Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (94 page)

“So basically, you put a little bug in their ear which you were certain would launch an investigation and audit? The same audit and investigation that has caused me sleepless nights and has my company in jeopardy. On top of that, you called the police and filed a claim for larceny, thought better of it, and changed it to embezzlement so the charges would have a better chance of sticking after you reviewed the accounting mistakes that could easily be blamed on such a thing! You knew damn well those were innocent errors! You’ve sunk to an all-time low, Payton.”

“Saint, I—”

“So what was the final nail in my coffin, Payton?”

“Some of the evidence provided, I made sure it disappeared and other evidence…well, it was drafted up to make things worse for you. Look, it is really complicated. It took me weeks to get it all together but—”

“I bet it did, Payton.” He seethed. “You tried to get your wish, after all,” He pounded his fist on the desk. “Tried to destroy me.”

“Saint, you’re wrong. I only did this so I wouldn’t lose my job.” Her eyes glossed over.

“Bullshit! It’s deeper than that. You avoided it the first time I brought it up, but you answer me right now. Sinclair paid you too, didn’t he?”

Payton drew quiet, wrapping her robe tighter around her shoulders, refusing to look him in the eye.

“Didn’t he?!”

“Yes!”

“Well
, Payton,” he said, smiling weakly. “What a fucked up mess we have here. You, my dear, are going to get out your mops, brooms, sponges and disinfectant. You made this mess, so get ready to get on your hands and knees and clean it up with a fucking toothbrush until it sparkles.”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted, but nothing came out.

“Yeah, you’re going to make some phone calls to the
right
people, and tell them every damned thing you just told me.”

Her eyes went wide and crazy.
“I…can’t do that. That’s a federal offense, I’ll go to prison.”

“You think I give a shit about you going to prison?
!” Saint sneered as he leisurely leaned back in his seat, scooped a cigar out of his desk drawer and lit it. He smiled coolly at the woman and blew out a burst of powdery smoke. “You in deep now, baby—deeper than a dick tapping some pussy that hasn’t seen snatch after a fifteen year stint!” He cackled as he tapped his ashes in the tray.

“Now,” he
said, cocking his head to the side, “you’ve already done your part, actually. I just like fucking with you.”

Confusion spread across her dark brown face, a face he’d
once kissed a thousand times while making her moan and curse him and call his name as if he were Jesus.

“You see, I’ve taped this little interaction.” He flicked ashes into the tray. “Why do you always fall for that, huh?” He watched her face turn white
. The paleness snuck in then went full gusto; her pores filled up with gray and swallowed the glorious melanin she’d once possessed. “Yeah, you can tape Skype shit now. That’s how you got busted in the first place. You didn’t know that, did you? Someone as smart as you, it’s amazing.” He took another puff of his cigar. “Yeah, my boss was johnny on the case, God rest his soul. You were taped talkin’ shit to a friend of yours about me. My wife heard the whole fuckin’ thing and realized what happened. Technology saved my marriage from a fucked up individual such as you, and now, it will save my company and my finances. Isn’t that beautiful?” He caught himself in the tiny square on the computer again, admiring his recent teeth cleaning.

“I don’t have time to fuck around with you, Payton. Because you were forthcoming, I won’t kill you
,” he said with a bright smile. “And trust and believe, you make a man want to snuff you right out on the goddamn spot. Now, we’ve got some options here, and you will do as I say or I will let everyone see this. The choice is yours.”

She reached to disconnect the feed.

“Uh… uh…uh!” he cautioned, waving his finger in the air. “This conversation isn’t over, Payton, until I
say
it is over. You touch that computer, and I will be at your doorstep. If you run, I will chase you until you die of exhaustion.”

She lifted her chin high, as if to say, ‘fuck you.’ Pretending to grab her confidence back and show it to him, live and in living color.

“Now, you still have one more damned role to play. Take notes, be my secretary for the night. You’ll want to listen up and do this right, to the damned letter, because one mishap, one tiny mistake and,”—he shrugged, dramatically frowning—“that’s your ass, sweetheart.” He moved yet closer to the computer screen, staring at her as if she were a strange creature he was trying to decipher. He hated her with every ounce of testosterone roving through his body, and as he looked at her, his temperature soared, causing his irises to bleed red. She screamed and jumped back, almost falling off her bed. He knew he’d delete this little part of the video out; Lawrence would take care of it for him. It would be as if the little crimson scene never occurred.

Saint looked at her pitifully and laughed.

“Get yourself together,” he snapped. “Get your ass back over here.” He curled his finger in a ‘come hither’ motion. “We’ve got work to do…”

~***~

They were a beautiful sight. All of the Rainbeaus gathered in their slate, black, navy and chocolate brown suits. Rows of chairs had been assembled in Saint’s dining room, and the men sat under the chandelier, shining like the stars they were. Jagger and Lawrence sat at the front, while George sat regally beside him. Saint stood from his chair and ran his hand over his face.

“My wife is upstairs with my daughter. My sons are in the bed sleeping and even though this is a big ass house, I want us to kind of keep it down. My children have sensitive hearing
,” he warned as he leaned against a long, black buffet covered in assorted waters, a basket of tea bags and other refreshments. “Now, I’ve gotten some information regarding the Internal Revenue Investigation. We were set up.”

“I knew it!”
someone yelled out.

“That’s right, but, if we’d had all of our ducks in a row, it wouldn’t have gotten as out of control as it did. I’m hiring more people to work in accounting and human resources. You all are understaffed. We have been busier in this year alone than
in the entire history of the company, and some things have gotten out of whack. Unfortunately, some people were depending on that to help build up an arsenal of lies. In two days, they will be back. I will either be arrested, or acquitted.” He shot a glance at Lawrence and Jagger.

