Chapter Twenty-Two

 

Connor

 

“Fuck!” I shout.

I hurl my coffee mug across the room where it hits the wall and shatters on impact, raining down coffee and shards of ceramics all over the floor. Evelyn, who'd been standing in the kitchen area, jumps and looks at me wide-eyed, shock on her face.

“Are you okay, Mr. Grigson?”

I shake my head. “Pretty far from okay right now,” I say. “Sorry to startle you, love.”

She gives me a small smile and grabs a broom and a dustpan from the utility closet and hustles over to the mess on the floor. I jump up and head her off.

“I'll clean it up,” I say. “My mess, I'll deal with it.”

She puts a hand on my arm and gives it a gentle squeeze, a warm smile on her face.

“You go take care of yourself, Connor,” she says. “Sounds like you have more important things to clean up than a spilled coffee mug. You go handle that. I've got this.”

Spilled. Like it's an accident, rather than the temper tantrum of a petulant man. I give her a tight smile and a quick kiss on the cheek. Evelyn's been with me for a while and she never fails to take good care of me.

“Thank you, love,” I say. “You're far better to me than I deserve.”

“Remember that sentiment when it comes time for my yearly raise.”

I laugh. “I'm sure you'll remind me if I forget.”

“You know I will.”

I sigh and walk over to the kitchen, pouring myself another mug of coffee before I turn and walk down the hallway to my art studio. I drop down onto the stool and take a long sip of coffee, letting my mind work the problem over.

Obviously, Bryant and Zoe's father have been doing some serious digging into my past. And god knows there is a lot of unsavory, juicy stuff out there for them to comb through. And they quite obviously plan to use that to squeeze me for a sizeable amount of money – as well as take Zoe away from me.

The money, I don't give a shit about. I can have my lawyer fight that out if needs be. Though, the blowback on Zoe worries me. A lot. But, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

What worries and pisses me off the most, is that they're using that old information they dug up, mistakes made in a previous life, to drive a wedge between Zoe and me. The fact that they purposely mischaracterized certain events in my past, all in an effort to smear me, and push Zoe away from me is beyond reprehensible, in my opinion.

Those two slimy, greedy motherfuckers have crossed the line and there's no coming back from it.

Zoe tried to warn me. She told me they'd stoop pretty low. I apparently did not take her warning seriously enough. I push the button for her number on my phone and hold it to my ear. It's sent directly to voicemail. I try again. Same thing. I'd send her a text, but I have a feeling my number has been blocked.

“Fuck,” I mutter, but manage to keep myself from throwing my mug across the room this time.

I stand and pace the room, searching for answers and finding none. The only solution to the problem is to give in and pay them their extortion money, and maybe this will all go away. If they allow any of those sordid details of my past to get into the public sphere, Six String could pay a pretty heavy price financially. Not to mention what it would to do me personally.

Of course, getting rid of the problem by throwing money at it doesn't solve the biggest issue on my plate right now – squaring things with Zoe. I want a chance to explain my side of things, but I can't get her on the phone.

Which leaves me one option – go and see her face-to-face.

I turn and stare through the large French doors in my studio, watching the dark, threatening thunderheads rolling in. Lightning flashes ominously in the distance. The rain is close. Which is fine because the dark, dreary day matches my mood pretty well right now.

I head to my bedroom to grab a quick shower and change before I head out. I'm going to see Zoe. I'm going to make her understand that her thinking is all wrong, even if I have to kick in her door to do it.

But first, I've got another stop to make.

 

~ooo000ooo~

 

The bell chimes and the elevator doors slide open. I step out into the lobby of Nichols and Associates and see Tabby behind the reception desk. She gives me a wide, dreamy smile. I can practically see the cartoon hearts floating above her head.

“Well hello again, love,” I say.

“Hello yourself, Connor Grigson,” she says. “Why haven't you called me yet?”

“Had a lot on my plate lately,” I say.

She's so busy looking at me through her heart-colored glasses, she obviously hasn't even seen the cuts and fading bruises on my face. It's been a little more than a week now, and I'm moving around a bit better – although my ribs are still fucked seven ways to Sunday, the bruises are less visible.

