Bleeding Heart (Scions of Sin Book 1)

by Taylor Holloway

  “Ms. Clark,” Luisa began in a carefully respectful but also guarded voice, “we have a few questions about the version we received from you last night. There are several changes that we would like to understand before moving into the closing documents. In particular, we notice that there have been numerous changes to the investments and the schedule. Could we start there?”

  “Certainly Doctora. If everyone could please turn to page number fifty-seven in their copies, we’ll want to start under subsection 6-A…”

  As expected, it took several minutes for us to get deep enough into the agreement before we began to discuss the consequential aspects of the ‘new version’. Luckily, I was able to spend most of my time talking, which distracted me from wanting to reposition or otherwise fuss with the tiny microphone hidden in my bra.

  “So, if I’m understanding you correctly, Mr. Durant,” said Tèo to Alexander’s father, “the old plant won’t be torn down?”

  “That’s correct,” Alexander Durant Jr. said, playing his role well, “after doing some additional analyses of the market, we’ve come to understand that it would cause undue disruption to the local population. Instead, what we would like to do is maintain the current plant until such time as all operations and personnel can be transitioned to the new plant. Any disruption to operations could be extremely damaging to local business interests.”

  “And then the investments themselves have been altered from being primarily NGO-related to high-yield real-estate investment?” Asked Luisa.

  “Yes,” Alexander replied instead of his father, “Durant Properties International will get the return on our investment through the investments instead of the redevelopment of the land the current plant sits on.”

  Translation: we won’t redevelop the drug dealer’s evil lair.

  “I think I’m beginning to understand,” interjected Tèo, “but one thing that is still confusing me is the number of facilitation payments that have been added in lieu of the charitable and development organizations that were in the previous version. Could you perhaps explain why these have been changed, Ms. Clark?”

  “Of course,” I replied to Tèo, wondering if he was the traitor and swallowing my principles, “after due consideration and careful research, we’ve determined that the best way for us to help the local population and grow the local economy is to ensure the support of local business and governmental leaders. We cannot affect the sort of change that we want to see by ignoring that local people have important considerations of their own. Closing the plant all of a sudden would upend those important considerations, as would not compensating those local interests for those changes that we are hoping will be beneficial long-term.”

  Translation: We replaced all of the humanitarian aspects of the deal with bribes to pay off government officials so that they won’t oppose what we’re doing.

  “But what of the charitable pursuits that were in the last version before this? The education efforts? Those were also important, were they not?” Asked Frank smoothly.

  The Colombians were all expert negotiators in their own right. Whoever the turncoat was, they would not reveal themselves instantly. It could still be any of them.

  “Of course, they are incredibly important,” I replied, “but how can we say that we are going to benefit anyone by simply ignoring the local industries and the business people that run them. It would be imperialistic and arrogant to make decisions for the local population about what kind of business they want. We would be better off cooperating with local business than opposing them.”

  Translation: We are happy to simply pay off the Chacóns instead of fighting them.

  Telling these half-truths was like spitting out shards of broken glass. I could do it, but it hurt. It was also probably going to leave lasting damage. I prayed the traitor would reveal themselves sooner rather than later so the FBI could swoop in and get them. After this was all over, I wanted to wash my mouth out with soap.

  “Ms. Clark,” Luisa said after a moment of consideration, “I am concerned that the more socially progressive aspects of this deal have been almost entirely eliminated. Those humanitarian and charitable investments were important to gaining the support of the Colombian government.”

  “I totally understand your concern on that front,” I replied, “which is why we have diverted so much of the investment fund into facilitation payments for the government. We want to make sure we appease all parties to this deal, both within the government and within the business community.”

  Translation: Don’t worry, we bribed everyone we needed to.

  I was beginning to think that the traitor was Luisa. Yes, Colombians, in general, were known for being extremely formal and polite. However, it was hard to believe that Luisa would continue being this pleasant if she were really concerned about the humanitarian aspects of the deal. She was the lawyer, who more than anyone should see what was written between the lines. She knew the real score. I would be screaming from the rooftops if I had her job. Unless I was a traitor, that is.

  “Are you not concerned that a failure to invest in the humanitarian causes that were in the publicly lauded version of the deal will cause people not to support it?” Interjected Giovanna. The reserved COO of Propetrolas was the quietest of the four Colombians. I also suspected she might be the most intelligent. The traitor could as easily be her as well, and she could be using her circumspection to conceal it. I chose my next words carefully.

  “Our hope is that all Colombians will see the value in approaching this deal in a way that is more locally-driven and locally-sourced. On the U.S. side, by the time that the paperwork is signed and executed, the news cycle will have already moved on.”

  Translation: Colombia will be bribed into accepting the deal, and the US doesn’t care.

  The sad thing was that this was the honest truth. Even if we did execute a version of the deal that totally capitulated to the demands of a bunch of drug dealers, the average American couldn’t care less. Unless the health, prosperity, or opportunity of America was directly impacted, no one here would even notice.

  “And the Senator is on board with this new version of the deal?” Frank asked with a perfectly neutral inflection.

