Chapter 25 - That’s Rich

Chapter 25: Chapter 25 - That’s Rich

By the time Jesse crossed the bridge back into Manhattan, he had a meeting with Ben Pruitt.

He hadn’t gotten the man himself. He’d gotten a secretary with a clipped, no-nonsense voice who’d sounded faintly suspicious that someone was calling without a referral. But the moment Jesse mentioned Marie Goldfinch’s name, her tone changed completely.

"Mr. Pruitt can see you tomorrow at nine a.m.," she’d said. "Please bring the eviction notice and any documents related to the property’s ownership."

Tomorrow. Nine a.m. Five days left on the clock after that.

It would have to be enough.

He pulled into the Standard & Silk parking lot just after two.

This morning, he’d parked in the closest open spot he could find. This time, he drove straight to the row of reserved spaces beside the entrance and stopped in front of the one marked with a small metal sign.

RESERVED – VP, BRAND OPERATIONS & SUPPLY CHAIN.

A cherry-red Audi R8 had been parked there earlier. Jesse had noticed it on his way out. Now it was gone, moved to an ordinary space halfway across the lot, crooked across the white line like whoever had parked it had done it in a rage.

The car belongs to Rudy.

Jesse smiled and slid the Porsche into the empty spot.

He stepped out and was locking the car when he noticed someone standing near the entrance, frozen halfway through a bite of a gas-station hot dog.

Buster.

He was staring at Jesse, then at the Porsche, then at Jesse again, mouth hanging open with mustard on his chin. His tie was crooked. A plastic bag swung from one hand, full of chips and candy bars that were definitely not lunch.

Jesse walked over to him.

"Hey, Buster."

Buster swallowed his bite of hot dog. With some effort.

"Jesse." He pointed at the car with the remaining half of his hot dog. "Is that... is that really your car?"

Jesse held up the key fob and pressed the button. The Porsche chirped. Its lights flashed obediently.

"Yes. It’s mine."

Buster stared at it.

"How?" He turned back to Jesse, eyes wide. "How did you do it? Yesterday you lost the VP position. This morning you were three hours late. I thought you were dead, man! I left you a voicemail! And now you’re driving that thing and everybody upstairs is saying you’re the new VP. How?"

Jesse thought about the question.

It was a fair one. From the outside, it must have looked like someone had picked his life up and turned it inside out overnight. And in a way, someone had.

The car was sudden. The money was sudden. The system, the skills, the harem. All of it had fallen out of the sky in the space of a single night.

But the promotion?

That hadn’t been sudden at all. That was five years in the making. Five years of eighty-hour weeks. Five years of learning every supplier’s name, every shipping route, every customs officer at every port. Five years of making himself so useful that the whole operation would grind to a halt without him.

The system hadn’t gotten him that VP office. He’d gotten it himself. If he hadn’t been so damn good at his job, he never could have pulled that stunt on Andrew.

Jesse smiled.

"I guess good things happen to good people after all."

Buster barked out a laugh. "Yeah, right. I’m not getting my hopes up on that kind of good thing."

"You never know." Jesse clapped him on the shoulder. "Life can really sneak up on you and make you a believer."

Buster squinted at him. "Okay, you’re sounding real corny right now. Did you hit your head or something?" He took another bite of his hot dog. "Hopefully you don’t forget me when you’re up there in your paradise."

Jesse looked at him for a moment.

Buster Kowalczyk. Forty-three years old. Laid-back to the point of being horizontal. Pessimistic about everything from the weather to the Knicks to the existence of God. He’d spent the last decade doing the absolute bare minimum at Standard & Silk, perfecting the art of looking busy while doing nothing at all.

But Jesse knew something most of the people upstairs didn’t.

Buster had forgotten more about this business than Rudy Mazer would ever learn.

When Jesse first got shoved into the basement five years ago, it was Buster who’d taught him how to negotiate with suppliers. How to read a vendor’s bluff. How to find fabric mills that weren’t on anyone’s list. Which customs agents could be talked into speeding up a shipment and which ones would hold it out of spite.