“Hey, listen,” I say. “Is the big boss in today? Ryan? He around?”

She gives me a flirty little smile. “I'll tell you if you take me out tonight.”

I give her a dramatic sigh. “Would that I could, love,” I say. “I think I'm going to be tied up tonight. If not in jail.”

She cocks her head and stares at me for a long moment before deciding that I must be joking and bursting into laughter.

“You're funny Mr. Grigson,” she says. “Always a joker.”

“So, I've been told,” I say, growing a bit impatient. “Is he here today?”

She nods. “He is,” she replies. “Let me just call him and see if he has an opening since you don't have an appointment.”

“You know me too well, love,” I say. “But, tell you what? I'll just head on back there and surprise him. He'll definitely want to see me.”

“Oh, I don't know if –”

I give her a wink and a smile. “It'll be our little secret,” I say. “Thanks, gorgeous.”

Her cheeks flush as she watches me walk through the lobby into the main room of the office. I stroll through the rows of cubicles, earning curious stares from the people inhabiting them. I have no idea where I'm going. I’m not sure where the big man's office even is. I doubt he's parked out here in the cubicle farm. Looks like there's only one way to handle this.

“Ryan Nichols, Bryant Brooks,” I shout out, turning in a circle. “Where are you slimy pieces of shit?”

All movement and conversation seem to stop in an instant as all eyes turn to me. I see people peeking over the heads of their cubicles like goddamn prairie dogs, trying to figure out what’s going on. Nichols obviously keeps people on tight leashes around here.

“Come on out, assholes,” I say. “We need to have a talk, you and I!”

A door to an office on the far wall flies open and I see the face of the man I've come to see. It's red and filled with outrage. Clearly, he's not pleased to see me. Good. Fuck him.

“Oh, there you are,” I call. “Ready to have a chat? Or did you want to wait until Bryant finishes sucking you off in there? I got a few minutes, mate.”

His face turns a deeper shade of scarlet as stifled snickers sound around the cubicle farm. Clearly, not everybody is as fond of the old man and his cabana boy as he likes to believe. He looks around the room with narrowed eyes, obviously trying to figure out which employees are laughing at his expense. I’m sure he’s making a mental checklist of who to fire later. Yeah, I feel a bit bad for these folks when I leave, but whatever. Not my concern. Not today.

I make my way over to his office door. His breathing is heavy, his face ruddy, and his nostrils are flaring like an angry bull.

“You should watch your blood pressure, mate,” I say. “Keep getting all red and puffy-faced like that and you'll stroke out sooner, rather than later. I once had an uncle back in Ireland –”

“Get in the goddamn office,” he growls low. “Right now.”

I glance back at all the people still peeking over their cubicle walls and give them two big thumbs-up. Nichols pushes me in the small of the back, propelling me into his office and slamming the door shut behind us. Bryant is sitting in a chair in front of Nichols' desk, his expression sour, refusing to meet my eyes. And in the chair next to him is none other than Jay Hill himself.

“Well, look at you, you fucking piece of shit,” I say. “What rock did you slither out from under, ya slimy prick?”

Hill looks at me and quickly turns away, refusing to make eye contact. He looks like the kid who has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Which, in some sense, I guess he is. Nichols walks around his desk, drops down into his chair, and swallows down the scotch in his glass, re-fills it, and swallows down half of that. He takes a couple of deep breaths and finally seems to regain his composure.

I walk over to the sidebar in his office and peruse his liquor. Finding a bottle of scotch I like, I pour out a healthy glass and turn around, raising it to him. His face darkens again, but he says nothing.

“To your health, mate,” I say and take a swallow, relishing the burn as it moves down my throat. “This is some good stuff. Good stuff.”

“That was quite the show you put on out there,” Nichols says.

I nod. “One thing all those years touring taught me was how to make a grand entrance,” I say and turn to Hill. “You know, those tours you were never on because you were never in our fucking band?”

The small, greasy man seems to shrink into himself. He's practically curled up into the fetal position in his chair, looking for all the world, like a man who wishes he could be anywhere but where he is.

