Page 146 of King’s Ransom

Suddenly his voice became low. ‘Has she said anything about me? That’s it, isn’t it? What has she said about me?’

‘She actually seems to love you,’ I said. ‘Well, until you initiated divorce proceedings.’

That was when Aristo King exploded.

‘She hired a hit man to have me buried alive!’ he yelled. ‘And to kill my other children!’

‘Mr King—’

‘Does she have a lover? Is that it? Some guy she was working with to assassinate me? Like those Russians she used to know?’

‘I think she’s always been faithful to you. Have you been faithful to her?’

He reared back at that. ‘What?! Have I been faithful? Have I been—?’

He spun, waving a hand at Garrett. ‘We’re done here. Send him back. Get this little prick out of my sight.’

‘Mr King, one last question,’ I said, stopping him. ‘Have you ever heard of a company on the darknet called Modern Alchemical Solutions?’

He glared at me. ‘Never in my fucking life.’

And with those words, the world’s richest man stormed off, chased by Ms Kimura in her high heels.

He strode into the elevator and didn’t look at me again.

Merritt Garrett and I rode down in the same elevator shortly after, just the two of us.

‘Well, that could’ve gone better,’ he said.

‘I’m okay with it,’ I said. ‘Merritt, what about you? Ever heard of a company called Modern Alchemical Solutions?’

Merritt Garrett shook his head. ‘Can’t say I have. What kind of company is it?’

‘A problem-solving one. Like us, but in reverse. We solve crimes for customers, they commit crimes for them.’

‘You mean contract killings? Hit men?’ Garrett’s crows-feet eyes met mine. ‘You mean December 21st?’

‘Yeah.’

We reached the ground floor, exited the elevator and headed out to the helipad.

Murph was waiting beside the chopper, holding the door open for me.

Before I went out to join him, Garrett touched my shoulder, holding me back.

‘Sam, for what it’s worth, good luck with Yasmina Ivanova, although I think that’s gonna be a tough climb.’

‘I believe her, Merritt. I think someone set her up.’

He cocked his head. ‘I hope you’re right. ’Cause you just might’ve rejected the offer of your life.’

We shook hands.

‘See you later, pal,’ he said.

Ten minutes later, I was back in the Bell 525 with Murph—once again sitting up front beside him—flying back to Manhattan, the dunes and scrub of the Sandy Hook peninsula rushing by beneath us.

‘How’d your meeting go with the big man?’ Murph asked.