by P. W. Davies
“Before we switch to that topic, darling,” Evie said, “I just want to say that I’m glad you found someone to explore with. And if you want to see him again, I think you should.”
They exchanged a little more on that topic in between tastes of food and sips of coffee. By the time their plates were mostly clear, there was a more solemn air around them.
Work and the case for Bechtel systems loomed in front of them.
Between forkfuls, Evie explained what had happened with Jim Jefferies.
The man had been head of the board at Bechtel systems for at least half a decade. It was a position that was more of an honorarium than anything that required work. Nearly all Crispin & Hawke’s dealings with Bechtel had been with their CEO, John Harper. From what both Evie and Victor understood about Bechtel, John simply informed Jim of what was happening. To their knowledge, he’d never needed to ask permission.
“It isn’t just about selling the company, though,” Evie said. “Jeffries has legitimate concerns that Harper hasn’t been addressing. I don’t think it’s just a last hurrah before the board ceases to exist.”
“Considering the increase their bank accounts will all see after the sale goes through, I can’t imagine it’s ego, either,” Victor replied. “Did he play coy, or tell you what his concerns are?”
“Friend of a friend told him that there would be extra scrutiny on those who do any significant business at the ports.”
Victor frowned. “That isn’t helpful. Bechtel isn’t the only company who needs the ports to move their products.”
Evie dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Most companies own a separate shipping company to do so. Bechtel never separated.”
He considered what he’d read of their company setup. “They did back in 2005. But they repurchased their shipping company in 2009. It’s been that way for the better part of a decade.”
“And right now, it’s our problem to deal with.” Evie sat back, her plate clear. “So how about we sit here until we come up with something we can use.”
Victor swallowed the last bite of his breakfast and glanced sadly at his empty cup of coffee. “I think you’re being a bit optimistic about us being able to come up with a solution.”
He lifted his eyes to hers. “This is going to require research.”
She sighed and gave him an exaggerated expression of frustration. “Victor. You are no fun.”
Still, they both stood and deposited their empty containers into the trash bin. A quick call down to the general associates made certain the rest of the food went to good use. Tasks accomplished, Evie and Victor headed to the research floor of Crispin & Hawke. When the elevator doors parted and revealed the rows and rows of books filled with everything from precedents to dissenting opinions, Victor didn’t bother waiting for Evie this time.
Victor went left. Evie went right. After they met in the middle with a collection of books in their arms, it would be time to get to work.
“There isn’t a better way to handle this?” Nathan was looking between Samuel and Victor, not exactly hopeful.
“There isn’t.” Victor had sat back in his chair, his meal finished, and plate pushed forward on the table in front of them. He’d brought both Nathan and Samuel out to dinner so that there wasn’t any ambiguity about the seriousness of this discussion.
Samuel had been ragged, and he looked like he hadn’t slept all weekend when Victor risked a trip to the other lawyer’s office. He’d felt a genuine moment of concern for Samuel after seeing his appearance. At least until he opened his mouth and barked out a jibe about his time being far too valuable to hand-hold Victor again.
Sitting across from him for over an hour was no picnic, but at least Nathan was here as a buffer.
Samuel was currently rubbing a knuckle against his temple. “Maybe Evie misunderstood –”
“She didn’t.” Victor cut him off smoothly, not wanting to hear an excuse laid at Evie’s feet. “Jeffries was very clear about his demands. He thought that we were the problem, not that John Harper had never passed on his concerns. Evie did her best to be apologetic, so Mr. Harper wasn’t immediately looked at as a problem –”
“Because the last thing we need is a wedge between the CEO and his board,” Nathan filled in, agreeing.
Victor continued, “But the fact remains that there are barriers to closing this deal we weren’t aware of. And my idea of restructuring their larger manufacturing department is directly counter to Jeffries wishes.”
He glanced at Nathan for the older man’s reaction. It meant that his initiative in starting to draft the new contracts, bylaws, and other items that went into a new structure had been wasted time. Harper had signed off on it, but his board didn’t want it. They would need a different strategy, but also were losing those billable hours. It was no small thing.
Samuel, thankfully, was too exhausted to gloat. Nathan waved off Victor’s obvious concern. “I still believe in the idea. Does Evie think we could talk Jeffries into backing it?”
“From one phone conversation, no. It would take a bit of digging, and probably a few face-to-face meetings to get Mr. Jeffries to trust us with what he really wants.”
“I can pay him a visit tomorrow,” Samuel said. Despite his exhaustion, he was intent on remaining in control of this acquisition. “He’s sat down with me before when we had to renegotiate contracts last year. He’ll remember me.”
“Victor can handle it,” Nathan said, looking past Samuel and into the room behind him. When Samuel started to object, Nathan’s eyes shifted focus, staring down his senior associate. “I’m not questioning your work. This is to lighten the load. And Victor has fresh eyes for Mr. Jeffries. We can evaluate what we need to give him to make the restructuring hold.”
Victor resisted the urge to smirk as Samuel risked shooting him a scowl. He really is exhausted. One of the reasons Nathan’s never known the depth of our dislike for each other was neither of us wanted to advertise it in his presence. I wonder if I should be worried about him. Or for him.
