Even his controlling interest in Ropic Industries was worthless, since the company’s stock had been de-listed.

Gwen puts her hand on my arm to stop me. Jeff Tuck tenses up, just like I taught him, ready to strike, should there be a problem. I nod to let him know I’m okay.

“I like a man with money!” Gwen coos.

Of course she does. But Callie’s wealthy too, weighing in with a billion dollar net worth statement. The fact I’m six times wealthier than Callie merely keeps me in the game.

Gwen stands on her tiptoes and kisses my earlobe.

“Have you missed me?” she says.

“I have.”

“Why?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, why did you buy PhySpa?”

The way she changes subjects reminds me of my girlfriend, Rachel, who I’m allowed to call once a week. Thinking about it now, I realize it’s been a week since my last call.

“I didn’t care about the spa part,” I say. “But a plastic surgery center in Vegas? Where every woman wants boobs and the best plastic surgeon in the world is available to run the place?  It’s a no-brainer!”

She purses her lips and says, “I think about you all the time.”

I suspect she’s only thought about me since discovering I might be wealthy a moment ago. But no matter. Gwen’s desire to be around rich, powerful people notwithstanding, it dawns on me she’s as easy-going as any woman could be. She was glad to sit in Callie’s kitchen munching dry cereal, being left out of my conversation with Callie, and just as happy to attend a board meeting she knows nothing about. She didn’t ask why I brought her to PhySpa instead of Ropic Industries, and I doubt she cares. She didn’t complain about entering the security cubicle, nor when we took time to visit Dr. P.


 

 

 

 

8.

 

 

 

THERE ARE SIX people in the consultation room of PhySpa when Gwen and I enter, all of whom are giving off a bored, who-gives-a-shit attitude. A middle-aged guy with thick glasses and no eyebrows sits at the head of the long table. He’s William Wadsworth, the CEO. I know, because I’ve done my homework. I spent the past week reading everything about Ropic Industries my facilitator, Lou Kelly, has dug up on the company since the day I met Lucky Peters. Plus, I have insider information I gleaned from Lucky prior to his death.

William clears his throat to speak, but I put a stop to that by slamming my fist on the table and shouting, “Get your ass out of the chair, William, ’cause there’s a new sheriff in town!”

He grimaces at my lack of couth, but remains where he’s sitting. I grab my gun from my ankle holster and point it at him.

He tries to lower his head into his suit coat, turtle-like, while raising his hands. I notice the others have snapped to attention.

“Put your hands down,” I say. “This isn’t a robbery, it’s a hostile takeover.”

He scrambles out of the chair, and Gwen sits in it, smiles brightly, and says, “Why, thank you, William!” Then she points at my gun and says, “I thought we just went through security.”

“We did,” I say, “but I own the joint.”

“Ah,” she says.

 I say, “Put your cell phones on the table, everyone.”

Tony Spumoni, Ropic’s president, says, “Cell phones aren’t allowed at board meetings.”

I point my gun at his face. “Cell phones on the table.”

Everyone places their cell phones in the center of the table.

I retrieve mine from my jacket, and press a button. When Joe Penny answers, I ask him to join us.

Seconds later, Joe enters. I tell him to collect the phones. While we’re in the meeting, he’ll download their recent calls and text messages so I can see what they’ve been up to. He gathers the phones and leaves, as I announce, “I’m Donovan Creed, Mrs. Peters’s advisor.