His gaze burns with a livid fire. “We are paying the fucking ransom, Quinton. I don’t care if we have tostealthe money, we will pay,” he spits. “I’m not going to lose her overyourinterpretation.” He pushes himself up, arms crossed. “How much do you have, Quinton? Liquid? Property? Assets?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“How much,” he fumes, “do you have?”
“We need to find her,” I whisper, gaze fixed on the hardwood floor, my chest tight. “We need to?—”
“I have a little over two billion,” he states, cursing under his breath. “I’d have more but… But I stepped down from Cavanaugh Industries. My… My corporate accounts are?—”
I tilt my head up, brows furrowed. “You what?”
Damon hitches a nonchalant shoulder. “I stepped down.”
I blink at him. “What? Why?”
“I don’t think now is the time to discuss my career choices.” His glares at me. “How much do you have?”
He doesn’t get it. He’s blinded by fear. “Around five hundred million in liquid and another 1.75 billion in stocks but?—”
“Sell them,” he states. “Sell them right now. We,” his jaw locks, “we have five days. We can secure the rest before then. We?—”
“We need to find her. It doesn’t matter if we transfer a trillion dollars,” I sigh. “We need to?—”
“Listen to me, Quinton, and listen carefully.” Damon strides toward me. He stares down at me, expression flat and menacing. “We are going to wire the ransom, is that clear? We are going to bring her home.”
I snap. “In a body bag, Damon! Is that what you want? I’m telling you; it doesn’t matter if we send the money. If we don’t find her, the next time you see her will be in a fucking coffin.”
“We’re sending the ransom,” his voice falls eerily quiet. “Call your bank, Quinton. Call them right now.”
He’s relentless. He refuses to believe the situation. I don’t blame him. It’s so fucking grim.
“We’re still over five hundred million short.”
“I’m Damon fucking Cavanaugh,” he states. “I’ll figure it out. Get up, Quinton.” I remain seated, utterly still. “Get the fuck up!”
“Why?”
“Macau,” he says, pulling out his phone as he types out a message. “I hope you’re not averse to a little illegal activity.”
I blink. “Macau? We can’t leave, Cavanaugh. We need to find her. We need to?—”
“How?” he asks. “How do you imagine we find her, huh? It’s been nine hours since she was taken. She could be anywhere in the world by now. Hell, she could be in fucking China for all we know. This…” He nods a little too much. “This is the only thing we can do. This… This is the only thing we can control. So, get the fuck up, Quinton, and call your pilot.”
“Vivienne,” I mutter. “First we need to go see Vivienne.”
Damon’s nostrils flare. “Vivienne Delareux?” He scoffs, eyes blazing with incredulity. “They specifically said no fucking police! And you? You want to go see the president of Interpol? You’ve got to be kidding me, Quinton.”
“Former,” I swallow. “Former president.”
“I don’t think we’re in a position to play with loopholes,” he seethes. “We need to go to Macau. I can get the money, Quinton. There are a couple of brothers there who, fortunately, don’t hide their wealth.”
“Vivienne first,” I say, tone level as I stand up. “First, we go see Vivienne, then we can go wherever the fuck you want.”
“What is she going to do?! Huh? She’s a fucking madame now, Quinton! How is this possibly supposed to help us?!”
“Because she can help us find her! Because, in case your rose-colored glasses eventually fall off, we’re going to need a contingency plan!” I shout. “We can send the ransom, Damon, and we will, but if I’m right, then we’re going to need to do a lot more than that.”
“What makes you think she’ll even want to help us, huh?” he asks, arms crossed.
