Page 9 of The Debt

“I’m offering solutions, Mr. Simmons. A generous signing bonus for Ms. Rodriguez’s cooperation might help ease the transition. Consider it part of your operational costs.” Jarek shifted on his chair. “The timeline stays at one week. However, I’m willing to provide additional security resources to ensure a smooth transition. My men can be very... persuasive when dealing with reluctant middle management.”

Simmons dabbed at his forehead again with a sweat-soaked handkerchief. “And if I refuse?”

“Then this conversation never happened, and I’ll find another financial institution more amenable to my terms. Though, I should mention… banking licenses are a surprisingly fragile commodity. Sometimes, anonymous tips about irregular transactions can lead to very thorough audits.” Jarek’s voice remained conversational. “But I don’t think it will come to that. I believe you to be a practical man, Mr. Simmons. You understand the value of being on the winning side.”

Jarek gestured at Declan, who had been standing quietly by his side.

“We’re done.”

“But how—”

“As the saying goes… don’t contact us, we’ll contact you. The moment I have confirmation of you severing your alliance with Polov, my people will provide all the routing information and details you require. Our first transaction of twenty-five million is scheduled for eight days from tomorrow. Don’t make me regret my decision, Mr. Simmons.”

Jarek watched dispassionately as two of his soldiers placed the hood over Simmons’ head and escorted the shaken man to the door. He had no sympathy for the banker. Simmons’ decision to risk everything and do business with organized crime syndicates had been made with one goal in mind—increase the bank’s profit margin. It would be a windfall, paying handsome dividends to himself and the bank’s shareholders.

“Amazing that a man as clever as Simmons was so short-sighted to risk involvement with Polov.” Jarek shook his head. “Barring the fact that it completely lacks any consideration for the legal, moral, and ethical consequences that’ll loom up to haunt his conscience one day, it further kicks the door open for even more criminal behavior by the bank.”

“You’re right, Boss. It’s never enough to have enough. More is always better.”

“The question is, how much more, my friend? What is the limit? I’ll tell you. There isn’t one. It’s a high-stakes poker game. Casino capitalism. Simmons will go all in and bet the house.”

Blinded by insatiable greed and untethered from all reasonable thought, the endgame would have a predictable outcome.

“Eventually, he would have to pay the piper, right?” Declan snickered.

“Don’t be deceived, my dear man. What you sow, you shall reap.” Jarek said with a smirk that pulled taut the corners of his mouth in an asymmetrical expression of satisfaction. “Let’s go celebrate, Declan. There’s a forty-year-old Macallan in my wine cellar that’s been waiting for just an occasion like this.”

Chapter Five

Jarek

An hour later… Four Seasons Private Residences, One Dalton Street, Boston…

Jarek and Declan rode the private elevator in silence to the sixty-first floor of the Four Seasons. The penthouse apartment, occupying the entire floor of Boston’s third-tallest building, offered a commanding view of the city through its floor-to-ceiling windows. At night, the curved glass walls created an almost ethereal atmosphere, with the city lights stretching out below like a carpet of stars.

The space was an example of the rarefied world inhabited by the untold wealth of the rich and powerful, with over seven thousand square feet of meticulously designed luxury. A priceless collection of paintings and sculptures, which bore witness to Jarek’s obsession with Modern Art, populated the walls and open floors. Their stark colors contrasted beautifully with the warm walnut floors. The open-concept living area, with its twenty-foot ceilings and custom Italian furniture, seemed to float above the city.

Jarek moved toward the north-facing windows, where the murky brown tint of the Charles River snaked through the urban landscape.

The kitchen was a masterpiece of sleek design with its book-matched marble surfaces and hidden appliances. Yet, they bore the pristine appearance of minimal use. He rarely cooked. Food had become merely fuel over the years.

“Do you trust him?” Declan’s question echoed slightly in the vast space as he followed Jarek into the living area as their ghostlike images in the windows adhered to them in lockstep.

“There are only two people I trust in this world, Declan... and they’re both in this room.”

“Then why take the risk? He could run straight to Polov,” Declan commented while settling into one of the custom leather chairs.

A cold smile played across Jarek’s lips as he turned from the spectacular view.

“Mr. Simmons will receive a package tomorrow morning. Inside, he’ll find the severed ring finger of Board Member James Morrison, along with a simple note that says, choose wisely.” The words hung suspended in the air. Jarek grinned. “Morrison is currently enjoying a paid vacation in the Maldives, courtesy of our organization, but Simmons doesn’t need to know that. The finger belongs to a John Doe from the morgue. Having contacts in the right places has its advantages.”

Declan nodded slowly as understanding dawned on his face. “Insurance.”

“Indeed.” Jarek stood up and walked back to the wall of windows that overlooked the Boston skyline. The spectrum of city lights blurred through the glass, reminiscent of another night twenty years ago when a kaleidoscope of flashing emergency lights had illuminated the ghoulish horror that lay in front of him. The memory staggered him—Lisbet’s body with its tangle of limbs sprawled across the sidewalk, her life’s blood flowing into a depression in the sidewalk to pool with those dripping from Emma. It was the thick, crimson sheen with its metallic odor and abstraction of reflected images, along with the vacant, unblinking eyes staring into nothingness that would forever haunt his mind.

Initially, revenge had seemed simple—kill Polov and balance the scales. But as the years passed and the darkness spread like cancer, Jarek realized the truth. The Polovskaya Bratva wasn’t just Gregor Polov. It was a Hydra, the multi-headed monster that guarded the entrance to the underworld. It had turned the streets of Atlanta into a graveyard that night. His family hadn’t been the only collateral damage. Over the years, many innocents had suffered the same fate. They had to be destroyed by root and stem.

“Twenty years,” he murmured, lost in thought. “Twenty years of becoming the very thing I hated.”

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