“So you’re selling Tommy this dump,” Carmine said.
“We’re buying you out, Jack,” Tommy confirmed. “Putting Private where it should have been in the first place: in my hands.”
“Private’s not for sale and never will be.”
“There’s a lot to be said for economies of scale, you know?” Carmine said as if he hadn’t heard my reply. “With Tommy’s company holding the lion’s share of the security system design business, it doesn’t make sense to go to all the trouble to build up our own investigative business when your company, Private, is right there for the taking.”
“Harvard B School,” Tommy said, tapping his temple with one finger. “Great mind, that Carmine.”
“Do your homework, doltish,” I snapped. “Carmine never finished Harvard B School. He got tossed out for cheating on an accounting exam.”
Carmine’s red skin turned livid, but he held his voice in check. “That’s a lie, but it doesn’t matter, Jack. Instead of piano wire, we’ll offer you three point two million, which is a hell of a lot more than the company’s assets. And you get the fuck out of L.A.”
“If you’d actually finished Harvard Business School, you’d know a company like Private is not valued on assets as much as client base and reputation, Carmine,” I replied calmly. “Private’s value is ten times your quote at minimum, but it doesn’t matter because, as I said, the company is not for sale.”
“Of course it is,” Carmine said agreeably, “because you are about to put it up for sale, Jack, and be more than willing to take our preemptive bid.”
“Why in God’s name would I ever do that?” I asked just as agreeably.
The mobster looked like a cat that had just polished off a nice plump rat. He rubbed his belly, said, “Because if you don’t you’ll be looking at the inside of Folsom or Pelican Bay with a reservation for a chemical cocktail.”
I felt my stomach go queasy, a feeling that deepened toward nausea when Tommy said, “If you don’t sell, brother, I’ll have to go with
defense plan B, which calls for me putting you at the scene of Clay Harris’s murder, gun in your hand, with a cold reason for vengeance for what that bastard did to you. It’s a much more plausible story than my supposed motive, definitely enough to cast reasonable doubt, and that’s all I really need to skate on this. You, however, will be in for a world of shit.”
“Unless you sign over the company, of course,” Carmine said, pulling a checkbook from his pants pocket. “I’m prepared to put down good-faith money right here, right now. We’ll let the attorneys take care of the rest, okay?”
Tommy was almost gloating at the corner he and Carmine had boxed me into. Either I sold them Private, or my brother implicated me in a murder where I was present at the scene, but not a participant. Not to mention the possibility of piano wire.
I studied each man in turn, examining the angles of their proposition in my mind. “Can I ask what defense plan A is, Tommy?”
“Attorney-client privilege on that one, brother,” Tommy said. “But don’t worry, it’s just as bombproof. A shocker, as they say on Court TV.”
My twin seemed more than confident about the power he held over me, and over the company our father had left to me and not him. Carmine, meanwhile, looked like he’d just had a second helping of rat.
The mobster said, “Let’s just get this over with, shall we? Ten percent good? Three hundred and twenty grand earnest money?”
Chapter 67
“SCI!” JUSTINE YELLED. “Don’t shoot!”
“Oh, my God,” she heard Kloppenberg grunt. Shaking, she stepped back and flipped the switch in the shaft, flooding Thom Harlow’s basement editing room with light. Sci had his hand on the console, struggled to get to his feet. He looked at her, affecting dignity with his nose up; he pushed his glasses tight to his forehead, said, “Well, you succeeded in scaring the living bejeezus out of me.”
Justine laughed and put her hand over her heart. “It didn’t do much for my blood pressure either.” She looked around. “What were you doing down here?”
Kloppenberg brushed lint from his jacket sleeve, said, “Going over it a second time. As a matter of fact, I was wondering what was behind that door when the lights went off and you jumped out.”
“I didn’t jump out,” Justine said. “You make me sound like the boogeyman.”
“I thought that’s who you were, exactly,” Sci said. “What’s up there?”
Justine described where the shaft led and what she’d found.
“So all computers and all cameras were taken with the family,” Sci said.
“Anything in here?”
He shook his head. “All the editing equipment is intact, but there’s no hard drives, no film.”