“Perhaps it's fortuitous that you're here, Mr. Grigson,” Bryant says, finally able to speak. “We were just discussing a new proposal with Mr. Hill.”

“Oh, were you now?” I reply. “Well then, my timing is serendipitous indeed.”

“Since you obviously balked at our first offer –”

“Because it's pure bullshit,” I say.

He takes a deep breath, trying to appear patient. “We've been discussing an alternative offer –”

“Which will also be bullshit.”

Bryant rounds on me his eyes filled with fury. “Fuck you, you smug Irish prick!” he shouts. “If not for you –”

“Bryant,” Nichols finally says and gives a small shake of his head.

If looks could kill, Bryant would have reduced me to a pile of ash on the spot. The unadulterated hatred in his glare is the emotional equivalent of the bomb they dropped on Hiroshima. He takes a long breath and leans back in his chair, obviously struggling to keep his composure.

“What my associate is saying,” Nichols steps in, “is that some new information has come to light that may make you want to consider accepting an offer.”

“Yes, I've heard,” I say. “Damning stuff, that.”

“Yes,” Nichols said, his tone flat and hard. “It is. Given that you're a business owner and a pillar of the community, I'm sure you wouldn't want some of these…allegations ever coming to light.”

“You should call it what it is, mate,” I say. “A pile of shit.”

“It's actually called opposition research,” Bryant says. “You find your opponent's weaknesses, and you hit them there. In your case, there were so many fuckups to choose from, I didn’t really know where to start.”

I shrug. “I've never shied away from admitting my mistakes,” I say. “I've spoken about them in various settings. People call me an inspiration for it.”

“I have to wonder how those people would feel,” Bryant says, looking off into the distance like he was pondering the meaning of goddamn life, “if they knew their inspiration was actually a deadbeat dad.”

I cast a glare at Hill and he shrinks even further into himself than before. I knew that particular nugget had to have come from him directly. What I don't know is whether or not Bryant actually did any digging into it. If he bothered to find out the truth of the matter, or deliberately ignored it as he threatens to go scorched earth on me if I don't give in to their extortion demands.

“You people are really something,” I say. “And I'm also using the term people rather loosely. You're actually parasites – with less honor.”

“Call us what you will, Mr. Grigson,” Bryant says. “But, we've got you by the short and curlies.”

“Oh, do you?” I ask. “Seems to me, it's you skeevy pricks who are over a barrel. I can have you both disbarred and brought up on charges for this shit.”

“You could,” Nichols says. “But, you'd also be subjecting Zoe to the same harsh punishments we'd face. Would you really do that to her?”

“Last I heard, she left your firm,” I say.

Bryant shrugs. “Not officially,” he replies. “Besides, she's been in on the deal since day one. Look at the documentation that proves it.”

I give them a grin. They think they've got checkmate on me, but as I stand there staring at their smug, smarmy faces, an idea occurs to me. An idea that could change the entire equation. Part of it's going to depend on Zoe though – and I have no idea if that's a bridge that I'm going to be able to repair.

I turn and catch Hill looking at me, an almost apologetic expression on his face. I glare at him and just shake my head, not even trying to hide the disgust on my face.

“Why would you even do this, mate?” I ask. “You know you didn't write the music. You know you weren't part of the band. You hung around, drank our booze, smoked our weed, and did whatever drugs happened to be on hand. We let you hang with us because you were a decent enough guy. And now, you pull this shit? Again? We were nothing but good to you, Jay. And this is how you repay us? Go fuck yourself.”

Hill quickly looks away, covering his face with his hands. Bryant looks at me, his gaze steely and determined.

“Please don't speak that way to our client again,” he says. “In fact, don't speak to our client at all.”

“You're welcome to pucker up and kiss my ass, mate,” I say. “You spineless, cowardly piece of shit. Don't think I don't know it was you who sent those two goons to my place to rough me up. I know it was you.”

He puffs up and stares at me. I quickly close the distance between us, leaning down, my face inches from his. He recoils in his seat, his eyes wide. He glances around, looking for a way out, but I step in front of him, putting a hand on each of the armrests, a look of absolute hatred written on my face.