“At the end of the day, I can’t blame anyone but myself.” He ran his hand down the length of his black and white tie. “This is my company, you all are my friends and work for me. But, she is mine, and therefore, now that a problem has been highlighted, it will be rectified. I didn’t embezzle any money from this company. I want to make that perfectly clear. I didn’t steal anything
; matter of fact, I gave some of my
own
money for many events we had. I even took a pay cut last year so we could have that big celebration. I’m saying that for any of you who may believe I did any of the things I’m accused of…because some of you
did
believe it.”

George nodded his head in agreement.

“I want you to go back to work and no matter what happens, I want you to know the company will survive this, grow and continue on. Our legacy is in our work and if we have to meet at a damn fast food restaurant on a twenty dollar a day budget, that’s what we’ll do!”

There was instant applause. No one cared about the noise level as they clapped and sighed with relief. Saint smiled, understanding the stress everyone was under was finally being released like a hot air balloon losing steam. They had confidence in him
; after all, he was smiling.

His mind drifted back to Payton and his thoughts darkened. Oh, how he wanted to taste her blood, but he wanted to eat Sinclair up alive even more so…

~***~

Payton
placed her hand against the cold, smooth oak wood door, then returned to her desk. She cocked her head to the side, stared at her cell phone as if she’d never seen one before. Payton raised her eyes to the clock on the wall. She felt pulled in a million different directions. Double cross Sinclair, lose the one thing she’d thought was worth protecting, her career. Double cross Saint again, possibly lose her life. She knew he wasn’t playing with her, but she wondered, even if she did as she was told, where was the promise that he wouldn’t do her harm? Spare her life. She hated that he was right. She did delight in his suffering, though she’d hoped she would get over the pain he’d inflicted upon her years past. She clearly was not. He was the one that had gotten away. He was the one man she’d loved with ever fiber of her being. She did everything for him, and would have done so much more. She realized though, she didn’t know who Saint was anymore. The man who haunted her dreams was someone altogether different. He looked the same, sounded the same, smelled the same. All enticing and elixir to the strongest of women, but he’d changed. He was a dangerous outlaw, and she’d never pegged him as someone that would annihilate a person. It chilled her to the bone to realize he’d more than likely delight in it.

She took her seat and stared at the cell
phone a bit longer. She knew her life would never be the same once she finished with this phone call. Sinclair had single-handedly ruined her life, dragged her into his web of revenge and made her sacrifice herself, simply so he could get his mitts on Saint’s reputation and ball it up between his greedy little hands then toss it into a fiery pit. Yes…fire. Like the fire in Saint’s eyes—they glowed red as if the man was possessed. Payton had never believed in Hell until now. She ran her index finger down the corner of a folder that sat on her desk as tears streaked her cheeks. The woman who seldom cried was coming undone. She had to get her affairs in order because she’d be going to prison soon. She wasn’t sure which was worse though, being locked up or being dead. She’d seen enough of her clients behind bars, and all that their lives had become, to have a front row seat to witness the face of lost freedom and chronic depression. No more leisurely lunches. No more plays. No more slow walks in the park. Instead, she’d have on a jumpsuit, a number and a loose grip on the handlebars of sanity. She picked up the phone and bit into the role she was destined to play.

“Hello,
uh, Sinclair? This is Payton.”

“Paaaaaaayton! And what did I do to deserve this honor? Wait, before you tell me, I just want to let you know what a wonderful job you did. Everything went off perfect, without a hitch. You are a jack of all trades. Saint is exactly where I want him to be
—drowning.” At that moment, she realized once and for all that Sinclair would never listen to reason or come to his senses. That left only one option.

“Yes, about Saint. That is the reason for my call. I found out he is really hurting quite badly. The bank he works at may be shut down soon and he really is in deep trouble. I heard it was so bad, he is willing to do almost anything to stop this, to reverse it. I’m calling to let you know this, Sinclair, because you may get what you want as well as extra incentives.”

“What incentives?”

“I had almost forgotten, but Saint has several savings accounts overseas. The IRS can’t touch
them. If they are still available, you could get a nice pay off. Now, of course I’d want a percentage of the cut.” She sighed. “Though I didn’t appreciate being dragged into this, I must admit, the man is getting what he deserves and I can respect you as a businessman, if nothing else.”

“Mmmm hmmm,” Sinclair said suspiciously. “And after practically telling me that you hate me and never want to
hear from me again, why would you want to cut me in on this?”

“Because I don’t want to do the dirty work, Sinclair. I want my name out of it! But…
you
could do it, and we both could win.”

“Alright, Ms. Bishop!”
She heard a noise, as if he were clapping and rubbing his hands together like the evil character in a parody. “I want to hear about these offshore bank accounts of Mr. Aknaten’s. Tell me how much you believe the man has and what cut you are suggesting to take?”

“When he and I were together, it was well over two million dollars. Now, that is a drop in a bucket compared to his net worth
now
, but he will need those funds should things continue to spiral out of control. Your plans will have left him with nothing. Saint was never great at investing, but I had gotten him some lucrative leads and his new advisor made a go of it. He told me he’d never touch that money, that it would only be for emergencies. Well, I think this would be an emergency. With interest, by now, it is at least double that. I don’t want much, just a finder’s fee and something to cover my ass, should he try to come after me. Your two hundred thousand was nice, but that won’t be nearly enough to start a new beginning, especially living in Manhattan.”

“I see…how
much
of a finder’s fee were you talking?”

“Mmmm
.” Payton pivoted in her chair. “I’m thinking twenty five percent would be fair.”

Sinclair was silent for a
while as he appeared to be mulling it over. “That sounds doable.” He cleared his throat. “He may be surprised when he finds out I was behind this, pulled it off!”