"Don't," I said, feeling another wave of guilt wash over me. "Cancel the meeting, and then delete her from my contacts. Actually, do a bit of clean-up of my contacts, will you?”
I caught a hint of humor in Karl’s voice as he spoke. “Smart move, young blood.”
~ * * * ~
The rest of the half-mile ride to the office was silent, and I needed it. I felt a wash of emotions the entire rest of the trip to the massive midtown skyscraper. We drove into the service entrance, onto the vehicle elevator, and then made our way down four levels to the firm’s reserved parking space.
I pressed the button on the armrest of the chair, opening a line of communication to Karl now that the partition was raised. "Don't bother parking, Karl. Just pull around to the private elevator and take the rest of the day off.”
“Will do, sir. Appreciate it.” Karl replied.
He pulled up in front of the internal private elevator, and I stepped out before he came around to open the door for me. I always did, but Karl never once took it for granted, still making an effort to open his door with, I have no doubt, every intention of stepping around to my side. I could get used to a lot of things in this world of status I’ve found myself moving in, but I’ve got to draw a line somewhere.
Stepping into the waiting elevator, I inspected my suit from every angle on the walls of the mirrored interior the way I did every morning. I found my focus on the ride up to the forty-sixth floor, and when the doors opened, I stepped out onto the bustling floor ready to make some money.
“Good morning Mr. Winfield.” Came an excited voice from the reception desk.
"Good morning, Cassandra," I said and sped passed without so much as making eye contact with the young receptionist.
I noticed the stares as I crossed the sea of workstations, some genuine smiles of happiness for me and some open scowls of contempt, but none of that mattered. I couldn’t contain my smile as I passed the empty workstation that I had worked out of for the past year and a half, towards the office at the corner with the welcoming open door.
The noise of the bustling work floor went dead silent after I stepped into the office and slid the door closed. I walked to the far end, near the large windows that overlooked the city, and pulled the chain, opening the blinds that covered the windows and bathing the office in natural light. Next, I drew a thicker chain next to it, and long shades began sliding across the glass wall, closing my office off from the remaining onlookers on the open floor that still watched as I settled into my office.
Many of them hated the idea of me getting it so quickly, but the reality is I could have had the office back when the firm first acquired the small company Red, and I founded. They offered me the office then, but Red had insisted I take a seat on the floor. Seeing the hostility of my colleagues out there was a bit of a surprise, considering the relationships I thought I’d fostered. But I also saw a whole lot of genuine smiles as well, more than enough to balance things out. I understood the method to the madness.
“That’s a nice god damn view ain’t it, D?” Red’s voice came from behind me.
I sighed and turned around. Red was lounging on the sofa at the far end of the office, across from my new polished mahogany desk.
“Oh, come on, D. Don’t tell me you still all mad and shit. Walk yo ass over there to that high-backed chair and feel that Italian leather on your ass.”
I laughed and shook my head, but walked over to the chair anyway. “It’s all good, Red. We’re good man.”
“Ha!” Red slapped the cushion beside him. “That shit feel good don’t it—to be able to freely talk without you having to whisper around muhfuckas out there ‘n shit. This is the move right here, man. And you damn right we good. We go too far back to let fuckin’ bullshit come between us.”
I nodded. “True indeed.”
“Hell yeah it is, D. But it’s time to get work. You’re late enough as is. You blew a few transactions being so fuckin’ behind schedule, but we can still take advantage of a few trades I’ve had my eye on since this morning.”
“Alright then. Let's get to wo—”
A knock came to the door, cutting me off mid-sentence. "Come in," I said as I nudged the mouse on my new PC to wake it up. I inputted half of my username when I heard the voice of Rhonda Eastman, CIO of the firm, and one of only three people that could still call themselves my boss in the company.
"You missed a critical client meeting, Darien. This is not a very confidence inspiring start to your new position."
“Tell that bitch to be cool, D. We got this shit under control.”
"Don't worry about a thing, Rhonda. I've already made arrangements for tomorrow afternoon. I'll find a suitability appropriate way to express my most sincere apologies."
“I trust that you will. They did, however, have a rather pressing concern that made its way to my desk in your absence.”
"Here we go again. When will these grey wigs learn to get the fuck out of our process? I'm getting tired of these mother fuckas'."
“What seems to be the problem, Rhonda?”
I heard Red sigh. “See, that's your problem, D. Your too nice to these people.”
“They have expressed concerns about their portfolio allocation. It's not diversified enough for their comfort.”
“D, don't let that bitch move a penny.”
I cleared my throat. “Which is why they are not managing their own money, and instead came to me.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Abbas have done quite well protecting their assets, Darien.”
“And they are free to do so directly if they so choose. Or they can take their accounts to a different manager within the firm. As you know, we have very capable talent.”
Rhonda stared at me for a long moment, then sighed. “There is nothing wrong with constructive feedback, Darien, especially when it’s following industry standard best practices.”
