“Am I supposed to be impressed? Scared? You tell me,” Mr. B asked. “Or are you done sniffing my asshole? I’m a busy fucking man and I’ve come a long fucking way to meet with you, which I would never do unless I thought we could make a lot of money together. So, pretty please with Yuzhny sauce on top, can we get down to business.”
“Please forgive me,” Sasha replied. “These are dangerous times and trust is a hard thing to come by.”
“I understand, which is why I’ve extended this much grace to you, but it’s time for the fun and games to come to an end. I’m looking for a connection in Russia and you’re my first choice. I am here to find out if my first choice is the right choice. You understand?”
Sasha nodded. “How can I help you?
“I have a client with a singular taste, and I’m hoping you can cater to his needs.”
Tess
AKNOT FORMED in the pit of my stomach. This was the moment when six months of field work would finally pay off.
“How can I help?” Sasha asked.
“My client is a history buff. World War II in particular.”
“A popular subject these days,” Sasha said.
Mr. B nodded. “My client is wealthy, powerful, and represents several Jewish families who have all claimed losses during the war. I’ve been led to believe that you are the man who can help me reclaim some of those losses. If you are, I’m willing to split the finder’s fee fifty-fifty with you.”
“And who may I ask led you to believe such a thing?”
“That’s not important in the slightest,” Mr. B replied. “Whatisimportant is you telling me if it’strue.”
I’d never seen Sasha set back on his heels before and I couldn’t believe it was Krist Darwood who’d put him there.
“That’s a sticky business,” Sasha replied.
“Do you have the connections or not?” Mr. B snapped.
Sasha nodded. “I have somesilovikiin my book of contacts. Oligarchs with military ties going back to the German occupiers.”
“So, it’s true?”
“It’s true that I have clients who may possess appropriated artwork, but I’ve never been on either side of any related deal. Ilya wants nothing to do with the Nazis. Past, present, or future. His grandparents were killed during Operation Barbarossa when Germany invaded Russia in 1941.”
“The fact that I’m here proves you don’t share everything with your adopted father,” Mr. B said.
“That’s true. You’re here because I wish to expand my reach beyond Ilya’s grasp, but I would never betray him. Times are changing in Russia, and I need to have backup channels in place should the Petrakov empire ever crumble.”
“And you would like me to be one of those channels?”
“Of course,” Sasha said. “You’re one of the most feared and respected men in the game.”
“But you can’t offer me access to what my client needs?”
“Not this time, but request something else and I’m at your service.”
“If you’re expecting me to raise my offer, you can fucking forget it.” Mr. B was moving in for the hard sell now. “Half is more than fair, but I gotta have access to these clients of yours. I’m telling you, kid. We stand to make a lot of money on this deal, and you know the kind of money I’m talking about, too.”
“I wish I could help you,” Sasha said.
Mr. B leaned back in the leather chair and crossed his legs. The right pant leg of the ill-fitting suit riding up, unknowingly exposing his ankle monitor.
Shit.
Spotting the ankle monitor as well, Cameron stood straight up and walked towards the bar, with an empty glass tumbler in hand.
