Page 81 of Kingmakers, Year Two

I’ve never involved another person in my plans. Even with Ozzy, it’s only technical details we decide together. The framework is always me alone.

Call me superstitious but I hesitate to say my plan out loud. It’s still forming, not fully developed. Exposing it to the air might kill it.

But I trust Zoe, and I value her intelligence. I want to hear what she has to say.

So I tell her. I tell her every idea, every possibility I’ve considered. I tell her the challenges, the weaknesses, the practical issues I haven’t yet overcome. It takes me well over an hour to explain what I have so far. Zoe listens carefully, never interrupting.

When I’m finished, she’s quiet a long time, thinking.

Then she says, “You need one more family.”

“I know.”

“Someone who can take product east, but they have to have an American presence too. Someone with cash to spare, in American dollars.”

I nod slowly.

“What about the Malina?”

She’s talking about the Odessa Mob. The most ancient and widespread branch of the Ukrainian mafia.

I let out a long exhale. “I considered them. They’re perfectly positioned. And I’ve heard they have cash. A lot of cash. But their reputation . . .”

“I know,” Zoe says. “It isn’t good.”

“They’re rapacious. Insular. Treacherous.”

“They’d be arms’ length away. And if they turn on someone down the line . . . it won’t be us.”

“We’d have to get the Princes and your father to agree.”

Zoe looks at me, smiling slightly. “We need someone highly persuasive . . . do you know anyone like that?”

I grin. “I might.”

Zoe’s face grows somber again.

“Miles . . .” she says. “This is going to take all your money.”

I told her about my seed money. She knows how I intended to use it. And she’s right—whether this plan works or not, it will wipe me out. I won’t have a bean left over. Not enough to rent an apartment in L.A., let alone build an empire.

“I don’t care,” I tell her. “I’ll make more.”

Zoe shakes her head slowly. “I can’t let you do that. You worked so hard, all those years. It’s your dream . . .”

“No offense, baby girl,” I say, “but it’s not up to you. I’m doing this, with or without your help. I don’t know if it’s gonna work, but I’m sure as fuck gonna try. And if this deal’s no good, I’ll think of another. I told you, this is a jailbreak. Rocco is Warden Norton and you’re Andy Dufresne—we’re gonna Shawshank this motherfucker!”

Zoe is laughing, she can’t resist when I paint a vision of our future together.

I’m likewise riding on cloud nine.

The feeling of working this through with someone else is intoxicating, as if I’ve expanded my brain to double its size. It’s so easy talking to Zoe. She understands everything, and sees things that I don’t.

“I love you,” I say, without thinking, without planning.

Zoe’s eyes go wide. For the first time I see a clear resemblance to her sister Cat. She looks startled and frightened.

“You do?” she says.

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