Page 50 of Alistair

“She’s fat and needs to drop the weight, or she’ll never be in any film I produce.”

The audience gasped, staring at one another as the sound of Stone’s voice echoed in the arena. He looked behind him and didn’t see anyone or anything.

“You said you’d have ten bottles for us.”

“I said I’d have ten bottles if you had ten grand. You’ve only got six grand. You get six bottles. See, that’s basic math.”

“Don’t treat us like we’re stupid. We want ten bottles.”

“Then I want ten grand. Come on, honey. We both know Daddy gives you whatever you want. You’ve got the fancy car, the designer clothes, now you’ve got the designer body to go with it. You can afford this.”

“Fine.”

“Let me give you the bag back. That’s worth at least another two grand.”

“No. No, keep the bag, but give us two more bottles.”

“Cool. Where’s your other little friend? She was a sweet piece of ass.”

“She died.”

“Now that’s a shame. Who’s taking her place?”

“I will.”

“That was good, sweetheart. Next time, put some effort into it. I’ll see you girls in a week.”

Standing with her brother in the first row, Dove stared at the man who sent his own brother to drive her to an early grave. She looked frail and sickly, but she was there to point to her executioner.

Suddenly, a flicker and a camera image of his brother appeared on the screen. He gasped, staring at the man tied down.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

“Yep. I’m dealing with Bernard Steiner, brother to Milton, a.k.a. Lance Stone. Where is he?”

“Fuck you.”

“Not nice, little man. Where is your brother?”

“What do you want?”

“Your brother.”

“Like I said, fuck you.”

“No problem. You’ll die never knowing what happens to this story.”

“You don’t understand. He’s untouchable. The whole world loves Lance Stone, and the fact that he’s making a drug to make the world thinner, healthier, is only going to make him more revered.”

“Not when it kills everyone who takes it.”

The cameras panned to Dove, who was shaking as she stood beside her brother. They handed her a microphone, and she spoke.

“Lance Stone manufactures and sells an illegal weight loss drug that is also an opioid. He convinced me that I needed to lose weight in order to be successful and famous. Now, I may not live to see any of that. He’s killed dozens, if not hundreds, of people because of this and tried to kill these four Marines because they saw him during a raid.”

“That’s a lie!” he screamed. “She’s a drug addict. It’s not my fault.”

“It is your fault,” said Clark, walking toward the stage. “It’s your fault that a DEA agent died in a tree stand because he recognized your face. It’s your fault that your sister is dying from the same drugs you produced. It’s your fault that doctors, right this moment, are losing their licenses as raids are taking place.”

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