Page 88 of Double Down
I run the flat of my hand across the surface of the desk, letting the coolness of the wood seep into my skin. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk, the Savannah River winds sinuously through buildings and landmarks I could recognize with my eyes closed. I’ve been in this office, at this window, beside this desk a thousand times over the years.
This is my home. My legacy. And yet, just sitting behind this desk feels a little like trespassing, even though legally and practically it’s mine.
That’s the legacy my father has left me. One of hesitancy and insecurity.
A flash of anger winds through me as I stare down at the river, and I stand a little taller. Fuck that.
It’s not trespassing. More like playing pretend. I’m playing at being master of the universe. None of this feels real. It’s like I’m fantasizing about a life where I’m in charge, and Phoenix Jones is actually mine, this empire is mine, and my empress actually wants me.
I’m no more cut out to rule this world than I am to keep her. She left me once, and as soon as this resort fails and I’m left with nothing, she’ll leave me again. It’s who she is. Except now, when she leaves, I won’t be the only broken man she walks away from.
Until then, I guess I’ll keep living my little fantasy, lying to myself, telling myself I can break her first.
I sit and smooth both hands over the desk once again. I’ve taken my father’s seat in every way but one—he wouldn’t have tolerated this chaos. I won’t either, not any longer.
After another long sip of coffee, I get to work, even though Sisyphus has a better chance of getting that boulder to the top of the mountain than I do of beating this shit.
I dial the lawyers first. They pick up on the second ring.
“Morning, Conrad,” the senior partner says, like I’m not calling at seven a.m. “I’ve been expecting your call.”
“Your associate should’ve filled you in. He’s an ass, by the way. How do I control the police before they harass my staff into quitting?”
He makes a noise, pen scratching. “Can you prove harassment? Any documentation I can use?”
“If I had time to shadow every interaction, maybe. Right now I’m getting complaints from managers and watching good people walk out the door. Three of my top people left yesterday, and I have a feeling more are planning to walk today.”
“Then you need documentation. I can’t do anything based on hearsay. Cameras, audio—the works. Anything that shows a pattern and harm to your business. Every single time they set foot on your property, they should be on tape. That way, if this escalates, you’ve got leverage.”
Leverage. I roll my eyes. Everyone keeps using that word like it’s comforting. I don’t want leverage; I want results.
“And the drugs?” I press. A knock sounds on the door, interrupting my train of thought momentarily. “Hold on a sec.”
I open the door to discover Phoenix on the other side. Her hair is damp from a recent shower, her face is bare of makeup, and she’s dressed simply, in an oversized shirt that belongs to Atticus, if I’m not mistaken. I wave her in, holding the phoneup so she can see that I’m mid-conversation, and return to lean against the desk. “I’m back. What do you suggest I do about that?”
Phoenix nods and follows me to press a chaste kiss to my jawline before moving to sit on one of the overstuffed leather Chesterfields. My gaze follows her, bemused.
“You need to get ahead of the supply chain, Conrad. Find the point of entry, cut it off, and let the optics follow. Right now the optics are killing you. No other hotel is having this problem. It’s just this one property, which means the media will paint the place as unsafe. Soon you’re going to bleed money and guests. We can’t leash the cops until bodies stop falling.”
I hang up without promising anything, because I’ve already been doing all of that. It’s not enough.
Whoever’s doing this is doing it under my nose and just out of reach.
For a second, temptation creeps in.
I could run.Wash my hands of this entire thing, burn it all to ash. Close the resort, gut it, start over somewhere else.
Maybe the Titans come with me; maybe they don’t.
My father would cut me off, but I have other assets he doesn’t know about. Money in offshore accounts. A stock portfolio worth an easy seven figures thanks to Atticus hyper-focusing on investments before he got medicated.
I have skills. I could take Phoenix and start over without the bullshit.
There’s a sick appeal in walking away and letting every toxic thing my father ever touched die. I watch her, debating and brooding.
She’s perched on the arm of the leather couch like she belongs there, one leg hooked under her, hair loose around her shoulders. The sleeves of the big, loose shirt fall over her hands as she scrolls through her phone.
This isn’t just a building, though.
