The Subtle Art of Love and War 2

Chapter 45: Entitled Little Cunts

Hero

Money runs the world.

I've learned this concept fairly early on in my life. If you have money, you can get whatever the fuck you fancy. The latest items in fashion? Here's my black card. Newest model of sports car? Let me write you a check. A prime location in the Upper East Side? I'm just gonna call my real estate agent and my bank. Literally everything can be brought if you just have the money to spend. It's no wonder there are so many entitled little cunts in this world. They think they can buy it all, even people's judgement and emotions.

As much as I fucking hate to admit it but I am shamefully one of those privileged sons of bitches and I have never felt more like them than I am right now as dad and I meet these men in front of us. Men in high positions of power within the British jurisprudence. This is a vital meeting, one that will set us all free from the consequences of our criminality or put us all behind bars to rot.

These men are smart. They're not after the money in exchange of keeping all our shit under wraps. They, instead, want the connection with all our bloody names as leverage to everything their greedy hearts will ever desire. The Fiennes and Tiffins. The Kents. The Lancasters. The Robertsons. And every other name involved in the pit. We all know this is the price that we all have to pay because we got involved with Christopher's stupid fight club.

I've never been more glad of my name or the money and the influence that comes with it before now. Because I am not just a Fiennes or a Tiffin. Because I am both. These fucking men would literally do anything for me given the right price in exchange. If I were an ordinary man, there is no way I'd be able to wipe my mistakes off my records. If my family didn't own Fiennes Conglomerate, these dignified assholes wouldn't be sitting here and drinking the finest liquor money could buy and giving us the time of their most probably jam-packed day.

We need them and luckily, we can give them what they want.

Dad decided it's best to invite these men out to St. Tropez in our private jet and treat them to an all expenses paid vacation in one of Daniel's family's exclusive villas. We just a few short hours ago and now we're enjoying a fancy dinner. It's all laughs and light banters for the time being but soon enough, dad will slowly start to ease into our topics of conversation what we're all really here for.

I'm not at all worried this won't push through because judging by the greedy looks of these motherfuckers-their round bellies and thinning hairlines, their eyes lighting up at the mere mention of exclusive or first class or extremely rare-it will only be a matter of laying out what's in it for them.

I'm a ruthless and shrewd businessman when need be but I've always found dealing with the government a very irritating task, one I would rather not partake. Dad is the veteran when it comes to these things so I give him full reign with this one. He's subtly bringing up the raid that all went up in flames, thanking the chief constable for bringing his finest men to do the job while also extending his grief and condolences to the bereaved family of the lone officer who lost his life in his line of duty.

Fuck! I can't help but picture his lifeless eyes and the way it stared back at me. I feel my body shake and my hand grips the glass of liquor I am holding with such force, I'm surprised I didn't break it.

No, no, no! Don't fucking go there. Think about Josephine.

Josephine. That stubborn little thing. She's the only thing keeping me sane right now.

I'm fucked. Literally fucked in the head right now. After what happened at the pit that day, I haven't been myself. I've been having horrible nightmares of gunshots and dead eyes and pools of blood and Jo's screams and Felix's with a gruesome hole on his chest pleading me to help him. I haven't spoken to Jo about any of it... about any of this; she thinks dad and I are in Lisbon for business. I want to tell her. Fuck do I want to confide to her but every time I try, my chest just caves in and my tongue just won't speak for me. Despite that though, Jo has been nothing but supportive and patient. She hasn't demanded any sort of explanation from me and she's been giving me the space I didn't even know I needed to clear my head.