For far too long, I avoided the Brixton site. I choose a Saturday when I can leave Charlie and Connor with Kris. I don’t want either of them to witness this.
Quincy and Rhett flank me next to the second-hand Honda I took possession of this morning. I sold the Porsche to minimize expenses. The three of us stare at the destroyed building. Emotions float between us. Of all the people in the world, they’re the only two who understand what I feel, because they must be feeling a part of it. Rhett takes a shaky breath. He was guarding the street when the blast hit. The roof and parts of the walls are missing. What used to be the windows and door are gaping holes, revealing an expanse of blackness inside.
When I take the first step, the guys follow. They let me go at my own tempo, staying a step behind. The power of the destruction is devastating. Going through the doorframe is like walking into a vortex of death. Everything is a shade of black––shiny onyx and matt charcoal with smears of greasy oil. Guilt suffocates me. I wanted a way out. At some point, especially during the early days, I would’ve wished for this. Not so, now. I only want Gabriel back. Broken filing cabinets lay on their sides, their drawers flung out. The cushionless frameworks of upside-down chairs surround us. It’s like standing in the eye of a twister of pain. My heart rate spikes, and my breathing quickens.
“There’s nothing for us here,” I whisper.
“Let’s get her the fuck out.” Rhett turns me in the opposite direction and propels me through what used to be the door.
In the street, I gulp in air, fighting to contain the panic attack. Feeling sick, I rest my hands on my knees.
“It was a bad idea to come,” Rhett says.
Quincy hands me a tissue. “She needed the closure.”
This isn’t my closure. This is only the beginning. If it’s the last thing I do, I will find Gabriel. I just need to make some damn money.
A scruffy pair of heavy-duty, construction boots fall in my line of vision.
“Hey,” Quincy draws his gun, “stop right there.”
My gaze trails up over mustard-colored pants and a white shirt with oil stains to a round face supported on a double chin.
“Howzit, Val?”
I wipe my mouth and straighten. “Hello, Lambert.”
“You know Roos?” Rhett asks with a hint of surprise.
It’s Lambert who answers. “We’re childhood friends. Grew up together in the hood.”
I never expected to see him again. “What are you doing here?”
“Just wanted to say I’m sorry.” He looks at his feet. “I heard you married big.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For never saying something.”
“Who told you?”
“Marvin. Said he’d kill me if I open my flytrap, and if he couldn’t get to me, Mr. Louw’s people would.”
“It’s history, now.”
Quincy and Rhett’s heads turn between us. I want to leave the past in the past, not flaunt it at their feet.
“Does that mean you forgive me?”
“You didn’t have a choice, Lambert. There’s nothing to forgive.”
“You’re not going to come with your goons,” he looks at Rhett and Quincy, “and shoot me in the back while I’m sleeping?”
“No.”
“Okay.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rolls on the balls of his feet, still not meeting my eyes.
“Goodbye, Lambert.”
“Yeah. Cheers, I guess.”
Rhett gives him a look that says, ‘Don’t fuck with me,’ as we walk back to the car.
“Who’s he?” Quincy asks.
“My almost-fiancé.”
“Jesus. Good riddance,” Rhett mumbles. “If he looks in your direction again, I’ll put a bullet in his––”
“No more violence,” I say.
“I was going to say a bullet in his big toe, out of self-defense, of course, if he attacks.”
I can only smile as Rhett holds the door for me.
“I wonder where he could hide?” I muse to myself as I start the engine.
“Your almost-fiancé?” Quincy asks.
“Gabriel.”
A thick silence descends on the vehicle. Neither of my companions says a word.
At home, I work out in the gym, building my strength and endurance as I do every day now, and enjoy the luxury of a long, uninterrupted shower with no baby fussing or hungry hurls before we head out to Kris’ place for dinner and to pick up Charlie and Connor. When I step into the kitchen, Quincy and Rhett are leaning on the counter, their arms crossed.
“I know this look.” I prop my hands on my hips. “What have I done?”
“We think it’s time you go on a date,” Quincy says.
