Page 72 of Adored
But that money…
Fifty million was nothing to the group, but it was important for a few reasons. The biggest one was that he had an ego, and that piece of shit had dared to steal from him.
You didn’t steal from Von Donore.
Oh, and live to tell about it.
The second reason was because it made him look weak in front of the other members of the group.
That wasn’t good.
Not.
At.
All.
Now that he was in his office, there were some things to handle—mainly where the holy hell that footlocker was going to be.
It wasn’t at the doctor’s home, so that meant the locations were limited. His men had gone through Hemmingway’s things before they were boxed up, but the man had been clever.
Obviously.
“Where is he?” he asked his one soldier, knowing he’d be well aware of who he meant.
He gave him an answer.
Hopefully, it would calm the man down.
“We lost track of him for a while, but we just picked up some news on the AP wire. Apparently, the doctor is back home, taking over for his parents. He’s going to be having a wake tomorrow for his deceased family.”
Von leaned back in his chair.
This was good.
It was clear they assumed he would be safe from him, and that was anything but the truth. Oh, he couldn’t get to him, but money bought mercenaries, and he had money to make that happen.
“I want him handled. I personally went over all of Hemmingway Seville’s things, and nothing stood out.”
The man waited.
“The good doctor said something about the footlocker, and I need it. Find it, and make sure you handle the Duke. That bloodline is coming to an end.”
The man nodded.
“Very well, Sir. We already have a couple of individuals in place to handle the Duke. They’ll make their moves on him, and the man won’t see it coming. His home is back up to full staff for the wake and dinner party afterward.”
That worked for him.
They were running out of time, and by‘they’, he meant him. With the other two people who also headed the group, he could be…handled.
And this was bringing them too much attention.
“I don’t care how you do it, but make it happen,” he ordered.
Oh, he would.
“Find me the fifty million, or your head will be served on a silver platter, Finnegan.”