“I’ll call them tonight before heading home,” Victor said in acknowledgment of Nathan’s decision.
“Good. Then, if that’s all gentlemen, I think we should end here before all of us end up straining at air.” Nathan gave Samuel an evaluating look. “Take tomorrow off.”
Samuel started to object. Rather than remain for the argument – which again, seemed very unlike Samuel to be outrightly petulant rather than calculatingly disagreeable – Victor excused himself to use the restroom.
Nathan continued to speak to Samuel and as Victor walked away, he caught only every other word until all of it disappeared into the chatter of the restaurant surrounding them. It had been a good meal and a productive day, and now Victor was being given the chance to meet with a client on Nathan’s behalf. The thought had him so wrapped up, he almost missed the pair of blue eyes sitting at the bar while he returned from the restroom.
His feet knew before his mind did. Slowing, then stopping, he found himself staring at one of the men sitting at the counter in the center of the room. Part of him reacted in shouting approval, reliving the last time he’d seen the other man. The other part, however, couldn’t help but notice that this was not the first time he’d simply stumbled into Christian.
He’s not a courier. Victor knew that with certainty. Christian hadn’t brought it up either time they met for drinks, nor when they’d slept together, but Victor remembered those eyes too clearly for it to have been anyone else that day on the elevator. And now, here he was, at another meeting where Victor sat with Nathan and Samuel.
Victor knew the exact moment Christian realized he was spotted. The other man’s face registered frustration, a glint of eagerness mixed with a heaping of some internal mantra, and finally, forced surprise. Christian’s hand lifted, and he waved, composing his face so that Victor might get the impression Christian was looking at their meeting as a coincidence.
A happy coincidence.
But Victor knew. This was no c
oincidence. Neither was it fate or kismet.
Christian was deliberately in the same places Victor had been. There was only one question that needed to be answered, so Victor strode toward the other man, purpose in his steps.
He opened with the question that mattered. “Why are you here?”
Christian’s face transformed again, and Victor wasn’t certain what to make of the shifts in his expression. Instead, he crossed his arms across his chest and waited.
“Well look who it is,” Christian said. “Sit and have a drink with us?”
Eleven
To say the day had been frustrating would have negated that it had been productive as well, but sitting at the counter – several seconds before being discovered – Christian drank down his whiskey, relishing the burn while giving himself a moment to ignore the rest of the world. He’d just entered the restaurant and had enough time to locate his mark and get settled before the familiar man exited the restroom.
In the moments prior to that, he recapped the path his day had taken.
“I’m sorry, he’s going to be leaving the office shortly,” the secretary had said when Christian called the law office that morning. A woman this time, instead of a man. “He should be available in the afternoon.”
“Let me talk to my business partner and get back to you,” Christian had said in response, with as much of an American accent as he could affect and a sigh of relief punctuating the moment when he could end the call. Standing in the middle of Center City, with the burner phone in his hand, he paused for a moment to remove its SIM card and inserted the newer one in its place. The old one eventually found its way into a rubbish bin after being snapped in half.
Dressed in a t-shirt, with a suit jacket over top, Christian had also worn sunglasses, but left the hat at home, content enough that he looked nondescript without being easily recognizable. Producing his mobile from his pocket, he pretended to flip through screens, drinking coffee from a disposable cup and keeping an eye on the front doors of the building which housed the law firm. The moment he spotted the mark, Christian allowed him a head start and stood to give casual pursuit. The mark continued on-foot.
They walked through Penn Square, using the pedestrian paths which led through City Hall, and continued walking eastward. When they reached a large, indoor marketplace, Christian struggled not to lose the mark, forced both to keep his distance while also pushing past crowded aisles filled with people. A glimpse of the suit-clad man ahead of him kept Christian reassured that he hadn’t lost his quarry, though it took another push for Christian to make up some of the distance he’d lost. The mark stopped near one of the food vendors.
Settling in beside a produce vendor, Christian pretended to examine the wares while keeping the mark in his periphery.
The mark also looked to be killing time. He glanced at the food selections an Indian cuisine stall had to offer, waving his hand when the worker on the other side of a glass barrier inquired about being helped. Brow furrowed, Christian lifted an apple and sniffed it, replacing it and moving on to another like their scent bore any relevance to him. A few moments of him and his mark loitering paid off when another man approached the lawyer.
Inching closer, Christian moved on to the plums.
The mark greeted his friend with a nod. They both took a moment to glance around and though the action gave away their desire to be unnoticed, its brevity made for a quick recovery. When they began to walk, Christian moved away from the produce stand and resumed his pursuit. Within two quick turns, they were in front of a coffee vendor and Christian now had a display case full of pastries to peruse.
“Can I get you anything?” the girl on the other side asked.
“What do you have with apples?” Christian asked, looking quickly at the mark to ensure he and his friend hadn’t moved before focusing again on the worker.
“We have some turnovers and an apple tart.”
“One of each, please.” Christian produced his wallet and clutched it in hand while the girl nodded and gathered his purchase in a bag. Distracting her gave him the chance to focus better on his mark and while the lawyer and his friend conversed, Christian attempted to make out any of their discussion.
