Page 10 of Vicious Hearts

The Power of Influence:

One of the key concerns surrounding the suspected ties between the businessman and the mafia is the potential influence it may have over his connections with various governments. Critics argue that such relationships could compromise a government’s integrity, leading to questionable business practices and disregard for legal and ethical boundaries. This raises concerns for the broader impact on the economy and society at large.

Legal Scrutiny and Public Perception:

The businessman's alleged ties to the mafia have not gone unnoticed by law enforcement agencies and regulatory bodies. Although no formal charges have been forthcoming, one source claims there is evidence of criminal activity, and charges are imminent.

Although seemingly a ghost, this Robin Hood of the business world is loved by the people, especially for his tendency to support those less fortunate through substantial donations to charitable organizations and marginalized communities. Referred to as King Midas in some publications, public perception of his character has been significantly damaged by these ongoing suspicions.

Implications for Society:

When we look at a businessman with dubious connections to organized crime, it’s crucial to understand the potential ramifications beyond the realm of business as this corruption seeps into the fabric of society. If true, it raises questions about the known relationship between Rojas and several governments who deal with the businessman. It also highlights the need for increased transparency, accountability and regulation to prevent the exploitation of legitimate businesses for illicit purposes.

While evidence is lacking, the persistent whispers we heard during our investigative process raised more questions than they answered. The story of this multi-faceted businessman is a complex and intriguing one filled with speculation. It serves as a reminder of the potential dangers that can arise when the worlds of legitimate business and organized crime intersect. As society continues to grapple with these challenges, it is crucial to remain vigilant and ensure that the integrity of our economic systems is not challenged.

The day I submit my mission impossible task, Mr Hinkelbaum calls me into his office. The old man sets his beady eyes on me then slaps his hand down hard on his desk, causing me to almost jump out of my skin. Through the glass, I can see heads rise as everyone places their bet on what they think will happen next. I know a few of them are probably gloating, just waiting for me to fail and get fired. Probably the same people who had concerns about my performance. Fucking ass kicking ladder climbers.

“Why couldn’t you give me this standard two weeks ago?” Mr Hinkelbaum asks.

I’m silent as I look at him. Two weeks ago, I thought my life was ending because I found out that my “boyfriend” was a serial cheater. Two weeks ago, I was planning on committing a murder, and I probably would have gotten away with it, too. Two weeks ago, I was not in the right frame of mind to write my own name, let alone an exposé like this.

“This is exceptional work; I dare say, some of your best work. Congratulations, you’ve just saved your job.”

I’m too speechless to say anything. I walk to the door slowly, turning only when Mr Hinkelbaum decides to address me by my correct name. After four years of practice. I wonder if he got my name wrong all those times on purpose.

“Oh, and by the way, thanks to your amazing investigative journalism, the government’s bringing charges against Rojas. He’ll be indicted in the morning."

* * *

I don’t know how I feel about sending a man to jail. That was never my intention when I wrote the article. I know next to nothing about him and went off what I could get from sources and anything I could glean from past articles. Which wasn’t much; the man is literally a ghost. I couldn’t even find a picture of him past a grainy photo from a distance. Eventually, I had to rely on AI to give me a computer-generated likeness. Mr Hinkelbaum didn’t seem to care that I’d regurgitated the same sentence in every section of the article, playing on the criminal element more than anything else. But that’s precisely what he’d asked for. He’d wanted raw and edgy and hard hitting. And that’s what I’d given him. Mystery and sin and suspense.

Still, a small sliver of guilt settles in my stomach, weaving its way up until it nestles in my brain. I don’t want to be that sellout journalist that writes for the sake of spewing out something. I want to write the facts, and I want to do it well. I don’t want to release an article on the day that it will coincide with a man’s demise.

8

CALEPH

My heart pounds dramatically in my chest, threatening to escape its confines. The words start to blur, forming a sinister tapestry in my mind; someone will have to pay for this. I shake my head, clearing my mind of the overwhelming urge to smack something hard, the need to gut someone overpowering. It was probably Daniels – he was the brains of the outfit, and he was the most connected. He’d put this plan in motion, and he’d done it well.

I stare down at the paper in my hand. I knew they’d been planning something, just not this. I thought for sure a hitman, which I would’ve been able to handle. But this? This was beyond anything I had engineered even in my own head.

The room feels stifling, the air heavy with the weight of ink on paper. I traverse the length of the yacht until I’m on the deck, inhaling long frantic breaths of air as I try to collect my thoughts. I pour myself a drink from the minibar, trying to find solace in the amber depths of the liquid. I’ve worked hard to build and foster a legitimate business empire, and now they wanted to take that away from me. Strip me of my freedom with an article detailing my connections to the underworld, my participation in illicit activities. There was not a shred of evidence to the rumors surfacing, had never been, yet this article somehow still managed to make its way to the front pages of the media. There wasn’t even a picture of me, for crying out loud. Just an AI generated image that could point to me not even being human. Maybe I was a ghost, after all?

I stand at the bow of the boat looking out at the ocean. The Diabolique is the first Superyacht I ever bought and it’s my favorite. The luxury appointments are second to none, a floating houseboat that means I never have to live on land if I don’t want to. And right now, I don’t want to.

I feel a mixture of anger, fear and betrayal as I reconsider the plan I outlined to Attila and second guess allowing the five corrupt men in my rearview mirror to live. It would be so easy to just carve out their hearts and watch them bleed out for what they’ve done. All five of them.

The article rips away the veil of ignorance surrounding my business dealings. It’s a load of recycled crap, concentrating on my “mafia connection” several times throughout the document, but the writer does such a good job of repeating her garbage, thus cementing the theory that I know this is going to be harmful. This is going to bring me unwanted attention; it’s going to focus the spotlight on my empire, and that is something I can’t idly stand by and watch happen. Not when I’ve worked so hard and sacrificed so much to get this far.

And there is no way that I will bow to those dogs, selling to them only to have them turn around and on-sell to criminal groups that are targeting the weak and vulnerable. If that had ever been my end goal, I would have taken that road myself.

My phone rings as I’m reading the article for the third time. It doesn’t seem so bad the more I read it. I may have mentally exaggerated the effect it will have on people. My muscles start to relax, the tension seeping out of every pore as I start to breathe easily again. Until I answer my phone.

It’s Seven, my main man whose sole purpose is to collect information for me. He does it well. He’s a man that came up in the ranks, named Seven because it’s the number of kill shots he had before he called it a day and found God. Now he dedicates his days to sitting behind a computer screen monitoring world events, specifically anything to do with me or that could affect me or my business adversely.

I’ve always believed that information is power, and that mantra doesn’t prove more accurate than now as he relays his latest acquisition. I don’t pay the man enough, I realize, as he hits me with the second blow of the day.

“If you’re in US waters, you might want to get out quick,” he says. “The US government is indicting you on multiple charges and I dare say you’ve just made it onto the FBI’s most wanted list.”

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