Vengeful Redemption

Chapter 4

"Be patient where you sit in the dark. The dawn is coming."

Rumi

LUKE

I give Oliver some time off. I always take care of my personal business myself.

I'Ve spent my day securing ties and doing some investigating. Seventy-five percent of my business is up and running again. The rest of my buyers are spooked. Even so, they know better than to go elsewhere. I don't tolerate competition.

I add another tick to the long list of problems and losses Mrs. Conway has gifted me. My resources are still digging into who got me released. Whomever it is has a high reach, if I've failed to reveal them by now.

I'm currently on my way to a meeting with Weston Conway. Making sure our lunch is public and that he comes alone is a must. Who knows if his daughter tags along on his business deals. Best, make sure she sits this one out.

The moment my voice registers, Weston becomes sweet as pie. As our conversation rolls, my patience gets shorter. Weston's fear is palpable. I also detect a good amount of surprise. That rules him out as my Bailer. He assures me he had nothing to do with my arrest. I'm a walking lie detector, and something doesn't sit right, but as the saying goes, "keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

I proceed to tell him I think no such thing, just re-establishing my connections. Weston seems to relax, but not completely. I grin into the phone. Smart man, I may have underestimated his intelligence. I'll still play him like a fiddle, but this meeting isn't for that.

I know that he knew the guys he set me up with were sex traffickers. Weston had tried to sell the idea to me five years ago, and I shut him down then, like I did to the guys at the meet. (I don't deal women. Everyone has a line.) My action surprised only one of the men that night. If my hunch is right, Weston wanted it to gown exactly how it did. As I recall, just before I rejected the offer. The Tweaker had already caulked his gun. I thought maybe he took the chance to take out his competition, but no, that wasn't his objective. it didn't add up then, and it still doesn't. When you make a call like that, you don't run. You stay and gloat. I don't have proof, but the pieces are starting to fit.

I arrive at the uptown steakhouse purposely late for two reasons. To scope out his company, and I want him to sweat.

I smile, knowing his daughter is mine, and he's completely clueless. I know this because I drove by her apartment this morning, and although she wasn't home, no one else was there either. I don't know about him, but if I had a daughter and the guy she put in, Mortalcine got out. She'd be locked up so tight. A breeze wouldn't pass by without my knowing. This guy is oblivious. Which leads me to believe he thinks he's untouchable or very sly, and that automatically gives me the upper hand.

I unbutton my suit jacket and sit down. Weston is indeed sweating. His overweight form pushes the integrity of the buttons on the no less than a thousand dollar shirt he's soaking. His attention skates across my newly gained scar, careful not to linger. Weston's Adam's apple bobs as his sickly sweet smile makes another appearance.

"Its good to see you, Mr. Trien."

I lean back to allow the server to fill my coffee. She's careful not to make eye contact. I was formidable before, now with the scar, I guess I'm damn near unapproachable. I order the house special and she scurries away.

"Not eating?" I goad. Weston pats his belly and informs me he's on a diet. Yeah, right! I sip my coffee as he fumbles with shaky hands. It's perfect timing,

"So, let's get started, what's the next order? Exotic animals? One of a kind artifact?... Women?" I say the last slow, and with meaning. Weston loses the grip of his cup, nearly emptying the contents in his lap. He starts,