Micah paused, then said, “The White Russian syndicate loaned liquid cash to American old-money families when those very wealthy families were running short in the last recession. They’re bankrolling a lot of those high-society families now. One of the ways those wealthy families have gotten around paying their taxes is to take out loans on real estate and use that money to pay their daily expenses like food and servants’ salaries. Americans don’t pay income tax on money from a loan. Then they have one of theirbusinessespay back the loan using pre-tax dollars, and they write it off as a business expense. And thus, rich people don’t pay income taxes. They pay one or two percent interest to a bank instead of forty percent to the government. But the White Russian syndicate has been bankrolling these rollover loans, using them to launder money from gun-running, drug deals, and human trafficking.”
Tristan didn’t understand. “Okay, do we know some of the people who are in debt to them from Le Rosey or something? I don’t get what I’m supposed to be taking away here.”
Micah looked out the end of the hangar. The lights of Los Angeles twinkled in the night, and airplanes screamed from the airport runways beyond the heliport. “The White Russian syndicate is taking over some of the territory held by the old bratvas. If they contact you,be careful.They’re goddamn ruthless. Murder now and talk later kind of people.”
“Micah, did they contactyou?”Tristan asked, trying to make it sound non-judgmental.
He turned toward the night sky outside the gaping end of the hangar. “No.”
“But they’re contacting people.” Like, by letter?
No, the people who’d taken over Logan Bell’s grandfather’s trust had sent Tristan that letter, calling in the promissory note he’d signed when he was twenty-two. A Mary Varvara Bell had signed it, and it hadn’t mentioned anything like White Russians.
So that had to be different.
Which was a relief, because there was no way in hell he was going to tell Micah or the other Scholarship Mafia guys about what that letter wanted him to do. He’d give Mary Bell everything he owned first.
His friends would goddamn disown him.
Tristan asked Micah, “So, are the Butorins in league with these White Russians?”
Micah shook his head. “The Butorins are small players after the big dust-up a while back. They’re desperately trying to stay relevant and failing.”
So that wasn’t it. “Do we know people who have gotten themselves mixed up with them? Are Logan and Blaze all right?” Logan Bell and Blaze Robinson were the other two members of the Scholarship Mafia from Le Rosey and the other two people in the world beyond Micah who gave half a damn whether Tristan lived or died.
“I don’t know, Twist. They’re just all over the place. And they’re contacting people, trying to bring them into their organization. They’re on the verge of something big, and I think they’re gathering weapons for their takeover. And I don’t mean guns, though they might use guns, too. Other weapons.Financialweapons.”
Tristan nodded, not sure what else he could do. “I’ll be careful. Thanks, Micah.”
“Right,” Micah said, though he was still staring at the Los Angeles skyline. “I’m taking that helicopter back to San Francisco. Good luck, Twist. If you toss the red flag and need rescuing again, do it on a night when I don’t have concert tickets and a date.”
Twist laughed, and Micah rolled his eyes, not really pissed. He walked away, texting on his phone.
The helicopter spun its blades outside the hangar, winding up its engines in preparation for takeoff.
Tristan walked back to his plane and was relieved to see Jian strolling through the hangar from the office in the back. “When do we take off?”
“Now.”Jian quickened his step.“Right now.Get on the plane. A flight was canceled, and we can have their spot. We’re going to have to take a long route due to the wildfires in the Rockies, but it’s the only takeoff window for the next two days.Get on the plane.”
Tristan spun on his heel and leaped the few steps up the short staircase onto the private plane.
Behind him, Jian’s footsteps thundered up the steel steps.
Tristan bounded into the interior of the plane and stepped aside. Jian barreled through the door behind him and took a quick turn into the cockpit.
They were going to get out of there quickly. Tristan chuckled to himself as he turned.
Colleen stood right in front of him, still quite wet and with her fists braced on her hips. She blocked the aisle with her aggressive stance. “I want dry clothes and to know how many mafia groups are trying to kill youright now.”
In any other circumstance, Tristan would’ve laughed his butt off at his adorablelittletrying to brat, except that Colleen was dead serious.
Jian burst out of the pilot’s compartment, leaned out of the door to kick the stair ramp away from the plane, and hauled the door shut. As he spun the wheel to lock it, he said, “Sit down and brace. We’re leaving now.”
Colleen said, “No. I want to knowright nowbecause I might be getting off the plane if I don’t like your answer.”
Tristan said, “Colleen, we can’t do this right now.”
Jian stepped back from the door. “We need to sit down for takeoff immediately. It is going to be bumpy. We’re going to have some quick turns, and there are fires in the mountains.”