“Look, I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Of course.” I folded my hands on the desk in front of me. “I don’t exactly fit the mold of what they are used to seeing. I’m not even ten years removed from my college dorm room; that alone would make investors uneasy. And then add some of my other obvious demographic differences and…” I spread my hands and shrugged, “I get it.”
Rhonda at least had the decency not to pretend otherwise and allowed me to continue uninterrupted. "Like all of my clients, like this firm, she came to me, not the other way around. I am audited more than any other money manager in this firm, likely the industry if I cared enough to dig into it. I invite it, actually, simply so that I can tell clients, in these very situations, that If they do not approve of my methods, they are free to go find someone that uses more traditional, predictable, strategies."
“I'll talk to them, Darien. You know you have my full support, always.”
I glanced at Red. He tapped his watch and twirled his index finger, and I looked back up at Rhonda and smiled. “Thank you so much. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to catch the rest of the day before the market closes.”
“Of course, Darien. Work your magic.”
With that, she turned and left, sliding the door closed behind her.
“Alright, time to make some money, D," Red said, his voice now coming from right behind my head. I glanced at him, sitting on the metal vent in front of the large window, through the reflection of the monitor just before the screen powered up. "We already missed out on the all of the Asian and half of the European markets, but there's still some power moves to be made right here in the U.S.”
“Alright, Red. Let's make some money.”
The hours passed like minutes, and by the time the market closed for the day, we had made another few million dollars. We had to be a bit more aggressive than I would typically like, not because of any risk, necessarily—Red would protect against any severe losses—but too much success attracts the wrong type of attention.
Then, out of morbid curiosity, I looked at some of the forei
gn transactions we had been monitoring over the past few days that we missed out on this morning and clenched my teeth. I did a few quick calculations and saw that I missed out on just north of a million dollars of personal investments, along with similarly handsome gains for my clients, whose money was tied to the same accounts. That withstanding, it was a solid day of work.
~ * * * ~
I had stopped by the reception desk just long enough to tell Cassandra I was heading out of the office and she should send any more calls to voicemail, ignoring her openings for casual conversation. I hadn’t asked her to ring Karl for me since I gave him the rest of the day off, but he was waiting for me when the elevator lobby doors opened on the sub level, right where he had dropped me off that morning.
When we pulled out of the building, it took us a full ten minutes to move one block because the traffic was so bad. I sighed and raised my seat back to the upright position.
Karl lowered the partition a few inches and cleared the privacy frosting so we could see each other. "Everything all right, sir?"
“Yeah, I'm good, Karl, thanks. It's only a half-mile ride home, and it's a beautiful evening. I think I'll walk it."
“No problem at all, young blood. I'll pull up here at the corner.”
"Thanks," I said, and unclipped my seatbelt. "Now please, take the rest of the night off after you park back at the gar—” I somehow just remembered I hadn’t yet checked on my newest baby.
“Sir?”
I hesitated before I asked. “The Chiron?”
“Washed, waxed, and parked, of course. Just as I've always done the day after you drive it.”
I smiled and mentally thanked Red. “Of course you did, Karl. Thank you. Now if you don’t take the rest of the night off, I’m docking you a week’s pay.”
As we pulled up to the corner and I reached to open the door, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I almost dismissed the feeling as nothing, but when I scanned the sea of people walking about their business on the busy sidewalk, just to satisfy my hesitation, I potted the cause of my uncertainty right away. A man was walking at the exact pace of the car, which was out of place with the other bustling mass of pedestrians hurrying about their business at the typical New York pace.
A tinge of familiarity tugged at the back of my mind as I watched the tall man in all black walk. We pulled to a full stop at the on the curb, and he stopped and turned to face the car, staring directly at me through the tinted window of the vehicle. That's when recognition hit me like a bolt of lightning, and my mind flashed back to the night before, after I had got tossed from the club. It was the pale man, wearing the same black leather coat.
I recoiled in the seat, cursing out loud, and the pale man sprang into motion, shoving past people as he rushed to the car. His long coat flared open for just a moment, revealing an assortment of knives along his upper thighs, up the sides of his ribs, stopping just under his armpits. I caught a good look at his bald, tattooed head, thick, and black-bearded face highlighted by a fresh gash that ran down the side of his face, starting just above his brow and finishing at his chin.
The car peeled into motion, doors locking, and thick curtains closing around every window, shrouding the interior in complete darkness. I heard Karl load a magazine into a gun up front even as he whipped the vehicle around with expert precision.
"Don't worry, young blood. This here car is bullet and bomb proof. You sit back and relax; you'll be back with Mrs. Fatima safe and sound in just a few minutes."
I don’t know how he did it, but he blared the horn and squeezed through a gap between a city bus and a delivery truck that was so tight I was sure we would crash. It was surprising how the other vehicles parted for us—most likely because nobody wanted to run the risk of a legal battle with someone riding in what most people would need to mortgage a home to own.
I pulled the rear curtain back and stared at the pale man standing in the middle of the street, staring back at me as we pulled away, oblivious to the pile-up of traffic behind him. We weren't going fast by any stretch, but the pale man didn’t appear to be trying to pursue us at the moment. Even still, I would need to take measures.
