CHAPTER 55: MIDNIGHT CRISIS

Fabian.

God did I want to be with her and not sit alone in my penthouse. But I knew she was supposed to be spending time with Sophia. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I was being too clingy and desperate with her. I am a firm believer that couples should spend time with each other but at the same time, there is nothing wrong with one person wanting or needing some time to themselves or time with their friends. I was definitely the type of person who needed that time to myself on occasion. Or time spent with friends. Or one of a dozen other things like that. While I loved spending time with Myla, spending time away from her was still a necessity in my opinion.

But now, as I sat alone in my penthouse on a couch, a glass of bourbon swirling in one hand, I couldn’t help but think of her. Being with Myla felt so right, so correct, that it was hard to be without her. I had spent a lot of time loving her from afar and learning how to live with that on terms that were…livable. For the most part. But things were different now. I have tasted what it is like to be with her and all of that time spent learning how to go on without her seemed to have flown right out the window.

I brought my glass up to my lips and took a drink. It was from my decanter of Old Rip Van Winkle 25 year bourbon, distilled in 1989. The bottle itself cost me $50,000 (give or take) but it had been well worth it. I brought it along as a sort of celebratory gift for closing the Roseforce acquisition but as of yet, and due to a lot of unforeseen circumstances, I haven’t had much time to enjoy it. But now, as the liquid hit my tongue, I took the time to really savor it and the rare moment of peace I enjoyed with it. As soon as I did, I immediately tasted the bourbon’s predominance of oak, but it was not so heavy that it overpowered my taste buds. The sweetness to it helped provide balance and gave it a well-rounded profile to the oak. The only thing I was missing now was a nice cigar.

I looked down at my phone to see what time it was, but suddenly lost the urge to actually look. If I picked up that thing, then I would undoubtedly see that emails have come in and the workaholic part of my brain would force me to open each and every one until I had responded to them all.

No, better to wait.

Instead, the urge to have a cigar kept nagging at the back of my mind. I grabbed my glass with the bourbon in it, and headed toward my room. Inside was my personal humidor full of Amazon Basin cigars, my absolute favorite. They were made from a rare tobacco only grown in remote regions of the Amazon Rainforest. I opened the humidor and took one out, taking it and my bourbon to the balcony of my suite.

As soon as I got outside, the gentle breeze of somewhat chilled, night air wafted over me. It felt good as it brushed across my forehead and through my hair. I took in a deep, satisfying breath, reveling in the way that air filled my lungs. Then I went and sat down on a plush, outdoor sofa. Next to it was a circular table that I put my bourbon on so I could free up my hands to prepare my cigar. I snipped the end and torched the other side in a circular motion until it glowed completely red when I blew on it. Then I brought it up to my mouth and puffed in and out rapidly until I got a nice, even burn.

I leaned back with my Amazon Basin in one hand and my Old Rip Van Winkle 25 year in the other and felt intense peace. It was a welcome feeling too. Ever since getting shot, it hasn’t been one that has shown up much anymore. I wasn’t one to really feel inner peace (or however you would like to describe it) but I would at least feel a sense of ease and contentment here and there. Ever since getting shot, that had been brutally shattered. There were times when I couldn’t do much at all except focus on work because that was the only thing that prevented the fear and other traumatic feelings from assailing me. If I didn’t have that, they would attack so thoroughly, I’d be nothing more than a weeping wreck on the ground.

In a word, it’s been hell.

I wasn’t accustomed to being weakened in such a way. Everything in my life I’ve attained has been won through hard-fought, sometimes incredibly ugly, battles. Through it all, the one thing that I knew couldn’t be tainted was my integrity. I would not allow that. In the world I lived in, that was not something easy to maintain. Others were cutthroat and would lessen themselves in whatever way they needed to beat their competition or make their millions or even gain some measure of power. When I started Golden Time, I wanted to be savage as well. I wanted to be merciless. I wanted to rip out the throat of anyone who stood in my way with just my teeth. And I did all of that (well, metaphorically speaking at least), without having to resort to the measures a lot of others in my position had to. No one owned me. I was indebted to no bank or person or anyone else. The money I’ve made and the meteoric rise of Golden Time has all been done through sheer willpower and grit. Of course, having a team of incredibly excellent and knowledgeable employees was also a huge part of that as well. That is why anyone working for me or any of my companies was extremely well compensated and had a benefits package practically unrivaled by other companies. The umbrella of Golden Time and all the companies underneath it made incredible amounts of money so it was easy for me to spread that wealth to the people working hard to make myself and the company such a huge success.

