the heel of his cowboy boot. “Don’t expect me to wait one minute longer.”
A guy like him needs to be on the move and I respect that, so I won’t have him killed, at least not yet.
Thunder booms, lightning flashes, and tropical rain comes down in buckets but I don’t give a shit. It’s the perfect weather for what I need to pull off. Ignoring all other distractions, I cross the tarmac to the waiting sedan where a local man in jeans and t-shirt stands by an open passenger door.
This better go down the way I planned.
I sit, the driver slams the door, and races to the front.
The dark man with a gold front tooth glances in the rearview. “I’ll have you at the docks in about ten minutes.”
“Make it five.” We need to get moving.
On the way, we stop at a shack with a rusted tin roof, walls patchworked with rotted boards. An older woman in a bright yellow slicker rushes forward and the driver leans over the front seat to let her in.
Her eyes dart between the two of us, she turns, and holds out a hand to where I sit behind her. “Da money, sir, if you please.”
“Like I explained, you’ll get it when I verify it’s the right couple.” What is it with these people?
Finally, we arrive at the docks where a white speed boat waits. Before we hop in, the professional holds out a hand.
A different set of rules applies for him so, one at a time, I count out twenty, one-hundred-dollar bills. “You’ll get the rest when we finish the job.”
Silently, he stuffs the cash into his front jeans pocket and we all jump in the boat. Without waiting for us to don life jackets, he presses down on the throttle, the boat jerks, and I fall back into the wet seat, heart racing.
I’m coming for you, Patten.