Page 16

Hugo stared at the folders and files in front of him, frowning. He needed these stills to bring in more money and more people if he had any hope of keeping his investors happy. He’d made a lot of promises, and these weren’t men who would be forgiving if he didn’t fulfill those promises.

If he could get everyone’s attention, this would take off for him, and he’d be wealthy. Hopefully, beyond wealthy. He wanted everyone to remember his name and to know that he was a successful businessman. More importantly, he would serve justice that had been eating at him for decades.

There was a loud sound of a door slamming outside his office, and he shook his head, then heard people running and shouting.

“What in the hell?” he muttered, standing and moving to the door. He opened it, prepared to unleash on the noisemakers, and then saw Johnny lying on the floor covered in blood. At first, he thought he’d simply been shot, but when he saw that his arms were missing, he nearly vomited.

“What happened? Where’s Manuel?” he asked, staring down at his face.

“D-dead,” he stuttered.

“Who did this to you? What happened?” His eyes went to the envelope pinned to his chest, and Hugo yanked it free, trying not to touch the fresh blood. “Get him out of here.”

“Sir, he needs an ambulance,” said one of the bodyguards.

“Then take him to one, but get him off my floor!”

Storming back into his office, he slammed the door and then pressed his fist against his abdomen, hoping to squelch the urge to vomit. What or who could have done that?

Taking his seat, he opened the envelope and then tossed the bloody covering into the trash. From his desk, he grabbed two wipes and swiped the blood from his hands. Throwing that away, he looked at the document and frowned.

“What in the hell is this?”

He scanned the words several times, flipping through the sheets as quickly as possible. Then he went back to the beginning, reading the first few lines once again.

It was very clear that it was a declaration of sale and of ownership of the land he wanted. His land had been sold right out from under his nose.

“No. No, how can this be? No!” he yelled. He stormed from his office, seeing the bodyguards place Johnny onto the gurney. “Wait! Who gave this to you?”

“D-don’t know,” he whispered.

“Who!”

“Sir, he’s in a great deal of pain. He’s losing consciousness,” said the bodyguard.

“You listen to me, all of you. Keep him alive long enough to learn what the fuck happened out there. I need to know who did this and who took that land! Is that clear to everyone?”

“Yes, sir.” The bodyguards stared at him, then wheeled the poor man from the room. It would be unlikely he’d survive, given the loss of blood. He didn’t care. What he cared about was finding out who was screwing with his plans.

His cell phone rang, and he stared at the number, unsure of whether to answer or not. Then he realized it was local, and only those who did business with him knew to call that number.

“Hello?” he said gruffly.

“Having a rough day, Mr. Hugo?”

“Where the hell are you and where is that sweet little daughter of yours?” he asked Yaz. “You were supposed to bring my money to me. Today.”

“Well, I won’t be bringing any money to you, and you won’t be touching my daughter. She’s somewhere safe and sound. Somewhere that you won’t ever be able to get to. As for me. Come and find me if you dare.”

The call went dead, and Hugo screamed, shaking his fist in the air. Spittle was coming out of the sides of his mouth, and he could feel his blood pressure rising. He’d spent the last ten years of his life making connections that could help him. Connections in the alcohol sales industry, shipping, dispensing, and manufacturing on a mass scale. Then, of course, he’d made friends who enjoyed the same tastes as him. Young, firm, sweet women that you could force to comply with your wishes.

Yes, he’d found them, fostered the relationships, and he found ways to help them as well. Of course, he was also very good at convincing people that he was adding value to their lives even when he was not.

Fools. Fools everywhere.

Now, someone was attempting to make him look a fool. He’d suffered with people trying to make him look stupid his entire life. First it was his own parents telling him how disappointing he was, how he’d failed them once again. The last straw was his father telling him he couldn’t accomplish anything.

He’d proved him wrong when he accomplished the seemingly impossible. Killing his mother and father without anyone suspecting him at all. It wasn’t easy. It took almost an entire year of planning, but he’d done it and then joined the Merchant Marines.

Another horrible mistake. The work was back-breaking, nonstop, and horrible. He’d found a way out of that one as well. In fact, changing names and identities had been the easiest thing ever. Every time he became a new person, he smiled up at his father and whispered, ‘I told you so.’

Turning, he looked out the third-floor window at the Gulf beyond.

“No one will ever doubt me again.”