“We need to unload,” became the first piece he could discern through the noise, followed by, “next week.” Whatever they needed to unload by next week, Christian couldn’t determine, but the urgency of their expressions suggested that the pressure now had the rats scrambling. The mark’s friend nodded in agreement, making mention of checking on something. The girl returned with Christian’s purchase, and accepted the cash he handed, coming back with change. Bag clutched in hand, Christian walked away from the stall, deliberately passing the duo.
“You go back to the office,” the mark said. “I have something I need to do, apparently. I’ll meet up with you later.”
“Sounds good,” the friend said. They accepted the coffee cups given to them and while the mark paused to pay, the friend started to walk for the exit. Curiosity got the better of Christian. Watching the friend, he made the decision to break from the mark and wandered out the same door his friend did. Within a few blocks, they had wandered to the subway and onto the train, headed west. The friend got off on 30th Street, prompting Christian to do the same, and as Christian put distance between them again, he realized the man he followed wasn’t a lawyer.
Something unspoken led to the first suspicion, attributed to experience and intuition. As Christian followed him into another office building, though, he saw the logo for Shaw Enterprises on the company directory and watched the man walk for the elevator. Well, time for this ruse again, Christian thought, dashing for the elevator as well and holding up a hand. “Please, hold that,” he called toward the friend, clutching the bag like a delivery person.
The man nodded, holding open the door for Christian to catch up. “Thank you,” Christian said, curt, retreating to the opposite side of the car and taking a quick look at the floor numbers. Even through the tint of his sunglasses, he could tell the number twelve had been illuminated.
“Fourteen,” Christian said.
Pressing the button, the friend nodded, and rested the weight of both hands on the railing inside.
Neither spoke to the other. Christian produced his phone and idly looked through it, taking another good look at the other man from the corner of his eye. Trim, and darker-skinned, he adjusted his position no less than half a dozen times, tapping his foot through the remainder of the ascent and nearly racing out of the car when they reached the twelfth floor. Christian waited for the doors to close again and frowned, pocketing the mobile and removing his sunglasses. Pushing the button for the Lobby again, he settled in for the ride. “Nervous, aren’t we?” he asked. “Now, who are you?”
Once the elevator settled on the first floor again, Christian walked back to the directory, seeing another company listed and making note of it. Keystone Shipping International. A security guard seated at the main desk asked Christian if he needed any help, but Christian ignored him, walking out of the building and out toward the subway again. Within a half-hour, Christian had returned to his flat, taking out his computer for a purpose other than streaming videos.
He loaded the website for Keystone Shipping International. And within minutes, had located the mark’s new friend.
The biography said his name was Matt Desai and listed him as one of their Vice Presidents. Digging further into the website revealed them to be a subsidiary of Shaw Enterprises and this time, something about the name stood out to Christian, as if he’d seen it before. Whatever corner of memory he’d stored the Shaw name, its point of origin didn’t resonate and even after brewing coffee and eating one of the pastries he’d purchased, he couldn’t put his finger on it. Rather than pushing the matter any further, Christian made a note of it, also copying down the secondary address of Keystone Shipping.
That had been earlier in the day. The evening was supposed to be spent tailing the mark.
A
nd he had made it this far, to the lounge, with a whiskey in hand and his eyes closed. Taking a deep breath, Christian opened his eyes again and weighed his perspective, seeing most of the lounge from the corner of the bar counter where he sat. The remainder of the whiskey slid down his throat, the glass set next to where he wished an ashtray could be poised. He’d have to step outside to light a cigarette. Which is what brought his attention toward the front of the establishment.
Immediately, his heart jumped into his throat as two things happened. First, a familiar face walked around the corner, emerging from the corridor where the bathroom lay. It took precious seconds for his brain to flip past scenes of their previous encounter for the warning sirens to engage, but even then, he didn’t look away fast enough. Victor glanced in his direction as if compelled, and the moment his eyes met Christian’s, Christian muttered obscenities under his breath.
“Of course. Of bloody course you would be here,” Christian said. “God, what kind of wanker am I?”
Victor walked in his direction before Christian could do anything else. His gaze set on Christian, his neutral expression also contained intrigue. Christian smirked, once again forced to improvise with Victor. “Why are you here?” Victor asked.
“Well, look who it is,” he said, stalling for an answer. “Sit and have a drink with us?”
“I wish I could. I’m here for work,” Victor said. At the same time, he slid onto the stool beside Christian. “Which begs the question –”
“Why am I here? Yes, I heard you.” Christian shrugged. “Taking in the scenery. Some rather nice views to be had here, though you’ve just managed to best them all.”
The flattery fell short of its mark. “Taking in the scenery?” Victor asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, alright, I’m here for other reasons, but I can’t argue with the coincidence.”
They both weighed each other, Victor waiting for a better explanation and Christian’s mind failing to give him a ready answer that Victor might accept. When Victor took a deep breath and motioned to speak, Christian lifted a hand, sobering from his normal playful demeanor. “Before you ask, I’m not following you. I’m not that sort of desperate sod. This truly is a coincidence.”