“Whoa. I thought men were strictly forbidden.”
“Assholes are. The others who aren’t assholes have to pass a test.”
I huff. “Thanks for offering your assistance, but I don’t need a date.”
“We know a guy––” Rhett begins.
“What are you?” I tap my foot in annoyance. “A dating service?”
“It’ll do you good,” Quincy says.
“No, thanks. Can we go? Kris made chicken a la king, and I’m starving.”
Rhett is nothing if not insistent when he wants to be. “Why not?”
I lift my left hand and splay my fingers to show my wedding ring. “Because I’m married.”
“Val,” there’s a plea in Quincy’s voice, “you’re widowed.”
“One date,” Rhett says. “If you don’t like the guy, we’ll find someone else.”
“Thanks for your concern, but if I need an escort service, I’ll let you know.”
I don’t give them time to answer. I stride to the garage as if I don’t have a care in the world when I’m tearing up inside. I can’t stop hurting. I can’t stop wanting Gabriel back. Three months have passed, and I haven’t made any headway in tracing him. I did my own internet searches and asked around, but nobody has seen Gabriel since the morning of the explosion. I need a PI. For that, I need money, and for money I need the business to work. I refuse to give up on Gabriel.
“All in good time,” I say to myself.
“Yes,” Quincy agrees eagerly. “In good time.”
He has no idea.
Another Christmas comes and goes. Kris employs a new practice manager. We agreed it’s better that I resign to focus on my inherited business. It takes me four months to understand the funds in which Gabriel invested the capital and return on investments, and another month to analyze them. A small, maverick type stockbroker company, McGregor and Harris, made the best return at a growth of twenty-five percent. The bank is paying a measly one percent on our tied capital, and our long-term investment policies are losing money at minus eight percent.
I call McGregor and Harris and set up a meeting with one of the two shareholders, Herman Harris. Their office is a humble room in a brand-new office block in Midrand. Harris gives my guys, as I came to call Quincy, Rhett, Charlie, and Connor, a curious look when we pile up in the narrow hallway in front of his door.
“Charlie and I’ll take Bruno for a walk,” Rhett offers, taking Connor from Quincy’s arms.
Harris stares at my baby. “You call him Bruno?”
“That’s the dog,” I explain.
“Wow.” He scratches his head. “You brought a dog, too?”
I shrug. “My entourage.”
“Come in.” He steps aside. “We only have two visitor’s chairs.”
“That’ll be enough.”
I study Harris as he directs us to two office chairs. He’s a lot younger than I expected. Definitely still in his twenties.
When Quincy and I have taken our seats, I dive straight into business. “Mr. Harris, you’ve––”
“Herman, please.” He runs a hand over his suit. “I’m a casual guy. I only dressed up for this meeting. Usually I’m in a T-shirt and jeans.”
“Thank you, although, it wasn’t necessary. I don�
�t mind casual. As I was saying, you’ve been running one of my husband’s investment funds for the past five years.”
“My condolences. My partner and I were shocked when we heard the news.”
“Yes. How do you make twenty-five percent when other companies make five?”
“Your late husband gave us a small amount of money to invest at high risk. The high risk paid off.”
“You play the stock market exceptionally well.”
“We study the trends and know how to predict them.” His eyes sparkle. This is clearly his passion. “All our clients are low capital, high risk investors, which allows us to play around quite a bit. We invest the combined capital of our clients by buying up low-cost shares that show potential for big growth.”
“How does your process work?”
“If I tell you, I have to kill you.” He laughs at his own joke.
“What I mean to ask is how can you be sure of your predictions?”
He swivels a big computer flat screen toward me. “We wrote a software program that takes various internal and external socio-economic and political factors into consideration. It’s better than any other software program out there. It maps trends we can analyze and feed back into the program, always bettering itself. Then there’s this.” He wiggles his fingers. “The magic touch. Intuition. I have a nose for these things.”
“I have a proposition for you. I want you to scrap the trust fund management fee you charge us.”
He scrunches up his nose. “You want us to manage your investment for free?”