I took in a pull from my cigar and let the smoke curl inside my mouth before blowing it back out. I followed that up with another swig of bourbon.

Success. Love. Happiness. For once, all these things were beginning to come together. It felt good. Despite some unfortunate events happening in recent weeks, it seemed things were finally starting to come around.

Inside, almost too far away for me to hear, my phone started to vibrate. The sound it made on the glass was obnoxious.

I ignored it and instead, leaned my head back on the sofa and stared up at the night sky. The ambient glow of the city made it hard to see the stars but that was okay. It was still nice to look at and just contemplate life for a few. I rarely have the ability to do that anymore even though that has always been a welcome source of…I guess meditation would come closest to the word I’m thinking of to describe it. I didn’t actively meditate mind you but the feeling it gave me was similar.

Inside, yet again, my phone began to vibrate. The sound drifted out to me and I cursed myself for not having the foresight to shut the door behind me. That would have most certainly prevented the grating noise from reaching me. The peaceful night I was enjoying, I felt, would be thoroughly obliterated if I answered that phone. Something inside me knew that to be true even if I didn’t have overt proof of that yet. So, with that thought in mind, I ignored it and as I did, the night drew on. At one point, I did go back inside, but it was only to get another finger of bourbon before retreating back to the balcony and the peace it offered. That time, I made sure to close the door.

I could have sat out there for hours, I think, just staring up at that beautiful, dark sky. That damn phone, however, begged to differ. I opened my eyes, laid my still-smoldering cigar on the ashtray and let out a disgruntled sigh. What had been so damned important that it required several attempts to reach me? Was it really that urgent?

Then a dark, twisted fear sprang up and my heart started to race. A question, as terrible as a spike straight to my heart, slammed into me.

What if it was Myla and something was wrong?

The odds didn’t seem high that something bad would have happened to her but at the same time, the likelihood of getting shot was also probably not high (relatively speaking of course). Before I could try to abolish such thoughts out of my head and let my peace regain control, the fear became too much.

Try as I might, I couldn't shake it.

There was nothing else to do but find out what the hell was going on. At the very least, I could put my mind at ease. That’s what I told myself anyway. It took me a second or two to dart back inside and grab my phone. I didn’t want to take it back outside with me to finish up my bourbon and cigar so I stood inside and unlocked it. As soon as I did, I realized that the alerts were for a series of text messages I’d gotten. That in and of itself was odd. Most people knew to either call me directly or email me (depending on what type of message was being relayed). It’s not like I despised getting texts, but I did prefer to speak directly to someone instead of through short bursts of chat-style messages. I’m weird that way even though I fully realized that most people my age preferred to text.

I opened the message fully even though I didn’t recognize the number. As soon as I did, the true nature of what they really were hit me. My hand gripped my phone so hard it nearly creaked.

“What the hell is this?” I asked myself. My voice sounded weird to my ears. There was a harshness to it that wasn’t normally there. That kind of tone was usually reserved for people that royally pissed me off.

Whoever had sent me these texts deserved my wrath. They deserved my wrath and much, much worse.

There were a total of five different texts, each one just a pic and nothing else. They were enough. Each one was a different pic of myself (with my face in full view mind you) having sex with Myla in the break room she’d taken me to. It was obvious that someone had been following us and had, somehow, managed to place cameras in the room where we’d be having sex. So far, there was nothing else to the texts other than the pics themselves. However, it was clear that was only the tip of the iceberg. Sextortion would most likely be next. Sending what they had now and nothing else was an obvious threat.

Anger, bright and hot, rampaged through my head. It made my blood boil.

Who did this?

My initial thought (as much as I hate to admit this) was that Myla herself had done it. She would have been the only person who knew where to go and knew when to set up a camera. Of everyone in that building, she had to have been the only one with the means to pull this off. But did I really think she had the moral constitution to do something like that? No. I really didn’t think so. She was too…innocent. Either that, or she was the world’s greatest actress and had been pulling an extremely long con on me (one that even dated all the way back to our high school days before I was even rich). Nothing about Myla suggested she would have done this and the only thing that pointed a finger at her was the simple fact that she had led me to that room.

It can’t be her, I thought to myself.

That left one other person. Someone who had both means and motive.

Grace Steyner.