We eat in relative silence. He doesn’t compliment the meal, but he doesn’t complain about it either. I think that’s progress.
“So,” he says, pushing his plate forward when he’s done. “What the fuck happened today and what the hell happens next?”
I take a long swig of my beer. I don’t usually drink, but the day I’ve had warrants it. “I’m still looking into it, but it looks like the buyer was a front. A good front. I looked into him before I took the job, and his profile was perfect. It was exactly what I expected to see, wealthy-ish with cash flow problems. A couple of brushes with the law. High stakes lifestyle with a tendency to engage in risk-taking behavior. There was nothing suspicious about it at all. When we did the final check, we found something out of place and when we dug into it, the whole thing crumbled.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that there was no one waiting to be paid. It means it was a set-up. A trap. Who knows what would have happened if we’d attempted the exchange, but one thing’s for sure, it isn’t kidnapping for ransom anymore.”
“What is it then?”
I don’t skip a beat. “A hired hit. A hit that someone didn’t have the balls to come out and pay for.” I pause, to let that sink in. "Whoever paid us to take you, had no intention of getting you back alive.”
He pales and looks at me blankly. “Wha…whe…why…?”
“I think the question you should be asking isn’t what, where or why. The question you should be asking is; who do you know who wants you dead?”
He mulls it over for a while, but not very long. “Pull up my BeckIT profile.”
“I hardly think now is the time for you to be checking your likes.”
“I’m not checking likes, Asshole. The answer’s been in front of you the whole time, I’m only pointing it out. Find my most liked post.”
I’ve seen the post before. It’s kind of a big deal. It’s the most liked post in the history of BeckIT. I open his profile and click ‘filter’. The picture pops up. He looks hot as fuck in it. He’s standing in the middle of Wall Street. Cars and taxis are backed up behind him. The little shit is literally stopping traffic. His eyes are hard. Cutting. Slicing through everything and everyone he’s looking at. He’s smiling, but he’s not smiling pretty. He’s sneering and making it sexy while he's about it.
He taps the table impatiently to let me know he’s waiting.
I look at the photograph again. It’s an amazing photograph. Professional, obviously. The lights and the bokeh are spectacular. The colors and composition are arresting. He’s wearing a graffiti T-shirt that looks like a pimply teenager could have made it, but probably cost an arm and a leg. It’s busy, black with lots of color.
It takes me a second to see the text that’s emblazoned on it:Billionaires Shouldn’t Exist.
He leans back in his seat and watches me thoughtfully when he’s sure I’ve seen it.
“Wha…Who?” I’m the one full of dumb questions now.
He rolls his eyes again. “It’s my uncle, dumbass. I guess you could say he and I have a fundamental difference in opinion when it comes to the future of BeckIT.”
“Are you saying you’re planning on giving your money away?
“Yup, a lot of it.”
I’m seriously fucking confused. Not one thing Damon has done since I met him has given me the impression that he’s concerned about the poor, or even that he’s fully aware they exist. “No offense, but you don’t seem like a do-gooder.”
“None taken, and no, I’m not. I’m the furthest thing from it. I don’t believe billionaires should exist, but I certainly have no problem with people having nine hundred or so to their names. In fact, I fully intend to make sure my sisters and I each have around that number at our disposal. What I’m planning on doing is about redistribution of wealth. It’s about balance.” His eyes glint as he speaks. He’s animated. Passionate. He’s never looked hotter and at the same time, he’s never looked more dangerous. If I was a betting man, which I’m not, let’s just say I wouldn’t bet against Damon Alexander Beckett doing exactly what he’s threatening to do. “It’s about power. It’s…”
“Anarchy,” I say, finishing the sentence for him.
His eyes flash, startled that a man of my intellect would understand such a thing. He pauses for a moment, then he gives me a single nod. “So, what happens next? You planning on keeping me up here forever?”
I have less than no idea what to do with him. I don’t have a plan. I was reactive, not proactive this morning. “I have a number of viable options I’m currently weighing up.”
“Mind sharing? I’m quite invested, you know, given it’s my life and all that.”
“Well, I guess I could let you go.”
“Huge fan of that option.Huge.”
“Oh yeah?” I smile. “The problem with that is it leaves me out of a large sum of money.”
