He worked on the house and the yard, and volunteered with Habitat for Humanity. “So are you going to tell me about her, honey?” Sally wasn’t going to let Darius avoid the reason for her call. “I met Nathalie through her brother. He was hit by a car when he was seven. He worked through the physical issues, but he acts younger than he is.” “I’m so sorry.” She hated it when kids got hurt. So did Darius. “He’s a great kid. Enthusiastic. Positive. He loves cars so I bought another kit car, and he’s going to help me build it.”
“You sound happy. Helping him is going to be good for you, I can tell.” Happy was as good a word as any to describe what he’d felt as he helped Darius mark the sheet metal. For the last few months, even longer than that, he’d been running on empty. But Nathalie and Zion seemed to be filling him up again. “And his sister, Nathalie? Is she someone special?” He didn’t even have to think about it. “Very.” He’d known from that first day in the hangar that Nathalie was special. And good. Too good for him.
“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that, Darius. I want my boys happy. And you deserve a good woman.” Sally didn’t see him shake his head. She really did love all of her boys, so much that Nathalie knew she let herself forget where—and who—he came from. Forget who he was. If Nathalie knew what he’d been like as a kid, all the crimes he’d committed for his dad, the hell raiser he’d been even after the asshole went to prison and he’d moved in with the Montefalco—would she ever trust him with her brother?
Would she ever trust him with herself? She already doubted his motives with Zion. If she knew the guy Darius was on the inside, all the lies he’d told, all the houses he’d broken into for his dad, all the cars he’d stolen, and then what had finally gone down with the Black Knight… He ran a harsh hand through his hair, knowing Nathalie would run a mile to get away from him if she ever found out. And she’d take Zion, too.
***
Because the hard truth was that with his father’s blood flowing through his veins, no matter how far he’d come, Darius would never completely be able to outrun the things he’d done. On Wednesday morning, the Baddricks gathered around the boardroom table in the main conference room of their headquarters in Peiscke Altera, near the Weslao campus. They’d be moving in the late fall, when Perseus Forbes new high-rise production studio in San Francisco was completed. On the face of it, Perseus was a self-help guru with a charismatic personality; a tall, muscular frame; and celebrity good looks that he’d channeled into a media empire.
He spoke to vast audiences on anything from creating money in your life to finding your true destiny. Perseus had achieved every goal he’d set the day they’d made their pact to get out of New York. But Darius wasn’t so sure happiness had been one of those objectives, except in terms of Perseus being in control of his own destiny after being so out of control as a kid. For today’s meeting, they presented a united front, all dressed accordingly in suit and tie—even Argus, who was video conferencing from New York, where he was negotiating the site for another grand opening in his home improvement chain.
They came together as the Baddrick Group on various investment opportunities, had even financed movies, their latest being with Stanley Sandoval. And of course, there was the Link Labs endeavor. Hector Beischel, the Baddricks’ electronics genius, had brought them the prospect, since his interest lay in robotics. The group was also involved in real estate—selling, buying, renovating, developing—which was why they were all meeting today. “Russ been waiting since ten o’clock.” Darius flipped his arm to reveal his watch. “Only ten minutes.” They should have let the man stew for an hour. “Remember, I want to be the one to fire his ass.” Because he’d been the one to hire him. It had seemed like a good choice at the time, but a year ago, Russ Tsevorsky’s work ethic had nosedived.
In the worst possible way. “I know you’re pissed. I am, too,” Argus said, his voice as crystal clear as his image on their state-of-the-art conferencing equipment. For the meeting, he’d tamed his unruly wavy hair and donned a suit jacket over his big shoulders. “But we don’t want to deal with the lawsuit if you beat the crap out of him. Even though he definitely deserves it.” “Spoilsport,” Perseus said, lounging in his chair. “Personally,” Hector said, “I’m willing to pay for a ringside seat.” They all knew Darius had been the fighter, even if he hadn’t had a physical knockdown since he was sixteen, and he had to admit his blood was up today, itching to pound Russ into the plush conference-room carpet. Instead, he asked Ares, “What’s the latest report?” A couple of days ago, Ares had discovered that the majority of the deals Russ was claiming commission on weren’t Russ at all—at least, not for the past year.
He was stealing sales from the people who worked for him. More specifically, he was bullying his sales guys into splitting commissions and giving him credit for their work. “I’ve identified eight deals in the last year. Nothing prior to that.” Ares had meticulously checked every project Russ had been involved in. “Car stairs reported working with Markus on the Catastrophe Vexin project. Henry dealt with Bert on Pete land.” The list was long, all major multimillion-dollar deals. “And of course, there was Hubert on El Quire. He worked with Drake.” The El Quire transaction had been Ares first discovery when he’d spoken with Hubert, who’d offhandedly mentioned he’d never met Russ Tsevorsky, despite the fact that Russ signature was on the paperwork. He’d dealt exclusively with Drake and was so impressed with the young sales guy’s abilities that he’d told Ares the man deserved a bonus.