Page 6 of The Hate Date

A Few Weeks Later

My black Bentley Flying Spur Mulliner pulls up to the sleek, glass building off Wilshire Boulevard.

Ordinarily, I don’t usually handle the changing of the guard when I take over a distressed business. Today, however, is special. It requires my personal touch.

“Please wait for me here. I won’t be too long,” I address my regular Los Angeles driver-slash-security detail, Victor, who nods his understanding.

As I exit my car, I button the jacket on my bespoke Cad & The Dandy navy linen suit and slide on my Bulgari sunglasses. It’s a short hundred yards or so to the entrance, but I deliberately take my time.

I even stop to tie the laces on one of my custom Berluti loafers, resting my foot on the edge of a large pool where a mermaid sculpture spouts water from her mouth.

Oh, I’m certain everyone who’s still working at Eminence Partners has their nose pressed to the window twenty floors above me. I’m expected.

Feared.

As I should be. I’m about to take charge.

Pushing through the front door, the security guard seems to be expecting me. I like that. He shows me to the elevator bank. Once inside, I check the time on my phone. Seth King, my best friend and general counsel arrived an hour ago. I love sending my surly, take-no-shit advisor in ahead of me.

It keeps everyone on edge.

The doors open into the reception area of Eminence, once the most-trusted money management firms for the worldwide elite. Up until founder Harrison Finklestein screwed everyone by using client funds to back illegal celebrity poker games. Finklestein was in cahoots with famed movie director, Don Kircher, who’s in jail for some misogynistic shit that puts Harvey Weinstein to shame.

Finklestein’s going to rot in a cell next to that asshole, I’ll make sure of that.

“Mr. Jacoby,” a tiny girl with an oversized dress and glasses addresses me shyly. “I’m Maria. We’re expecting you. Everyone’s set up in the back conference room. Mr. King is already here. Can I get you a coffee? Water?”

Impressed by her professionalism in the face of the shitstorm that’s about to descend upon this office, I refrain from intimidating her too much. She could be useful at some point. “It’s Joar. Rhymes with ‘door.’ And, I’m fine. Thank you. Please just show me the way.”

I follow her down the hall, which is curiously lined with expensive original artwork on one side and huge portraits of the partners on the other. These fuckers sure spared no expense on the art, which I understand. Convincing the richest people in the world to allow them to handle their money requires putting forth a certain image.

What the fuck is up with the portraits though? It’s like they’re leaning in to the tired, old stereotype that middle-aged white guys are the only people qualified to manage money. Not a person of color or woman in sight.

Idiots.

“They’re in here.” Maria stops and gestures to a room where four of the real-life versions of the portraits are seated around a large, oblong table.

Seth, who is seated at the far end, stands when I enter. “Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Joar Jacoby.”

Three of the men greet me politely. I don’t remember any of their names but why bother? None of them will likely be here tomorrow. No need to clog my mind with insignificant details of dead men walking.

The other man is Finklestein. A man I haven’t seen since I was twenty-one. He glares at me petulantly.

“Harrison. It’s been a few years.” I take a seat and lean back in my chair. Scan the room indifferently until my eyes land back on the man whose life is about to get a whole lot worse. “When does your trial start? I swear, it couldn’t happen to a more deserving asshole.”

Arrogantly, he pounds his fist on the table. “How dare you.”

Ignoring his outburst, I take my sunglasses off and chew on the temple tip. He stares me down, but I’m patient. When his eyes dart away, I hold a finger up. “You’re no longer in charge here. Get a good look, you won’t be back.”

His eyes widen. “Um…” he mumbles, clearly caught off guard.

“I’ll see you out.” Seth stands and moves to Harrison’s side.

Finklestein sneers at him. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m the founder and CEO of this company. I didn’t have anything to do with Don Kircher’s business. I’ll be vindicated. There’s no way I’ll let that asshole—“ he points at me ”—take away the company I built from the ground up. Not a fucking chance.”

His three cronies look over at me, clearly at a loss for what’s about to go down.

“Seth?” I gesture at my lawyer. “You might as well show them.”

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