Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
“All right, Grant, let’s get to work.” I roll up my sleeves and start calling. Since the institutional investors have sold out, the only way I’m going to pull this off is to buy up individual shares. Grant gathered a list of enough to gain twenty-five percent which is more than my competition. Now I just need to persuade them to give up stocks that some of them have held for forty years or more.
Hours later, I come up for air. “Where are we?” I ask.
Grant writes down our latest acquisition and does the math. “23.5 percent. If you get Grandma Firenze to give in, it’ll push you to 28%.”
I talked to Grandma Firenze an hour ago. She’s probably not up for another phone call just yet. “Let’s take a break.”
Grant collapses into a chair and lays his head down on the table. I pour a cup of coffee for him and set it by his hand. He doesn’t move. “Just let me die here,” he cries dramatically.
“Be prepared to resurrect yourself in twenty minutes,” I tell him. “We’ll need to get the regulatory work done before the market closes.”
Grant slides off his chair to hide under the table. I take the hint and leave him be. I want to check in on Orchard anyway. Other than the text I sent her this morning, I haven’t had any communication with her. To my disappointment, there’s no return message. She could still be sleeping, I guess. We didn’t get much sleep last night. The tracking app shows her pink dot resting solidly at home.
I fire off a message.
Keep the bed warm for me. I’ll be home as soon as possible.
I wait for a response but nothing comes. Unease tickles the back of my neck. Maybe I’ll give her a call.
I’m about to press the green connect button when Grant appears. “It’s Grandma Firenze.”
Hastily, I shove the phone away. I spend thirty minutes listening to Grandma Firenze tell me about how her dad built this company from piles of scrap metal and tiny seeds that his grandfather had brought over from Tuscany. After I reassure her that we are not going to liquidate the company and sell it for scraps, we agree on basic terms. A memorandum of understanding is drawn up and couriered over for her signature. I don’t want to leave until it comes back signed, but a small pressure in my head is telling me I need to get home.
Grant agrees to stay after I promise to give him a ten percent raise. He deserves one so I agree. We’ve been at it for hours. It was dark when I got here in the office this morning and it’s almost dark now. My stomach grumbles. Other than a sandwich earlier, I haven’t eaten. If I don’t get home soon I’ll be the one missing our nightly dinner. I want to give her the necklace tonight. Maybe I’ll tell her the story behind them. I think she’ll like it.
David brings the car around and I doze off in the backseat on the ride home, waking right when the car pulls to a stop in front of the townhome. The house is eerily quiet when I arrive. The dining room is empty, although there are plates set out. I climb the stairs, telling myself she’s just worn out. She’s probably in her sitting room, her feet up and a summer fire roaring in the fireplace. But that room is chillingly empty. I turn to the other side and walk down the long hall to her bedroom.
Holding my breath, I shove the door open. It’s dark and empty. “David,” I yell.
He appears moments later. “Yes?”
“Where is she? Who has eyes on her?” Fear is gripping my throat.
“Sir—I—“
His phone rings and I rip it out of his hand. “Talk,” I bark into the device.
“She hasn’t moved but a woman did come. I checked her out—“
“Hasn’t moved from where?”
The voice on the other end shuts up. I glare at David, who takes the phone from me.
“Yes, we’ll be right there,” he murmurs into the phone. “Make sure she doesn’t leave. She’s at the Plaza. Abigail has arrived.”
“How long has she been missing?”
David gulps. “Earlier today. We didn’t tell you as we had the situation under—“
He doesn’t finish before I punch him in the face. He stumbles back. I bound down the flights of stairs until I hit the garage. Bypassing the Porsche and the Mercedes, I throw a leg over the back of my Ducati. Traffic is a bitch but tonight it will be my bitch. I roar out of there and make it to the Plaza in half the time. A cop was on my ass, but I lost him somewhere. I toss the keys to the valet and take the stairs into the lobby two at a time. I need a room number now. I wonder if I’m going to have to buy the whole damn hotel or if I can scare someone into giving it to me. My phone buzzes. It’s a text from David with a number. He might get severance pay, but he’s still getting fired.