“The next time you want to fight me, you candy-ass son of a bitch,” I say. “You best come do it yourself instead of hiring a couple of punks to bust up me and my car.”

“Bryant?” Nichols asks, confusion in his voice. “Did you –”

“I – I don't know what you're talking about,” Bryant mutters. “I've got no clue what he's talking about, Ryan. He's crazy.”

“Bullshit you don't!” I rage. “I should kick your ass right now for paying to have me beat. If you were any kind of man at all, you'd stand toe-to-toe with me yourself. But no, you pay men to do your dirty work for you because you're nothing but a giant pussy.”

I flinch forward, feigning an attack, and Bryant shrinks back against his seat, his face a mask of absolute terror.

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” I say as I stand up again and glower down at him. “Fucking asshole.”

Nichols clears his throat and Bryant does his best to salvage his dignity. I turn and cast a baleful look at Nichols.

“And how in the fuck could you do this to your own daughter?” I say. “What kind of a disgusting, piece of shit, excuse of a man are you?”

Nichols gets to his feet, his gaze angry. “We're done here, Mr. Grigson,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Get out. Now.”

I let out a derisive snort, my eyes boring into his. “This isn't over,” I say. “Not by a long stretch.”

“Damn right it's not,” he hisses. “You'll be hearing from us soon.”

“In the meantime,” Bryant says. “There's something you better wrap your fucking mind around – you're never going to see Zoe again. She's not yours. She's mine. So, fuck off.”

I stand where I am for a moment and look around the room, catching each man's eye. “You disgusting pieces of filth. Cowards. All of you,” I say. “Mark my words. I'm going to burn this all to the fucking ground. By the time I'm done here, you're going to be wishing you'd never heard of me. And you're sure as hell going to wish you'd never had the idea to fuck with me.”

 

~ooo000ooo~

 

I check the map on my phone again, making sure that I'm pulling into the right place. It was strange to think that, given how close we'd grown, I didn't know where Zoe lived. I’ve never been to her place. Since she was always at my house, I never thought to even ask. It didn’t seem important at the time.

Clearly, that was an oversight on my part. It hadn't been easy to get Zoe's home address, but thankfully, I happen to know a few people with the skills to make it happen. I guess there's an advantage to being a lowlife sometimes.

I park in a visitor's lot and shut off the engine. The sound of thunder cracks, splitting the sky overhead, and a flash of lightning briefly illuminates the world around me. Raindrops, fat and heavy, pound on the roof over my head, beating a steady rhythm.

Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, trying to compose and gather myself. I can't even begin to imagine what's going through Zoe's head right now, or what lies Bryant told her. All I know is that she thinks I'm some horrible deadbeat that abandons his child. Nothing can be further from the truth, but she obviously doesn't know that right now. Doesn't believe me.

I get out of the car and feel the rain beating down on me. I tuck the file folder I'm carrying under my jacket and slam the door, heading for the walkway. It takes me a few minutes, but I finally find the building that houses Zoe's condo. I look up at the third floor, see the lights on in some of the units, and hope that one of those windows is hers.

I find my way to a bank of elevators and press the button to call the car. I give a glance at the stairs leading up but grimace. I'm not quite in game shape yet, and the last thing I want to do is show up at her door gasping, wheezing, doubled over in pain.

The doors slide open and I step inside, my stomach churning and roiling as I push the button and let it carry me up. When the doors open again, I step out, looking for the signs that will point the way. Finding it, I follow the numbers until I find Zoe's place.

Stepping to the door, I take another deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Calm yourself,” I mutter to myself.

Not giving myself a chance to hesitate any longer, I raise my hand and knock on the door. I wait a couple of moments and when I hear footsteps on the other side, my stomach lurches so hard, I grimace in pain. The door opens and I'm staring into Zoe's wide-eyed face. Her hair is in a loose ponytail, she's wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt, and she has no makeup on. Her eyes and nose are bright red, and tears are running down her face – and she's so beautiful, she still manages to take my breath away.