“Not for free. I’m prepared to pay you ten percent of the profit you make on our invested capital.”
He laughs and scratches his head. “That’s a clever business proposition, but ten percent of what you earn in profit won’t cover our fee.”
“What would you say if I told you I want to move all of our investments to your company?” By law, I can’t cash out the money before the investment term is up, but I can transfer it to a different investment fund.
He sits up straighter. “All of it?”
“Everything.”
“How much are we talking about, exactly?”
I take out my phone and email him the document with our investment summary I prepared before the meeting. He opens the message when it pings on his computer screen, his eyes moving from left to right as he reads. When he gets to the bottom, his mouth hangs open.
He looks back at me. “All of this?”
“Herman, I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t have the cash flow to pay your fee. In fact, I don’t even have the money for the monthly investment debit order. If I don’t take a risk, and I mean a huge risk, I’ll lose everything. You may not lose much when one of your small investors goes under, but you can win so much more if you get this right. The way I look at it, it’s a win-win for us both. Besides, I believe good, hard work should be rewarded, and I like what I’ve seen of your work so far.”
Quincy speaks for the first time. “It’s a young company, Val. You don’t know if they’re going to make it.”
“I don’t know if we’re going to make it, either. Magda’s company came from Gabriel’s father’s father, but it’s not the same company, any longer. With all the changes I implemented, it’s as rookie as it gets. At least this way Herman and I are both personally invested.”
“I love your balls.” Herman gives me a look of approval.
This could be the biggest business mistake of my life, but since we stopped killing and threatening, our debtors aren’t paying, just like Michael predicted. It’s either this risk or closing our doors.
“Is that a yes?” I ask.
“Deal.”
He extends a hand, and we shake on it.
“I’ll have the paperwork drawn up,” he says.
Less than fifteen minutes after entering the office, we leave, adrenalin pumping through my veins.
“Damn, Val.” Quincy shakes his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I.” Quincy’s profit is on the line too. “By the way, I have something for you and Rhett.” I take the contract from my laptop bag and hand it to him.
After reading, he looks at me much like Herman did, his mouth agape. “Twenty-five percent?”
“Yep. We’re splitting it four ways––me, you, Rhett, and our future CFO, if we ever find someone willing to work for dubious profit shares.”
He lowers the paper. “It’s too much. The company is yours.”
“We’re equal partners, all of us.”
“But you have Charlie and Connor to take care of.”
“One day you’ll have your own family to care for. Let’s just hope the gamble works.”
Rhett and Charlie, who spotted us waiting by the car, return with Connor and Bruno.
“Come on,” I say. “We’re going out.”
“Out?” Rhett bends his knees to put us on eye level. “Out where?”
“Wherever you want to go. We have shit to celebrate.”
“Val!” Rhett frowns at me. “Don’t cuss in front of Connor. What celebration?”
“Your contract.” I give him the piece of paper. “Sign on the dotted line so we can go.”
He gapes at me as if I have alien antennas on my head.
I strap Connor into his car seat while Rhett and Quincy seem to search for words. When I’m done, I straighten, stretching my back. The week has been rough. I can do with downtime and greasy comfort food. “Whereto, guys? It’s your call.”
“Spur,” they say in unison.
“The Spur?”
“Spu–Spur.” Charlie bounces up and down. He loves the Spur.
“You want to go to the Spur?” I repeat.
“There’s a baby playground,” Quincy says, “with face painting and everything.”
“Connor’s too young for face painting,” Rhett says, “and you don’t know what toxins are in that paint.”
“I bet he’ll love the slide.”
“He’s not going on that microbe infested super tube.”
I bundle them in the car while the arguing continues.
“Mil–milkshake.”
“Fine. Forget about the damn slide. There are games.”
“Dude, he’s not playing computer games until he turns eighteen. It’s bad for the brain.”
“He can’t be a social outcast. Guys play games. It’s what we do.”
Connor cooes as if he knows he’s the center of the heated discussion.
