Pirate

Eleven

Charles Avery examined the list of assets of his newest possible acquisition. Salvaging ran in his blood, and when he couldn’t be involved in the stealing of rare and valuable treasures, he whetted his appetite by searching for companies on the brink of bankruptcy. He’d buy them for a pittance, rip them apart, parcel out the remains, and make a tidy profit. Granted, there were a lot of casualties in the form of jobless employees when he finished, but collateral damage was the price one paid to succeed, he thought, turning the page, as his CFO sat across the desk from him waiting for his input.

The numbers satisfied him and he closed the folder. “Has anyone else shown an interest?”

“Not yet, sir.”

His CFO, Martin Edwards, had been with his company since its inception. When it came to finances, Charles trusted him implicitly. “Your recommendation?”

“Considering the basis—” Edwards stopped as Colin Fisk walked into the room.

“My apologies for the interruption,” Fisk said, his tone sounding anything but sorry, “but I have news that can’t wait.”

Charles eyed him, trying to determine if the news was good or bad. The man’s face was a blank slate, he thought, turning to Edwards and saying, “The figures speak for themselves. Unless there’s something I’m not seeing?”

“No, sir. My opinion is, we should proceed.”

“Do so. Now, if you’ll excuse us, apparently I have some pressing business that needs dealing with.”

Edwards gathered his papers, then left.

Charles waited until the door had closed behind him before addressing Fisk. “Is it done?”

“We have the book and the key. On the way here as we speak.”

He leaned back in his chair, relieved, and very much pleased with the outcome. “And the Fargos? They believed the story?”

“Not exactly. They followed my men to the warehouse.”

“Tell me they were dealt with.”

“They escaped. But then, so did two of my men, so all was not lost.”

Charles gripped the arms of his chair, wanting to lash out, break something. These Fargos had already cost him considerable time and money. “I want these treasure-hunting socialites dealt with.”

“At the moment, they’re no more trouble than a thorn in our side.”

“Thorns have a way of becoming infected. If they so much as appear on the fringes of any of my operations, kill them.”

“I have a plan in the works.”

“What sort of plan?”

“Involving the two women. Pickering’s niece and daughter. Let’s just say they’ve been very useful up to this point. If things proceed as expected, we should hear good news within the next day or so.”