Page 39 of Ride the Whirlwind

To make things worse, his associate from San Francisco was found dead in an empty apartment in a shabby part of the city. Shot in the back of the head, execution-style, most likely by those Russian secret agents he was doing business with. And, in a cruel twist of fate, Ardan MacNamara, who was supposed to be dead like a nail in a coffin, was alive and well.

Ames plopped down the couch, trying to calm down. It was fucking hard to do that when he felt the noose tightening around his neck. He lost that battle but intended to stay alive and continue the war. The man hated the idea, but the wisest thing to do was to go someplace safe and stay hidden until the shit storm would pass.

The island and the Castle are still there, Ames thought, starting packing. Protected by the thick walls of the fortress, he would plan his revenge and would build an empire of crime, blood, drugs, and fear. The man knew he couldn't do everything by himself but already had the perfect partner in mind. Just wait, motherfuckers, Ames thought, you won't see it coming.

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“Here it is.” Fabian offered Graeme a smile, pushing the envelope with Count Borovsky's will across the desk. “It's everything in here, the original will written in Russian, the English and French original copies, and the deeds of all the properties.”

“Thank you...I guess.” Graeme ran his fingertips over the rough surface of the envelope. “I still can't believe it,” he continued, swallowing thickly. “It's insane, surreal, only the thought of all this wealth being mine makes my head spin.”

“And still, you have plenty of time to get used to the idea.” Ardan looked into Graeme's eyes. “Did you think of what you will do with the land and everything else?”

“Yes, I did,” the man admitted with a smile. “I'll hire Stark, Bloom &Associates to represent me and negotiate with the Russian government on my behalf. I intend to give them back the land and the mines for a fraction of their price. I'm not a greedy man. A couple of billion will do.” Graeme grinned.

“Not much at all.” Ardan nodded, smirking. “And then? What are you going to do with the money? Excuse me if I insist too much on this subject, it’s just that...”

“I understand.” Graeme stopped him with a gesture of his hand. “I would be curious, too, if I were you. I'll track down the descendents of Borovsky's servants who followed him in the States and give them each a million dollars as a reward for their ancestors' loyalty to the family. As for the rest...”

“Yes?” Fabian encouraged Graeme to continue. “What are your plans for the rest of the money?”

“I want to build dreams and help the angels whose wings were clipped to fly again. I want to feed the bodies, minds, and souls of the abused, abandoned, and neglected, protect and love them as they deserve. I'll build my own Base and call it The Haven.”

EPILOGUE

“Welcome home, boss,” Craig Darrow greeted Graeme, gesturing to the empty chair at the end of the table in the conference room. “Please, take a seat. It’s rightfully yours,” he continued, moving between MacCabe and Fitzgerald where he always sat before being appointed as temporary leader of the organization.

“Happy to see you in one piece, boss.” MacIntyre tipped an imaginary hat. “Rumours were that greedy, traitorous bastard MacTeague wanted to kill you. Also, we've heard you are filthy rich.” The man grinned.

“For many years, Niles was one of us,” Graeme spoke in a sad voice. “His father and grandfather helped mine to make this organization into what it is today. Because of this, I won’t comment on his actions, and I want to ask you to do the same. And yes, the rumours about my immense wealth are true. When the time comes, it will be passed down to Camlann,” he continued, looking around the room.

It's the right thing to do.” MacIntyre solemnly nodded. “He's your only child. Look, boss, if you want to appoint the kid as your successor, I have nothing against it, and I think everyone in this room agrees with me.”

“I'm glad you brought this up, George,”—Graeme offered the advisor a friendly smile—“because there is something I would want to share with you. It's about the identity of my son's mother.” The man paused a little, then continued in a thick voice, his eyes glistening with tears. “Her name was Abigail, sister of Godfrey and Grant MacNamara.”

“Damn!” Timothy Fitzgerald exclaimed, eyes wide with surprise and shock. “Your son has a strong bloodline on maternal side, boss. Godfrey MacNamara was a piece of trash, but his sons are men of great honor and integrity, especially Ardan.”

“Yes, you are right.” Graeme nodded. “Over the past few weeks, I've spent a lot of time in his company, and I can tell you everything they say about him being a hero is true. My son's cousin even gave me an idea about how to put my money to good use and your old, fat asses to work.” He turned to MacIntyre and those grouped around him, all of them in their mid-to-late forties.

“Let's hear, boss,” the new advisor said, making no efforts to hide his curiosity. “I'm sure any advice coming from Ardan MacNamara can only be excellent, though.”

“He inspired me to start fighting against one of the most heinous crimes plaguing our city: child trafficking. Are you in?”

“You bet.” Lawrence MacCabe rubbed his hands together, making no efforts to hide his excitement. “Let's kill some motherfuckers and free the poor souls from their dirty claws.”

“What can I say?” James McGuire, another of the older, important associates, intervened, “I could use some action, so you can count on me. Sorry, I wanted to say the young boss can count on me.”

“Thank you very much, Jamie. I'll let Camlann know.” Graeme offered the man a smile. “Speaking of, for a while, my son will be represented by my former assistant Keith, who will closely collaborate with him and will carry his orders.”

“I totally understand.” George MacIntyre nodded, his voice ridden with guilt. “All of us treated the young boss horribly, and, even if we deeply regret our foolish behavior, our words and actions produced effects, and it will take time until young boss Camlann can fully trust us.”

“Thank you all for the support.” Graeme looked around the room once again. “From next council meeting on, this seat”—he gestured to his chair—”will belong to Keith. I don't intend to appoint another advisor. The two of us agreed that George is the perfect choice for the job.”

“I... I’ll do everything in my power to make myself worthy of the young boss's trust,” MacIntyre stuttered, dipping his head. “And Keith's, of course,” he added in the same respectful voice.

The advisor then announced that the vote could start and, just like it happened in his case, Camlann was unanimously confirmed as the new boss of the organization. Graeme smiled internally when he saw the men's genuine enthusiasm, the atmosphere totally different than the one from the previous meeting when he had to twist his associates' arm into voting his son for the same position.

Graeme silently thanked the deities who made it possible for him to meet Ardan and rescue him that rainy night. Without the man's words of wisdom and clever plan, he couldn't have found the traitor and take his organization back. Most likely, the power-thirsty, greedy motherfucker would have had him, Keith and Camlann killed. Graeme balled his hands into fists at the thought.

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