“No matter what he does, he won’t stop the labor movement,” I say defiantly. “We will work harder. Recruit more volunteers. The movement will only grow bigger and stronger. We won’t be stopped.”
Byron clenches his fists. “I believe you believe that,” he pauses, “but my father is relentless and greedy. To stop him, I need to play his ball game.”
“What game? Steal the rum recipe?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, that won’t work. He’d squelch that story. He owns too many people, including newspaper reporters.
“But I’ve found another way,” he says. “During Prohibition, while I was out of the country, my father formed an alliance with some American rum runners out of Chicago. Now, he has a new deal with the same partners. And it’s legal—but that doesn’t mean ethical.”
My nerves feel like they’re coming apart. “You learned all this since the last time I saw you, four weeks ago?”
“I can hire detectives, too.” He takes my hands. “Let’s sit down.” He helps me return to our spot on the ground. We face each other, sitting cross-legged.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
Byron exhales. “I’ve known about his illegal rum business during Prohibition for a while. There was no ban on liquor or rum in Jamaica. My father’s new business supplies distilled rum to his Chicago partners. They handle bottling and distribution in the United States. It’s a huge deal. To make it work, he has to increase his rum production. The deal won’t work if there’s a labor union. This business venture gives him the capital to resist the labor movement, and his attack on the Maroons shows he’ll do anything to make a profit. But I’m going to put a wrench in his plans.”
“How?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I understand complications.”
He caresses my hand. “I know that.”
“What have you done?”
“I met with one of his partners. Actually, both of them have been in Jamaica for a couple of weeks, secretly meeting with my father. Bernard doesn’t want the other plantation owners to get wind of his plans.” He pauses. “Turns out I can be just as unscrupulous as my father. I reached out to oneof these men and made a deal to put more money in his pocket rather than my father’s.”
“Earning his trust—”
“Yes.” He chuckles. “By playing the part of the spoiled son, who wants his father’s business for himself.”
“What did you do, exactly, Byron?”
“I’ve been feeding this fellow shipping schedules and some financial information. Making it seem as if I’ll do anything, even partner with him, to delay major shipments.”
“Don’t your actions also ruin the partner’s business interests? What happens when your father finds out? I thought he was ill. I thought he was dying!”
“That was a lie to get me to come home. He has health problems, but they aren’t killing him.”
“Christ.”
“Amen.” Byron takes my hand and we start down the path. “This man is greedy. More so than even my father. He’s making deals with rum distillers in Cuba and all across Jamaica. He wants money and power.” Byron sighs deeply.
“What’s wrong? Is he dangerous? Has he threatened you?”
“He asked to meet you.”
I let go of his hand, stopping on the path lined with rock formations. “Why me? I have nothing to do with your father’s business.”
“He doesn’t trust me. Meeting with you, my girlfriend, the labor union activist, who has prompted me to betray my father …” Byron shrugs a shoulder.
I don’t miss thegirlfriendcomment but move on quickly. “I hope I’m not the reason you’re doing this.”
“No.” He cups my chin and kisses me. “Not the only reason, but will you help me?”
“Oh God, Byron.” I pause, thinking of all the reasons I should say no—all the reasons Byron should walk away from this dangerous plan—but the look on his face. He’s desperateto do something, anything to stop his father. “When do you want me to do this?”