When she sees me standing there, her eyes narrow and she glares at me. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk, love,” I say, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

She moves to slam the door in my face, but I'm quicker, and jam the file folder I'm carrying in the doorjamb, keeping her from closing it. The sudden movement shoots a bolt of pain through me and I grunt, doing my best to keep from doubling over. She opens the door and stares at me, and I see a flash of compassion in her eyes – but it's quickly replaced with a look of absolute contempt.

“Get out of here Connor or I swear to God, I'll call the police,” she says.

“Zoe, wait,” I say, trying to stifle the gasp of pain. “You have it all wrong. You've been lied to.”

She looks at me for a long moment and then shakes her head. “I can't do this right now, Connor,” she says. “I just can't.”

“Please, Zoe –”

Her face hardens, and I see the steel in her eyes. “I can't do this right now,” she repeats herself. “I just need some time to process everything.”

“This is all bullshit, Zoe,” I plead. “This is your father and Bryant trying to drive a wedge between us.”

Tears roll down her cheeks as she looks at me. “You never denied it, Connor,” she says. “I gave you the chance and you never denied –”

“You didn't give me a chance though,” I say. “Listen, I know –”

She shakes her head firmly. “Give me some time,” she says. “Give me some space. I deserve at least that much.”

I let out a long breath and sigh. Thunder crashes overhead and the flash of lightning seems to make her skin glow. Slowly, I nod.

“Okay,” I say. “If that's what you need.”

“It is.”

The door slams in my face before I can even reply. I stand there staring at it as I hear her throwing the locks, my heart sinking further and further with each one that snaps into place. To me, it's the sound of finality. The sound of that wedge being driven between us permanently. The metaphor of the closed, locked door between us isn't lost on me.

Feeling twin threads of grief and rage twisting and twining themselves around my heart, I make my way back down the elevator. As I step out of the elevator car and look at the rain coming down in sheets, my cell phone rings. Hoping it's Zoe, calling me back up to her place to talk, I snatch it out of my pocket in a hurry. My heart sinks in disappointment when I see the call is coming from a blocked number.

“Yes?” I answer, pressing the phone to my ear.

“Connor, it's Nico,” he says. “We need to talk.”

“Can it wait until morning?”

“Afraid not, pal,” he says. “You need to hear this. Now.”

“Okay,” I say. “Let's meet.”

 

~ooo000ooo~

 

Half an hour later, I'm sitting in a booth in a bar called Molly's. It's an older place that's a bit on the seedy side, but it's quiet. The music isn't too loud, and the crowd is usually pretty absorbed in the drinks.

Nico slides into the booth across from me and I push a bottle of beer to him. He salutes me with the bottle and takes a long swallow. Nico is an old friend of mine with a particular set of skills. He's great with computers and can find out anything about anyone. He's the one who got me Zoe's address – which was just one of the things I'd tasked him with recently.

Obviously, the way he operates may not be legal, in the strictest sense of the word, but he's effective. There's no denying that. And at the moment, I'm paying him quite well to do some digging – or what was it Bryant called it? Oh, that's right – opposition research.

“These two guys – Nichols and Brooks?” Nico starts, “Fascinating cats. Between the two of 'em, they've got enough skeletons in their closet to start their own cemetery.”

“I'm not surprised,” I say. “What do you have?”

“First of all, I found a large money transfer,” he says. “Your boy Brooks pulled five-hundred grand out of an account, and a couple of days later, Nichols deposited five-hundred grand. Odd, right?”

“Odd, but not damning,” I say. “Though, it does raise a lot of questions.”

I lean back in the booth and take a long pull of my beer, letting my mind play it all out. I recall that when Bryant had called to threaten me, he mentioned something about a deal being made. That was mixed in the whole tirade about Zoe being his property.

Could Bryant have bartered some kind of a deal with Zoe's dad? Five-hundred grand for her hand in marriage? Seems a little far-fetched – but is it?

“Why would Nichols need five-hundred grand?” I ask. “The guy has got to be worth millions.”

Nico shakes his head. “Actually, he's not,” he replies. “He’s got a pretty lucrative stock portfolio, but in terms of cash on hand, he's damn near broke. I dug a little deeper and found that he's basically drained his law firm of money too. They're on the verge of being bankrupt.”