I turned back around in my seat, having composed myself. “Get me Rick Styles on the line.”
A few seconds later Karl turned his head and spoke to me over his shoulder. “I don’t see a Rick in your contacts.”
“He’s in my corporate directory. He’s the Director of Security for the firm.”
“Right away, sir.”
A moment later ringing came on over the interior speakers, only twice, and then the line connected. “This is Rick”
“Rick, this is Darien Winfield.”
“Oh, yes, hello Mr. Winfield. What can I do for you, sir?”
“I need the number to a private security or protection firm ASAP.”
“I... ugh, I don’t have any contacts for companies like that at the moment, but I ca—”
“Get back to me within the hour.”
“Yes...yes, sir.”
I signaled for Karl to drop the call, and it ended immediately.
“Now, get Fatima on the line. I need to make sure she’s okay.”
The phone began ringing almost as soon as I finished speaking. It rang out and then went to voicemail. I took a deep breath, pulled my cell out of my pocket, and redialed her. It rang once and then went to voicemail. I clenched my jaw, and then my phone pinged. It was a text from Fati.
Stepping into surgery now. I'll call you back when done.
I exhaled in relief.
CHAPTER FOUR
“THANK YOU AGAIN, babe, for not giving me a hard time about this.”
"I'll do whatever it takes for my family," I said as I reached over and rested a hand on Fati's thigh. "You know that. I love you."
“I love you too, babe, but we’ll need to talk later about…" She let her words trail off, but gestured towards the two clean-shaven men in black suits seated in the back of the waiting area, unsuccessfully trying to appear inconspicuous.
“It’s necessary to protect our family now that I’m more of a high-profile figure.”
“Yeah...I’m concerned about this, Darien. Just be careful. If your success comes at such a high price, you need to think a bit about if it's even worth it?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. So much so that I’ve already told the communications department I won’t be doing no more televised or print interviews.”
She placed a hand on top of mine and squeezed. “That’s a great start babe, but—”
Darien Winfield. Darien Winfield Came a voice over the PA system.
“Oh, never mind. Come on.” She said as she stood, pulling me to my feet with her. She looked at the receptionist and smiled, pulling me towards the desk. “Here he is.”
The receptionist was a middle-aged woman with simple features, simple makeup, and hair tied back into a simple bun. She smiled, showing genuine warmth, something that I only just appreciated the need for this type of office. “Dr. Ryan is just finishing up with a patient in room ‘A,' so you can head on into room One."
I looked from one door to the other and frowned. “Wait, what?”
The receptionist giggled. “That gets everyone’s noodle into a twist, first time they see it. She used to have it room ‘A’ and room ‘B.'"
“Yeah, that’s about what I remember.”
The homely woman giggled again. "One day she comes marchin' in, pulled a chair right on up from the seatin’ area, and took that ‘B’ sign right on down. Said she was doing some research and found that some of her patients might start feeling inferior being asked to go wait in that room. By the time I came back in the next mornin’ she had the new sign up good as new, sure did.”
I shook my head and shrugged. That sounded just about right, from what I remembered about the flighty doctor. I entered, and when I glanced behind me to share a joke with Fati, she was halfway back across the waiting area. I went to call out to
her when my vision split in two, and my body felt light, cloudy, and my thoughts seemed to come slower. I looked around the room and thought for a second, as blackness closed as the edges of my periphery, that I was going to pass out. Then the world returned with a rush, and I felt fine.
I blinked and looked around, hesitating for a moment to make sure I was alright. I took a deep breath and then frowned when I noticed Fati had just about made it back to where we were sitting. “Fati!”
She turned around and looked at me.
“You’re coming in with me.”
Fati smiled. “I’ve dragged you down here, do I need to tie you to the chair and make you engage as well?”
“Um…” The receptionist cleared her throat and forced a smile just wide enough to betray it wasn’t genuine. “Dr. Ryan only allows the patient inside. Friends and family will have to wait outside.”
Fati raised an eyebrow, the look that makes Darien Junior and me both shrink, and placed her hands on her hips. "Well, I'm not his friend, nor his family. I am his wife, and that makes us one.” She turned towards me. “After you, babe.”
"Oh, well, I uh…"
The poor woman’s already rosy cheeks turned even redder. But we entered the room, ignoring the receptionists almost adorable attempt to scold us. We sat on the low sofa along the far wall, directly across from the high-backed leather chair positioned in the very center of the floor.
The arrangement was every bit as odd now as I remembered it being the last time I was there, over ten years before. It was hard to believe how much time had passed, but not much about the office had changed at all. In fact, it was even the same furniture, maintained surprisingly well.
We didn't have long to wait, ten minutes at most when the door opened, and Dr. Ryan walked in. She looked like she had not aged one bit as she swept into the room, wearing a long form-fitted floral dress and her natural low-cut Caesar hairstyle. She paused for a moment as she glanced towards Fati, but didn't say anything. Instead, she looked back at me, smiled, and then walked towards me, arms forward, as she closed in for a hug.
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