Page 21 of Ride the Whirlwind

“In about half an hour. You have enough time to grab a bite and drink a cup of tea. I apologize in advance for the shit show. You may very well reconsider our friendship once everything is over.”

Graeme's voice had a tinge of melancholy Douglas detected on the spot. He gave his friend a questioning look, which the man ignored, and he knew better than to ask him what was wrong, so he left the office. As he headed to the mansion's kitchen, the doctor had a bad feeling about the meeting.

Over the last couple of weeks, he’d noticed a subtle change in Graeme's attitude. The man, who was an open book, especially when it came to sharing his plans for the future, became more and more evasive, talking in riddles. Also, his eyes, so bright every time Keith was around, became dull and distant when he was in the same room with the young man.

The feeling that something very bad was going to happen became more and more persistent, weighing Douglas down and making him change his mind and go back upstairs. He headed to the conference room, where some of Graeme's associates already took the seats designated to them according to the hierarchy.

Keith, who only rarely attended the council's meetings, was also present, accompanied by the loyal Fadyen, who was somewhat sad and troubled, so different from his usual calm and composed self. The two sat at the farthest end of the table, somewhat huddled into one another like two orphaned little children no one wanted.

On the other side of the table, sitting at Graeme's right, his main advisor, Niles MacTeague, stared at the two young men, shocked and confused. Everyone knew Keith and Fadyen were, for different reasons, the boss's protegees, which made it hard for him to understand why they were exiled to that far corner.

Timothy Fitzgerald, George MacIntyre, Lawrence MacCabe, and Craig Darrow were also shocked by Graeme's decision to isolate the two. None of them could stand Keith and Fadyen, considering them parasites who took advantage of the boss's generosity. However, for a reason the men couldn't explain, the change didn't sit well with them.

Doctor Douglas' heart ached at the sight of the two young men there, at the farthest side of the long table, a confirmation of the gut feeling he had about that meeting. However, he hoped it was another of Graeme's strategies, a carefully set trap his enemies would fall into facefirst. A few minutes later, when the boss stepped into the room, the murmur stopped, replaced by a heavy silence.

“Good afternoon and thank you for coming on such short notice. I've decided to make some changes to my personal life, and I want to inform you about them.” Graeme looked around the room, his voice sounding calm and relaxed.

“Did you finally decide to marry?” George MacIntyre, who was two years younger than the boss, tried to joke. “Because if so, I’ll drink to that, and I also want to be invited to the happy event.”

“I'm afraid you will be disappointed.” Graeme offered his associate the shadow of a smile. “I'm going to finally get rid of some people who, for a long time, have had a toxic influence over my life. Douglas, you are no longer my personal doctor or my friend. You have an hour to pack your things and leave the mansion.” He turned to the doctor.

“As you wish. I knew that sooner or later it would come to this, but I hoped to...well, it doesn't matter anymore, does it? I wish you well, and to you, gentlemen, a good day.” Taking one last look to the conference room, Douglas walked out, closing the door behind him.

“Boss, with all due respect, what was that? Who is going to take care of you if the doc leaves? He's a decent fellow who’s always minded his business and also an outstanding professional,” Lawrence MacCabe said, still surprised by his boss's words.

“Doctor Renfrow is also very competent. As for Douglas minding his own business...well, had he done so, it wouldn't have come to this.” Graeme shrugged, then looked in Keith and Fadyen's direction. “You two, leave. Now. Also, I want to inform you that I cut my son Camlann out of my will, and he is no longer my successor as the next leader of the organization.”

“No, boss, please, don't do that,” Niles McTeague said in an almost desperate voice. “You can't do that. Our laws say that the succession has to be passed down from father to son, or a daughter in the absence of a male descendent. Since Camlann is your only child...”

“The advisor is right,” Craig Darrow respectfully spoke. “Our enemies will see your decision as a sign of instability and would want to attack us. With the specter of the street war still looming over us, we can't afford that.”

“Look, boss, it's true that most of us didn't agree with you choosing Camlann as your successor, but that was due to his lack of experience and communication skills,” George MacIntyre calmly spoke. “However, experience is gained by practicing, and we would have been happy to advise and show him the ropes. As for the communication skills...”

“Nothing you or the others say can convince me to change my decision, and those who don't agree with them are free to leave. I won't stop any of you,” Graeme said in a cold, harsh voice.

Lawrence MacCabe was the first who left his seat and headed to the door, almost immediately followed by George MacIntyre. Other important associates imitated them, stepping out of the conference room one by one without saying a word. Craig Darrow and Niles MacTeague were still present, but Graeme expected them to abandon him, too.

To his great surprise, that didn't happen. The men extended their hands, telling the boss they planned to stay and help him rule the organization. Darrow's demonstration of loyalty was a pleasant surprise for Graeme, who expected him to be among the first to leave. Quiet and hard-working, he reorganized the administrative departments of all the companies the boss and his associates owned, which led to a significant increase in the productivity and profit.

So, Darrow stays for the money, Graeme said to himself a few minutes later while he headed to his office. Once inside, he plopped down the winged chair behind the desk, trying to figure out MacTeague's reason. The man said something about trying to convince him to change his mind about Camlann, but he suspected it was more than that.

Niles MacTeague wasn't so great of an advisor. He mainly agreed with Graeme's ideas unlike MacIntyre, who’d always asked a ton of questions and wanted things to be explained in detail before giving his vote. Unfortunately, George only joined the organization about two decades earlier, unlike the MacTeagues who’d served as advisors for Graeme's father and grandfather.

So, his loyalty is somehow inherited. It's not coming from his heart, the man thought, letting out a heavy sigh. Graeme wished he had a magic crystal globe so he could see what the two men who stood by his side really thought. But he didn't have one, so all he could do was to wait and see how things were going to turn out.

*************

Lester Ames finished reading the report Ronald Dawson, one of the police officers on his payroll, sent him an hour earlier. He sent the man to snoop around that bloody sanctuary Ardan-fucking-MacNamara built in the middle of nowhere and tell him if the bastard was dead or alive. Ames cursed through gritted teeth as the report was inconclusive.

Dawson didn't spot MacNamara, but he saw Fabian Bloom, his advisor and father figure, and also that foul-mouthed redhead MacNamara was married to from pretty close. None of them seemed to be affected in any way by the news of their dear one's death, on the contrary. The redhead sported a grin that stretched from ear to ear, and the old man Bloom was as calm and composed as ever.

Putting the report on the desk, Ames focused on the message that loon from San Francisco sent him in the morning. He’d partnered with the guy for some time but didn't fully believe his claims that he could make both of them insanely rich until a few weeks earlier when the man opened up to him and told him the whole crazy story.

Getting the MacNamara bastard out of the picture once and for all was part of the big plan. One of the inmates who’d participated in Ardan's execution captured it on camera, and Ames sent the images to his San Francisco associate, who messaged him that it was time for the second stage of their plan: the great shit show which will make everyone turn their attention away from the really important things.

Ames got back to Dawson's report, but the second half of it wasn't as interesting as the first. However, the last two paragraphs made his blood freeze: his minion dropped the information that a bunch of guys calling themselves the Special Ones were going to visit The Base in a couple of days.

It can't be, Ames thought, rubbing his temples, heart pounding frantically in his chest. If those fuckers come to New York City, it would be ten times worse than dealing with MacNamara, and our carefully laid plan would go downhill before we knew it.

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