Page 11 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
My palms itch, though, as I think through ways I can exploit any news.
“She’s a teenager now, yeah?” I throw out, trying to sound casual, if even a bit distracted.
Lakeland huffs.
“Yes. And she’s old enough to know what she’s good for, and yet…” he sighs as if he were a tired parent having to deal with a rebellious kid. “I’ll get her straightened out. It doesn’t take much to make her fall in line.”
I hum in response.
“She’s testing boundaries, but she knows who she belongs to,” Lakeland adds.
Revulsion slides into my gut at that ominous statement.
“Did you handle that situation with the Lorio family?” Lakeland asks, and I change my position in the seat, somewhat grateful for the subject shift.
“Of course,” I reply. “Handled. And as for the other thing—I pulled out of Sebastian’s deal and scooped up another position in a stock I’ve got…an eye on.”
I crack my neck from side to side. Who cares about the SEC and insider trading? The way I’ve got Stratos locked down and with Lakeland’s connections, no one touches us.
I could be disgusted by this fact, but instead, I choose to use it.
Exploit it.
Hold this truth in my back pocket until I can use it to my benefit…and destroy Lakeland.
“You’ve got the Midas Touch, nephew,” Lakeland says, and I grit my teeth.
“If that will be all…” I trail off, very much wanting to get off the phone. My palm itches with the need to leave here and checkthe secured folder I have access to on the encrypted device Axel, Riale, and I use to communicate.
“There’s one more thing. Well, maybe two,” Lakeland says, and someone in the distance on the other end of the phone releases a howling laugh. More people join in.
“I’m listening,” I say. Lakeland pulls the phone away from his face, his voice muffled when he says something to someone, and more laughter follows.
I grit my teeth, wanting to reach through the phone line and strangle him just for existing.
Time. With time, Storm.
“Lakeland,” I grind out, raising my voice, and he’s still chuckling when he returns to the call.
“Yes, two things,” he says, taking a deep breath. “There’s a business opportunity that’s being roadblocked. I need you to clear the path.”
I lift an eyebrow.
“Oh? Have any more details than that?” I ask, but then there’s more laughter.
“Keystone Financial. Used to be owned by the Braxton family, but they fell on hard times. The son, the CEO, happened to be a crackhead and, well, you know how that goes.”
As ironic as it is, seeing as we finance more than half of the American drug trade, I do know how that goes. Most people in the financial industry would be considered high-functioning cocaine addicts, but there is always a point where they go from functioning to non-functioning.
Most of them end up in a rehab outside Calabasas, but every once in a while, families who want to make an example, or are tired of the financial waste that comes along with supporting their drug-addicted family members, will make a public spectacle of kicking them out of the will.
“All right, so you want to buy Keystone?” I ask.
“Not exactly. I still need the deal to go through, and the exec board’s proving... uncooperative. Too many bleeding hearts and watchdogs slowing things down. You, on the other hand, know how to make people see reason,” Lakeland says.
I blow out a breath.
“All right. Where are they headquartered?” I ask, scribbling on the paper.
