“You’ll need to explain that.”
“I came prepared to do that and a lot more, which I think you will find beneficial to both our interests.”
“Go on, please.”
Steers had drilled him with facts and background on Lord. Chess prodigy, super-high IQ, ruthlessness to match any cartel boss concealed behind a smooth, civilized, even aristocratic façade. But Temple had one advantage here.
This guy is, minus the brag and bluster, exactly like my father, who I knew better than anyone.
“First things first,” said Temple. “Victoria Steers left you with a good business but also a lot of potential problems.”
“I know the FBI piece. But that has been resolved.”
“Even though they said Walter Nash was framed?”
“He has also not reappeared. I have it on good authority that he is not working with the Bureau any longer. He could well be dead.”
“He could be,” conceded Temple. “But you need to know that I fired Neisha Mirza and appointed myself as CEO of Sybaritic.”
Lord lifted his teacup and took a sip. He was dressed in a dark two-piece suit with a light blue shirt. His pocket square matched the shirt. His complexion was perfect, his teeth the same. His hair had a high-dollar cut. His shoes cost thousands. He was the poster boy for a pampered existence.
Not just like my father, just like me, thought Temple.
“And why would you do that?”
“Because I can do a much better job than she could. And I want to prove it to you. And since I know how intelligent you are—”
“Excuse me, but how do you know this?”
“If you weren’t, you would not have survived this long in the world we both inhabit. And when Steers spoke of you it was with respect. . .and fear. I never heard her talk that way about anyone else.”
Lord nodded. “All right. You’ve made yourself the CEO. What now? Please keep in mind that your answer will be a factor in my decision on allowing you to remain CEO.”
And living, thought Temple.
He leaned forward, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial level. “As an intelligent man, you’re no doubt wondering why I said the business has potential problems.”
“Please elaborate.”
“Your partners. Their business goals do not necessarily align with yours.”
Lord shrugged. “I know that they believe we’re killing too many of their customers.”
“And Steers caved to that belief by pulling back on the fentanyl in the product. Consequently, for that reason, and others, deaths associated with the drug have dropped substantially. Which I know is not in line with your expectations.”
“Nor mine,” said a voice.
Temple turned to see Masuyo standing there. She had somehow crept up on them.
“I believe you two know each other,” said Lord, who did not, to Temple’s mind, look pleased at the woman’s sudden appearance.
But it actually was very good for what Temple was attempting to accomplish. He rose and bowed to Masuyo. “Mrs. Steers, how are you?”
She sat down in one of the chairs. “That is no concern of yours. Now sit and explain.”
Temple retook his seat. “If you put fentanyl back in the precursor process it will anger your partners. But even if you can overcome that, there are other issues standing in the way.”
“Such as?” demanded Masuyo.
