Page 117 of Broken Brothers

I taped the wire to Morgan’s chest.

“Just think of it as a free waxing,” I said.

“You fucking owe me,” Morgan said, drawing a laugh from me.

“Fine, I’ll get you a full waxing for all of this hair when you’re done so you don’t look like a patchy asshole.”

“Oh, great, so I’ll look like a surfing model?”

“Do you know how bad chicks go for that kind of thing?”

Morgan just rolled his eyes. Hey, was I wrong? No, I wasn’t. Besides, it had been a bit since Morgan had gotten some. I guess he didn’t think my couch was a great place to bang girls. Maybe going for the Cali blonde bare-chested surfer look would do him some wonders.

You know, when it wasn’t about to be winter in New York City.

He went back to his closet, put on his suit, and gave a long sigh. I smiled at him and patted his shoulder.

“Look, let’s be honest here,” I said, knowing that now was the time to placate him since he actually had the wire on. “We don’t know what we’re going to discover here today. For all we know, your father could apologize, make peace, and we can move forward with MCH.”

Unlikely. Very unlikely. But weirder shit has happened.

“What you’re doing is nothing more than reconnaissance. If your father blurts something out that you wish you didn’t know, it’s not like NYPD are going to come busting in and arrest him and shut down Hunt Industries. And even if he was arrested, that company is too big to fail. Hell, if the banks can get bailed out, we can get bailed out.”

We. Why did I say that?

“I guess you’re right,” Morgan said, producing a faint smile. “OK, let’s go over this one more time. What do you want me to talk about?”

“What is this, a scripted reality show? I just want you to have a heart to heart about wanting to do your own business. If he says he can’t do that, then say at least let Chance operate on his own. You can be a shadow partner.”

“I don’t know about the continued deception,” he said, but his expression suggested the opposite. “OK. Let’s go.”

I patted Morgan on the shoulder one more time and let him walk out. The plan was quite simple. There was a coffee shop right next to Hunt Industries that I would sit at with my laptop open under the guise of doing work. I would have headphones on that would look attached to my phone but would actually be attached to the recording device, listening to Morgan and Edwin Hunt talk.

I’d tested the thing with Claire and her uncle swore it worked up to half a mile. Edwin’s office was pretty high up in the sky, but it was not half a mile high—nothing was in the world as far as I was aware.

After about five minutes, I walked out, putting my headphones on and walking straight. It was very easy to blend in and feel like a normal day. I didn’t get emotional much—except, it seemed, with the women in my life recently—and the idea that one of Edwin’s goons might uncover me just didn’t faze me. I walked with a stern expression, not one of significant seriousness, but not one easily fazed.

In other words, I looked very much like the typical New Yorker who just wanted a goddamn lox bagel, a timely metro, and a Times Square free of tourists just one day out of the year.

The one small concern I had was the appearance of being near Hunt Industries, but even that wasn’t that common, given that it was right near Wall Street and had several businessmen walking by. I had myself walked by it numerous times in the past, so it wasn’t like this was me flying in from Florida and plopping right next to it.

I encountered no glares and no suspicious talking into a walkie talkie or anything of that nature as I made my way to the coffee shop. I ordered a hot chocolate, sat at a table in the corner, and plugged my headphones into the listening device.

It was go time.

“… Morgan Hunt, please.”

It sounded like Morgan had just gotten to the receptionist, which was a good thing. It meant I had almost caught up to him—seeing both of us side by side or even just a few strides apart so close to Hunt Industries would have raised all sorts of alarm bells.

I opened my computer and set it to the Wall Street Journal, the New York Times, and the Financial Times as my tabs, but I had no intention of reading anything. I would aimlessly scroll, but even that seemed unnecessary given my location in the coffee shop. It would take someone spying directly on my computer, rather than over my shoulder, to see anything suspicious.

“Of course, Mr. Hunt will… with you.”

The line wasn’t perfect, as the woman cut out from the distance to the mic. I just had to hope Edwin would get much closer than the receptionist and that Morgan had the wherewithal to sit close enough to have Edwin’s voice picked up.

My hot chocolate came out, I grabbed it, and I prepared for some hopefully game-changing conversation.

But first, I had to actually wait for Edwin Hunt to come out.