“Are you okay?” I ask, still in shock.
“Hija, I’ve never been this scared in my life. I just got home, and I haven’t even told anyone else.”
My heart is in my throat. Was that Horvat’s sick way of showing us that a security detail isn’t enough to keep him away? Or maybe he was telling us he’ll come after my mother next? Rage, pure and unaltered rage, overtakes any other feelings. Nobody fucking touches my mamá. I’ll fucking eviscerate him myself if he does.
Glimpsing through the patio door, I force myself to contain my temper. If Lex notices something is wrong, he’ll come out to see what this is about. And I don’t want him near me right now. We’ve been wasting time here, using up days we don’t have for a solution we won’t find. While we’ve been sitting with our thumbs in our asses, Becker still moves on us. There’s no way in hell I’ll stay idle while my mom’s life is being threatened.
Lex needs to wake the fuck up. And I’ll help him open his eyes as best I can.
“Todo estará bien, mamá,” I say with determination.
“Lo prometes?”
“Si, mamá. Lo prometo.”
I stay a little longer on the phone with her, pacing the concrete slab to soothe my nerves. By the time I hang up, I have a plan. If it all goes as I’m envisioning, then Lex will have to admit my idea isn’t as bad as he pretends. I can get into that penthouse, and I can get the access and information we so desperately need.
He always,always,has the best intentions at heart, and I’ll forever love him for it. But right now, he needs a reality check. One I’ll force on him if that’s what it takes to protect my family.
Focusing on my phone again, I go to my contacts and find the one person capable of helping me out. She picks up on the third tone.
“¿Hola?”
“Paola?”
“Sí.”
“Soy yo. La mujer del partido de fútbol. Tengo otro favor que pedirte.”
I’m done playing defense. Becker has been on top of us over and over. Now’s the time to be as ruthless as he is. No one comes after my mom and gets away with it.
He wants to play? I’ll play.
Chapter 32
“Baby?” Andrea shouts from the other room.
“Yes?”
“The maid is here. Can she come in?”
So, that’s what those three knocks moments ago were.
“Sure,” I say before returning my attention to my screen.
I’ve been pulling my hair out trying to find another way to gain access to Becker’s penthouse and get his laptop. I’m good at hacking, not at cat burglaring. Looking around the dark web, I found a few people who could be paid to do it for us, but I’m not sure who can be trusted. And the penthouse’s security is so strong, they might fail regardless and ruin our chances for good.
There is potentially one way for us to get in without risking exposing ourselves. Every year, Becker organizes a party at his penthouse to celebrate his birthday. I went once with my father, and from what I remember, it involves over a hundred guests, overpriced wine, fine cuisine, mundane conversations… If memory serves right, that day is coming up. I’d need to check with my sister, but I think Becker still sends an invitation to my father every year, even though he never attends. Whatever happened between them, it must have been a one-sided beef.
But even if I used that to get into his penthouse and remain unharmed, it’s not only ludicrous to enter our enemy’s territory like that, it’s also useless. How can we find the safe, crack it, and get whatever is in it in the span of one evening, with a hundred witnesses?
We seem to be at an impasse, and no matter how long and hard I think about it, I can’t find us a way in.
In the corner of my eye, I see the maid come in, wearing a blue-gray dress and a white apron. I switch windows on my computer to browse through something a little more legal. While the maid dusts the shelves,I answer a few emails. I’ve neglected my assets for over half a year now, and they have taken a dip. I don’t entirely mind, but I was too close to my goal not to reach it. In about a year, I could own my family’s empire and teach my father a valuable lesson.
My trading algorithm is still doing its work, but it needs adjustments. I usually work on it every couple of weeks, but I’ve only done it once since Andrea broke me out of jail. I’m considering looking into it when the maid comes closer to swipe the wooden surface of the desk.
I don’t have time to be taken aback by her lack of respect for personal space, as she immediately focuses on the coffee table further in the room.