  “Yes, one-hundred percent.” My father said, “One thing that Senator Ellis has always valued, and what those that support him have always believed—including those in this room—is that free markets are the best kind. Organic, self-sustaining capitalism cannot grow from fettered markets. This deal helps ensure that the market will be free.”

  Translation: Senator Ellis is a total tool. He’ll support whatever we tell him to.

  This was also true. Senator Ellis hadn’t even been consulted on this version of the deal. Or any version. He just did as he was told.

  “Frank,” Tèo said carefully, “what do you think of these modifications? Will the Propetrolas Board still be satisfied?”

  Frank’s response was similarly measured, “I think some members of the Board will be extremely disappointed that the deal no longer has the humanitarian advantages, however, since the company will not be bearing the carrying costs of the old plant, the overall financial impact should be negligible. It may even be slightly favorable from a financial perspective. Still, I’m honestly not sure what they would think. Giovanna what are your thoughts?”

  Giovanna shook her head in the most decisive display any of the four had shown so far. “If we wanted a deal like this,” she asserted, “we ought to have started the process much differently. I’m skeptical that the Board will understand such a sudden shift in direction.” Her expression and demeanor clearly indicated a dislike of the deal.

  Translation: Giovanna wasn’t the traitor. Frank still hadn’t taken a position.

  I fought the urge to stand up and cheer. We knew for sure now that Giovanna, at least, wasn’t working for the Chacóns.

  The negotiation stalled there and we went in circles for another hour. No one wanted to be the next person to take a firm posit
ion, but Tèo, Frank, and Luisa continually tried to bait each other into doing so. It was clear that they were trying to trap each other almost as much as we were trying to trap them.

  It was also clear that the Colombians were getting increasingly frustrated with one another. Giovanna drew a line in the sand by taking a firm position, and she watched blandly as the others continued to demonstrate a lack of conviction. Eventually, someone else would have to choose. The trap was tightening around them.

  Luisa spoke up eventually and refocused the conversation, “Tèo, can you advise on the Ombudsman’s office perspective?”

  Tèo inclined his head politely at the invitation.

  “My role is to ensure that the deal benefits the people of Colombia and operates fully within the law. I can’t take a position on either of those things without further research. Therefore, I’m uncomfortable proceeding with the negotiations at this time.”

  Translation: Tèo was seemingly not the traitor.

  I could feel the tension in the room ratcheting up as the list of potential traitors dwindled down. From the perspective of the traitor, their job was getting increasingly difficult. They had to sell the others on the deal.

  Frank and Luisa looked at one another. The moment stretched in silence as everyone in the room waited for their opinions. Now it was between them. Luisa lost the staring contest and spoke first.

  “I do think there is real value in not losing the momentum we have built between our companies so far,” she said softly, “despite our concerns regarding the modifications in this version of the deal, there are still many positives for Propetrolas.”

  My heart was hammering so loudly in my chest that I feared it would drown out the voices being recorded. Alexander’s eyes darted toward me. They just needed a little push and we’d know if the traitor was Luisa or Frank. I took a deep breath.

  “Frank,” I began, “wouldn’t there be much greater negative repercussions for both the companies represented here and for the people of Bogota if our negotiations were to fail at this juncture over a few inconsequential charitable allocations as there would be if we just moved forward with this version? I’m trying to be cognizant of how a failure to leave these negotiations without a deal will play. Doing nothing benefits no one. If local industry suffers, no amount of external charity will repair that damage, but the new plant and the new plan will protect local industry in a way that ensures continuity and promotes growth.”

  Frank and Luisa looked at me with wide eyes. The fact that I was pushing so hard for this version only underscored how thoroughly our side was capitulating to the Chacóns. Both Tèo and Giovanna were frowning but were too polite to call me on my bullshit. Frank and Luisa exchanged another long, silent look. Although my question was directed at Frank, it was Luisa who answered.

  “I agree. I think this new version of the deal serves all our interests in an equitable way. My recommendation is to proceed, Frank. Let’s get this signed.”

  There was no explosion this time, but I still felt one in my bones. The door to the conference room opened to reveal a man I hadn’t seen before, an enormous, tall man wearing an FBI badge. Since I was sitting on the far side of the table facing the door I saw him first, but everyone quickly turned to see what was going on. The four pairs of eyes of the Colombian delegation widened in shock. Giovanna’s face turned from the mask of displeasure she’d been wearing all day into small, knowing smirk.

  “I thought so,” I heard her whisper in Spanish. Tèo inclined his head in her direction, acknowledging that he must have wondered what exactly was happening to cause us to reverse course so dramatically as well.

  “Ms. Luisa Muriel,” the newcomer intoned, “I’m agent Salvador with the FBI. Could you please come with me?”

  Luisa turned pink and then red and then white in quick succession. She rose from her chair and crossed the room, rapidly beginning to cry. By the time she reached the imposing Agent Salvador, she was having a full-on breakdown and was gasping for air. Despite her desperation, my anxiety dropped considerably. I took the first full deep breath I’d had in hours.

