Page 24 of Vicious Hearts

Above all, he appreciates his privacy, talking openly about his need for solitude and peace, away from the prying eyes of an insatiable public.

SMART INVESTING OR LUCK?

We start in a small munitions factory in Bavaria, where one man’s vision turned a dream into reality. From small potatoes selling munitions to small countries in Europe and the Middle East to a second factory that managed five times the output, Titan Industries grew to become the largest supplier of munitions on Earth.

Winning contracts with superpowers all over the world, Titan quickly diversified into precious metals, logistics and real estate, making it one of the wealthiest privately owned companies in the world.

Rojas goes on to explain that luck had nothing to do with his meteoric rise to the top; he wistfully recalls twenty-hour work days which saw him refining and redefining his business plan until it reached the standard he was looking for.

TIES TO ORGANIZEDCRIME

We’ve all heard the stories. We’ve all been privy to the rumors and innuendo that have plagued Caleph Rojas for the better part of a decade. Whilst no one knows where or how these rumors started, they do indeed appear to be a figment of someone’s overactive imagination.

Poring over legal documents and financial reports, it’s not hard to follow the money trail. Titan Industries have their house in order, their substantial earnings resulting in exorbitant taxes and excises, all of which have been settledontime,everytime. Further independent investigation also revealed the magnitude and genius of Titan’s assets. Every industry under their umbrella connects to their primary moneymaker – arms manufacturing. They use their metals to manufacture arms, their logistics company to move them, and their real estate to house storage and manufacturing facilities, eliminating the need to outsource most services and keeping their profits in-house.

PHILANTHROPY

Aside from pledging substantial sums to charitable organizations, Rojas has been instrumental in creating several community initiatives around the world. He’s responsible for the establishment of schools, hospitals, orphanages and hostels internationally. When probed, he admitted funding support flows not only from Titan, but also from his own deep pockets.

Diving into an expiry date on his commitments, Rojas gives me a small laugh and reminds me that giving does not simply stop when we are gone. He produces documents dating back six years specifying perpetual contributions to the institutions he has had a hand in establishing as long as their doors remain open.

He speaks with an insurmountable passion about current projects he is undertaking, including homes for youths and special education units for the illiterate. His objectives are admirable, leaving little doubt that this modern-day Robin Hood will leave behind him a legacy not easily forgotten.

KING CALEPH ROJAS

I entered the interview room with pre-conceived notions of a man rumored to be deeply entrenched in the mob. Instead, I found a man who has single-handedly built himself a vast fortune from the ground up. A businessman who gives generously of his money and resources and would gladly give of his time if not for his aversion to life in the public eye. A man who propels himself forward at every opportunity for betterment.

Akingwho does so much but considers he hasn’t done enough.

20

CALEPH

Ariadne has outdone herself.

I keep thinking I should have her on my payroll. I really need an Ariadne in my camp. If I had thought her original article about me was good enough to convince the masses, I had no idea just how good she is. She practically paints me as a saint, and I would kiss her silly if she were standing in front of me right now.

I made page two of her publication, which is still decent enough considering my politico friends were splashed all over page one. In big bold lettering, with a picture in the mainframe that would probably take out the Photograph of the Year Award.

The accompanying article about the botched arms deal was indeed explosive. It named names, pointed to inadequacies in policing, and exposed the underbelly of power, greed and corruption in government. There were five resignations in total as the Senate went into damage control, the shockwaves far-reaching as the story gained momentum. No one escaped exposure, the article acting as the gateway to further scrutiny.

Ariadne explained in painstaking detail how the government officials tasked with arming our military forces were on-selling arms to rogue military factions and terrorists at exploitative prices for financial gain. In a little blurb less than a paragraph long, she explained how I had reneged on my deal with them when I learnt of this and how they had gone on to taint my name to avoid paying the debt they owed. Short and sweet.

She moved on from any mention of my name to suggest they had connected with a new buyer, who was the source of the pictures as well as the tip-off. She basically rinsed me clean of any involvement, for which I would be eternally grateful to her.

But the proof was in the pudding. The submission of photos highlighting all five men accepting a cache of money from the Hondurans, where they handed over munitions they had purchased on behalf of the government. Supplying a known criminal enterprise. The proof was indisputable, the politicians’ faces clear as day. And no one would ever know that I had a hand in the trade that resulted in their imprints all over my cameras. Furthermore, no one would ever know that the crates were full of defective munitions, which would eventually result in the Hondurans screaming bloody murder at their suppliers. If the courts didn’t get those damn crooked politicians, the Hondurans most certainly would.

The news has been broadcast across every media outlet across the world, and the reporter who broke the story has become the media darling everyone wants in their stable. For some odd reason, I hear she’s chosen to stay where she is, in her current job, but with a substantial raise and the option to pick and choose what she wants to report on.

She’s only been gone five days, but already I feel a void in my chest as we sail on, heading out of US waters. We’re barely past the North Pacific Ocean when my phone rings and I see it’s Seven, who rarely calls me unless there’s something to report.

“I thought you might want to know,” he starts, without any fanfare. “Someone’s just put a bounty on Ariadne Moore’s head.”

* * *

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck!”I screech, punching my phone like it’s a living breathing thing and I can kill it. I’m too far away to make a difference, even if I leave now by chopper. I don’t want to make it back to Seattle to cradle her head as she lies gasping her last breath on a sidewalk somewhere. I have only one option and I take it.

I call Dante Accardi, who called yesterday to congratulate me on finding my footing again and getting the FBI off my back, so I know he’s in Seattle. I rattle off my problem in such a rush he screams through the phone at me to slow down and start over. I’m frantic as I tell him about Ariadne, and I don’t know why this is affecting me this way, but it could be the thought of her dying because of something she did for me. I can’t stomach the thought, and I can’t see past my emotions and retain a level head.

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