Page 20 of My Wild Horse King

“This was a domestic dispute,” Aleksandr says. “I assure you, your interference is not required.”

“Interference?” The other officer raises his gun an inch and frowns. “We were told that you dragged this man—” He tosses his head in my direction. “—across the lobby and shoved him into this stairwell.”

“That’s what happened.” Kristiana’s smiling. “But if you have a brother, I bet you’ve wanted to drag him around from time to time.”

The officer’s hand wobbles a little.

“My brother has been ignoring my calls for weeks, and lately, I’ve been calling more and more. We have some complicated family stuff to work out, and he refused to listen.” She tilts her head and sighs dramatically. “Not a good time for him apparently, but then, it never is.”

The second officer glances at me, and I don’t argue. He drops his weapon. “In the future, you shouldn’t drag people, especially tenants of this building, through public places. I can’t speak for Russia, but we frown on that in America.”

“I’ll remember that,” Kristiana says. “I’m so sorry to bother you.”

“Someone in the lobby claims you smashed their phone,” the first officer says as he returns Aleksandr’s passport.

“I did,” the stocky man beside Mirdza says. “I’m sorry about that.” He reaches for his pocket and both officers lift their guns again. “I’m just grabbing my wallet.”

They relax a bit, and he pulls out a wad of cash. “Can you offer this to the person whose phone I destroyed and tell them that I’m very sorry?”

“That’s not really how—” the first officer starts.

But the second one takes the cash and nods. “We’ll take care of it.”

I don’t have the heart to tell the stocky guy that the person who lost their phone will never see a dime of that money. It is New York, after all. Hopefully that guy had insurance on it. The wad of cash does get rid of the officers, though, thankfully.

Before Kris can start ordering me around again, my phone rings. It’s Jean, of course. “Yes,” I say. “I’m delayed, so you’re going to have to start without me.”

“I’ve never—I can’t lead the meeting.”

“You can,” I say. “You know this stuff better than anyone other than me. But if you don’t want to, that’s why we’re paying the lawyers and that stupid investment bank so much money. Tell them I’ve had a family emergency and let one of them take lead. They came up with half the content.”

“Daniel, we need you—they want to hear from Trifecta’s Founder and CEO about our vision.”

“And starting tomorrow morning, everyone will hear from me. Tell them that, thanks to an unforeseen emergency, I’m detained and they’re still getting the first pass—no other calls or meetings today. At the end of the day, if they aren’t interested, it’s fine. We have two dozen other meetings set up already with more to come.”

“But if they don’t commit to buying any,” Jean whispers, trailing off. “They’reBlack Rock.”

“You can do this,” I say. “I believe you can.” Then I hang up, because there are six people staring at me, and I’m still standing in a stairwell after being dragged here by, well, byair.Kris has some explaining to do, and quick. “I really do have two weeks of solid meetings. The roadshow is the single most important moment in the entire IPO process. You have some truly horrific timing.”

“You’re not safe,” Kristiana says. “I’m not here for me. I’m here for you.”

I roll my eyes. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

“Have you been following Russian politics at all?” Aleksandr asks.

Knowing he is my brother-in-law, and that he’s fully Russian, I’m actually impressed that his accent’s so slight. “I know the Russians have gone entirely mad and voted to return to a monarchy.”

“Britain has a monarchy,” Mirdza says.

“Britain has a frosting monarchy,” I say. “They’re a social nicety. The monarchs are trotted out for photos and to keep bored people happy. They’re not involved in the government in any way.” But something that was digging at me before hits me then. “Wait.” I turn toward the pretty, wannabe Calvin Klein guy. “You—the Latvian citizen named Adriana who was dating the would-be Romanov czar. . . Was thatyou?”

The blond man with bright blue eyes shrugs. “Alexei Romanov.”

I can’t even speak when I feel my phone buzzing this time. I whip it out and press it to my ear. “What, Jean? I told you, you can do this, and I’m really busy.”

“Jean?” a man’s voice asks. “Who’s Jean?”

“Oh.” Almost no one has this phone number. I assumed. . .incorrectly, clearly. “I’m sorry. Who is this?”

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