And more than that, Buster knew people. Not the executives. Everybody else. The warehouse guys, the drivers, the seamstresses, the janitors, the security guards, the receptionists. He knew who was unhappy, who was underpaid, who’d been passed over for promotions. He knew who actually ran each department, as opposed to whose name was on the door.

If Jesse was going to take over this company someday, he’d need someone like that at his side.

"I won’t forget you," Jesse said. "As long as you start taking your job more seriously."

Buster looked at him. Then he burst out laughing, so hard he nearly dropped the hot dog.

Jesse laughed too.

They walked inside together.

******

The office was ready when he got there.

Someone from facilities had moved fast. The brass nameplate beside the glass door was brand-new and still gleaming.

JESSE BYRNE

VICE PRESIDENT, BRAND OPERATIONS & SUPPLY CHAIN STRATEGY

Jesse stood in front of it for a long moment before he went inside.

Every trace of Rudy Mazer was gone. No framed photos of Rudy on a yacht. No signed football. No bottles of champagne left over from the celebration. Just a clean glass desk, an ergonomic leather chair, a bookshelf with nothing on it and a couch against the far wall.

And windows.

Two entire walls of them. Floor-to-ceiling glass looking out over the Hudson River and the New Jersey skyline beyond it. The afternoon sun poured in and lit up the whole room in gold.

Jesse walked slowly to the window and stood there.

Five years in a basement. No windows. No sunlight. Rolls of fabric and dusty mannequins, and people coming down to let out loud nasty farts because they didn’t give a fuck who was at the receiving end of it.

He turned around and sat down in the leather chair. He leaned back. Spun it slowly in a half circle. Ran his palms over the cool, smooth surface of the glass desk.

He let himself feel it. The whole thing. Every second of it.

He let himself enjoy it for exactly five minutes.

Then he got to work.

He logged into the company’s vendor payment system with his new VP credentials and pulled up the Hassan Farouk account. The invoice for the Giza 45 shipment sat at the top of the queue, flagged in red as overdue.

But the company payment would take time. Approvals. Signatures. Probably a call to Andrew, who’d find some petty reason to drag his feet.

Jesse wasn’t going to risk it.

He opened his personal banking app and wired the full amount straight to Mr. Hassan’s account. Then he sent the old man a short email confirming the payment and thanking him for his patience.

The confirmation came back less than a minute later.

He’d kept his word. Hours ahead of schedule.

Now he just needed Standard & Silk to pay him back.

Jesse printed the wire confirmation, folded it in half and walked down the hallway to Andrew’s office.

Margaret’s desk was empty. Her computer was on, a half-finished cup of tea beside the keyboard, but she was nowhere in sight.

Jesse didn’t wait.

He knocked twice on the door and pushed it open.

Andrew wasn’t there.

Natalia Meadows was.

She was sitting on the edge of Andrew’s desk with her long legs crossed, scrolling through her phone. She wore a cream silk blouse tucked into high-waisted black trousers, gold hoops in her ears, and her dark hair swept over one shoulder. She looked like she’d stepped straight off one of Standard & Silk’s own billboards.

She glanced up as the door opened.

Her piercing blue eyes found Jesse, and her expression went from bored to cold in less than a second.

"Well," she said. "Look who it is."

She set her phone down beside her on the desk.

"Congratulations," Natalia said. "I heard you conned your way into a promotion today." She smiled, thin and cruel. "Like father, like son."

Jesse smiled back at her.

"Hello to you too, Natalia."

She uncrossed her legs and stood up from the desk. She wasn’t as tall as him, but she held herself like she was looking down at him anyway.

"Have you no shame?"

Jesse’s grin turned sharp.

"Me? Shame?" He laughed softly. "That’s rich, coming from you."

Natalia’s eyes narrowed. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face.

"What do you mean by that?"