I text Kris and invite her to join us. Then I put the car into gear and lose myself in the safe bubble of squabbling voices. My body warms with a pleasant feeling of friendship and acceptance. If Gabriel weren’t gone, my happiness would’ve been complete.
The money from Gabriel’s estate eventually comes through when the unresolved police investigation is closed and his assets are no longer frozen. It’s barely enough to pay off the last of our debts, but it prevents me from having to declare the company bankrupt, which will leave me financially crippled for the next decade, as I wouldn’t be able to get a loan or buy anything on credit.
Michael questions the wisdom of my moves, but he does send more candidates for the CFO position my way. After the twentieth interview, I finally meet an MBA graduate who’s willing to take the plunge. Simon Villiers is clever, optimistic, and energetic––all the qualities I want in a man who is about to start his first job with barely enough money to make ends meet and twenty-five percent of––for the moment––worthless shares.
The spikes in the wheel are Rhett and Quincy, as usual. As shareholders, I need their agreement to employ Simon. I can almost see how Rhett’s head is working as he studies the attractive blond man sitting at the opposite side of my desk.
Rhett gives Quincy a small shake of his head. “Too attractive. Did he look at her in that way?”
“I think he did,” Quincy says.
Simon shoots them a puzzled look.
“You’re in?” I ask Simon, eager to draw his
attention away from the sideline comments.
“I’m in.”
Rhett hooks his thumbs in his belt and takes a step forward. “Hold on a second. This interview isn’t over. My turn.”
I sigh inwardly.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Rhett asks.
“What?” Simon’s face scrunches up. “What does that have to do with my competency?”
“Just answer the question,” Quincy says.
“It’s discriminative,” Simon retorts. “You’re not allowed to ask me that.”
“Well, guess what, cupcake?” Rhett advances more. “Whoever is going to fill that chair,” he points at the desk next to mine, “is going to become part of the family, so excuse me for wanting to understand how your family is mapped out.”
“All right.” Simon gives Rhett a dashing smile. “Actually, I’m gay.”
The looks on Rhett and Quincy’s faces are priceless. All I can do is sit back and enjoy their reaction.
“Oh.” Rhett glances at Quincy. “In that case, he’ll do.”
Quincy, who sits on the sofa in what we call our relaxing corner, pushes the stroller over the carpet with a gentle kick and reels it back in with a rope he tied to the handlebar, his invention of putting Connor to sleep. “Yeah, definitely.”
“How about you, Rhett?” Simon asks in a seductive voice, getting his own back. “Are you single?”
“I’m … uh … yeah. I’m straight.”
“Okay.” Simon turns his attention back to me. “Where do I sign?”
I would’ve hired him from the way he handled Rhett alone. “Here.” I push the paper over the desk to him. “Welcome to the company.”
Slowly but surely, with Simon’s help and the Harris investments, the money starts coming in. We’re relying on legal loans with reasonable interest rates and make our profit through clever investments. It’s exactly like running a bank. The business is not my passion, but it pays for what becomes my passion––finding Gabriel.
I don’t tell my business partners or friends about my search. They don’t believe Gabriel is alive, and I’d risk getting locked up in an asylum for insisting he is, so I keep my mouth shut. When there’s enough money in the bank to pay for the roof over our heads and the food on our table without going into overdraft, I use what I can from my income to hire a private investigator. We start with checking passenger lists at the airports and finding a match for Gabriel’s description. With his physique, it would be hard to go unnoticed. For months, nothing turns up. I go as far as endorsing Captain Barnard’s efforts to clean up the areas of the city where we have branches so that he pulls all the street surveillance tapes of the day on which the explosion took place. I want to be sure I missed nothing. The tapes show Gabriel entering the building, the blast, and nothing else, but there’s a blind spot at the back of the building where the cameras don’t reach. With no exit at the back, he would have had to either go over the roof or underground. Barnard gets me the blueprints of the building from the municipality, but that only shows the structure. No secret passages. No sewerage or drain systems. No fire escapes from the roof.
Consent (The Loan Shark Duet Book 2) Page 24