Page 68 of Twisted Knight

I can hear the hesitation in his sigh over the line. His want to refuse me but his knowledge that if he does, I’ll just get someone else who’ll do what I need. He’s seen me cut ties before for less. “I still don’t understand what got this wild hair up your ass to go and buy this company. Alcohol? You’re a fucking software engineer for god’s sake.”

“Mmm,” I say. “Was a software engineer is more accurate.”

“You created the program most financial institutions in the world use to protect their customer data.”

“Thanks for the biography update,” I say wryly.

“My point is, just because you sold the company, that doesn’t mean you’re no longer a software engineer.”

“Noted.”

“It just … I’ve seen you invest capital before, but you’ve never been hands-on like this. Why the change? What are you not telling me?”

Distracted, I watch Rhett and Chad stand in the parking lot below having what appears to be a heated discussion. The sight amuses me.

Way more than this conversation does.

“I have my reasons,” I say.

“Great. Holden Knight is being cryptic. Just what the world doesn’t need. The last time you were like this, firewalls were breached and money went missing.”

“You mean it was found.”

He snorts. “Whatever you say, Robin Hood.”

I shrug, still smug about that one. When one of the richest capital funds in the world tried to pretty up its scandalous reputation by advertising that they’d made sizable donations to Feeding America and their records showed no such contributions. Was it really so bad to give that money a little helping hand to get where it needed to be? To move funds from their account to the charity’s? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

At least I provided them with a receipt for their donation so they can write it off against their taxes.

“Of course you don’t.” He chuckles. “And you’re avoiding my questions. Why this random company? Why pump money into something that you plan on piecemealing apart in a leverage buyout until there is nothing left of it?”

“That’s between you and me for now.”

“It always is. I just don’t under—”

“So you’ll get me a list then?”

His sigh is as heavy as his frustration with me. Fine by me. “Yes. Sure. I’ll start looking for potential buyers. Still doesn’t make sense to me.”

“It doesn’t have to, Bob, so long as it does to me.”

“You’re the boss with many irons the fire.”

I sure am.

“I need updates,” I say.

“Potential buyers on the property. You want me still applying pressure to anyone looking for info on it?”

“Yes.” There is no room for misinterpretation. Every lead being logged into the real estate agent’s database is automatically being rerouted to Bob through a few behind-the-scenes keystrokes. He is then contacting those leads and promptly deterring them.

“Is the land for sale really contaminated?” he asks, questioning the information I’ve given him to use to spoil any potential buyers.

“Does it matter?” I give him more than I normally do.

“So, what? You just don’t want anyone buying it?” He searches for a reason as to why. He’ll never figure it out. The less anyone knows, the better.

“Correct.” I’m feeling generous today, so I give him another answer.