  “They’re blackmailing me,” she cried desperately, looking around the room in a panic for allies. She found none. “We have to sign this deal or they will release something that will ruin me. I made a mistake once, and it would destroy my marriage if it got out. Please. You have to listen to me!”

  As Salvador placed an enormous hand on her shoulder and turned to follow Luisa out of the room, a small burst of activity to my right drew my attention. I twisted in my desk chair to get a better look at what my neighbors at the table we’re doing.

  Time seemed to slow down.

  Tèo and Frank, who had begun whispering amongst themselves, broke apart suddenly and both stood. Frank reached over to me, seated on his left, and yanked my wrist. Hard. I went stumbling forward out of my chair and into the table ahead of me, my forehead almost flush to the tabletop. I made small, surprises yelp as I went forward, and had to catch myself on my scraped up forearms. Everyone else around the table stood in a panicked, frantic instant, spilling coffees and dropping papers everywhere. Frank’s other hand, his right hand, slowly drew a pistol from inside his jacket. His hands weren’t steady, I noticed. He was shaking.

  Now leaning over the conference table, I was frozen in place as action happened around me in a flurry of movement and noise I couldn’t see and didn’t comprehend. All my attention was on Frank, who I couldn’t even properly see. He pressed the barrel of the gun to my temple. I couldn’t see it once it got close to my head, but I felt the cold metal touching my forehead. My whole body started to feel numb and distant.

  “I’m sorry about this everyone,” Frank said, “but we are going to sign this deal today, even if I have to shoot Ms. Clark to do it. Even if it kills me in the process, we will sign this deal.”

  I’d just become a hostage.

  29

  Alexander

  Eleven years ago…

  “Hey asshole,” I told the guy, “you do know that roofie-ing someone at a party is bad form if you don’t clear it with the host first, right?”

  It hadn’t been difficult to find the sleaze-ball that tried to hurt Clara that night. I’d located him in all of about two minutes. He was just sitting on a couch laughing next to a few of his buddies. He looked so relaxed and at home. Clearly, he thought his actions had no consequences. He was about to find out how wrong he was.

  I wanted to get Madison out of my head and this was already doing the trick. Instead of horny and frustrated, I could be violently angry. My blood was boiling in my veins and I felt that giddy-nauseous adrenaline cocktail hitting me hard. It felt good in a messed up kind of way.

  “Sorry bro,” The would-be rapist replied casually to me. He had an accent. West coast. I guess he thought he was a surfer with that pink polo shirt and stupid haircut. “You’re Alexander Durant, yeah? That chick wasn’t your sister or anything, right? I appreciate that you didn’t cock block me though, that was chill. This is a really great place. Cool party. I’ve got a few extra pills if you want.”

  “Are you serious?” I snapped, not understanding how he could be so nonchalant about his deplorable behavior. Was that a California thing? Was he, like, autistic or something? He wasn’t reading my social cues.

  “Yeah dude,” he continued on obliviously, “I can totally hook you up with something. You gonna’ go after that little uppity brunette with the huge rack you were with? Somebody needs to teach her a lesson. Man, I wish I’d seen her first, but I always follow the code: Bros before hoes.”

  His two drunk buddies laughed like a pair of jackals. This guy was unbelievable. He was talking about Madison. But it was worse than that. He was talking about drugging and raping Madison. I was starting to have tunnel vision and I could hear my own heartbeat banging furiously. Who invited this asshole? He thought I was joking? Apparently, I hadn’t made myself clear.

  That was fine.

  I would be clearer.
<
br />   I would be crystal clear.

  I walked around the back of couch and took hold of the guy’s popped collar with both fists. Popped collars on polo shirts were the international symbol for douche-y assholes, but I guess he missed the memo on that out in California. On the upside, a popped collar makes a surprisingly convenient douche-handle.

  “Hey, what the,” was all he managed before I pulled him backwards with all my strength. He was wrenched up and over the back of the couch before he had a chance to finish his sentence and then he shut up because he was half-strangled by his own shirt. He flailed wildly back and forth as I continued to drag him over the floor. People scattered like a flock of startled pigeons as I charged straight through the butler’s pantry and out the back door, pausing only momentarily to maneuver him properly and prevent his escape.

  When I pulled the guy out of his seat his two buddies had risen up to help him out, but my cousins decided to be useful for once in their lives. In a rare display of familial solidarity, Nathan and David descended to corral the two rape-accomplices. I guess they could have just been the rapist’s enablers, but really, was that any better? Regardless, they were scumbags too but they were not in my way. There was no one in my way.

  Outside I had a lovely view of the rain-swollen lake, the dock, and an enormous amount of mud in which to kick this guy’s ass. I hadn’t been in a real fistfight since I was in grade school, but as I landed the first satisfying kick into his exposed side, I didn’t think a lack of practice was going to present a huge impediment. Fighting, I discovered, was just like riding a bicycle. It was all about muscle memory.

  A small crowd had followed us outside and was watching curiously from a safe distance. Others watched from the windows on both the first and second floors. I ignored their nervous chatter, occasional suggestions, and filming phones. My attention was fully focused on hurting the scared guy lying in front of me.