“How is that possible?” I ask. “Zoe says they've pulled in tens of millions of dollars over the years. How can they possibly be broke?”

“Nichols does a good job of playing a shell game with his money, I'll give him that,” he replies. “Always manages to make it look like he's got more than he does. He's had to take out some private bank loans to cover payroll a few times, and manages to keep their head above water by winning a settlement here or there. But, it's only a matter of time before this strategy catches up with him. Looks like it might be starting to, actually.”

“How though?” I ask. “If they've taken in the tens of millions Zoe says, how can they be broke?”

“This is where things start getting interesting,” Nico says, obviously enjoying being able to spin this story. “Turns out, Nichols has a gambling problem. A big-time gambling problem. Dude has lost millions. At one point, he was in debt to some dude by the name of Marco Bolla – guy thinks he's a mafia boss or something – for a cool million. He had to take that out of his firm's coffers to avoid getting his kneecaps blown off. And from what I've been able to gather, he's into Bolla for a large amount of cash again.”

“Shit,” I mutter.

“As terrible as this dude is at gambling, you'd think he'd stop,” Nico replies. “But nope, he just keeps on going back for more.”

A theory starts coming together in my head – although it sounds outlandish, even to me. But, the more I think on it, the more I think I might be onto something. Maybe. Or maybe I'm just seeing conspiracies where there are none.

“So, here's what I'm thinking,” I say. “Nichols is in deep shit with this Bolla guy. Owes him a ton of cash – cash he doesn't have since he bled his firm's coffers dry. Bryant gives him the cash to get Bolla off his back, but makes the old man promise to marry Zoe to him.”

Nico shrugs. “That fits with what you've told me about this whole fucked up mess so far.”

“And now, they're squeezing me for a pile of money to set themselves up for life.”

“Yeah, that fits,” Nico says. “It's fucked up, but it fits.”

“I'm no lawyer, but it sounds like we've got him on extortion, human trafficking, and embezzlement,” I say. “You have documentation on all this?”

“Internal emails, voicemails, the whole shebang,” he says. “I'm having everything printed out and put into a file for you.”

“Very good, Nico,” I reply.

“That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

I nod and drain the last of my beer, my head spinning as I play this situation in my head over and over again. No wonder Bryant is so possessive and territorial of Zoe. In his fucked-up head, he bought her lock, stock, and barrel. In his head, he owns her.

Of course, the simple fact that he thinks he can own another human being just goes to show how fucked up Bryant really is.

“There's one more thing you need to know,” Nico says. “I don't know if it's related or not, but your boy Brooks has chartered a private plane. Pilot filed a flight plan out of the country – bound for Switzerland. I looked into it and he's got a family home there. Remote, secluded area. Perfect for maybe, keeping somebody out of sight for a while.”

When the words fall from his mouth, I feel my blood turning to ice. I wouldn't put it past him to kidnap Zoe and take her out of the country, if for no other reason than to keep her from me. But, taking her somewhere in fucking Switzerland of all places would also prevent her from running away after being forced into a marriage she never wanted.

Bryant doesn't have to be a lawyer. I understand that he comes from a family with more money than God. He does it for the prestige. Which means, he can also afford to walk away from it if he were to, say, move to Switzerland.

“Shit,” I say. “When is the flight?”

“Tomorrow,” he says. “Scheduled to depart at six a.m. That's why I said we needed to meet tonight. Just in case.”

Regardless of how much she hates me right now, she's not going to go with Bryant willingly. That much I am positive of. I’m also positive that he knows that. Which means, he’s going to take her forcibly. And, given how early in the morning the flight is, if I were in his shoes, I'd probably kidnap her sooner, rather than later. Maybe, keep her drugged until we touched down in Switzerland. I mean, once she's there, what can she do? She'll be trapped.

All of that means I need to get to her first. I need to get to her, so I can keep her safe. I look over at Nico, who seems to be waiting for his orders.

“You still in touch with Zane?” I ask.

Nico nods. “I can be.”

“Then I need you to be,” I say. “I have a job for him. And it needs to be done quickly and quietly.”