Page 47 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

After a moment, I sent my reply.

You should call me tomorrow.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jonathon

The firm employed more than forty private investigators in various capacities around the time I executed my hostile takeover of Acme Bread. I could have called on any of the dozen or so who were in the New York area at the time, but I didn’t do that. Instead, I called Jack.

Jack wasn’t on our official payroll. That’s because Jack accepted cases on a cash-only basis. No paperwork, no electronic trail. Just cold, hard cash. To be fair, cash is the one thing that never goes out of style, no matter those predicting its ‘death’.

Jack also wasn’t a licensed private investigator. Nor was she licensed as a booking agent, but she did that on the side, too.

But Jack was the most brilliant investigator I’d ever seen. She could ferret out details that nobody else could. It was like dealing with James Bond mixed with the Terminator. Once she was on the case, she didn’t relent.

The firm used Jack whenever we wanted to keep things on the down-low. You’d be surprised how much surveillance on a person is actually quite legal, but sometimes you need someone who can, um, bend that definition to a certain degree.

Jack fit the bill. I was hoping she could help me find something in Aunt Petunia’s background that would give me a handle on her, so I could convince her to sell the bakery.

My secretary announced Jack’s arrival a split second before she shoved her way into my office. As always, she dressed like a dude. Sort of a noirish detective look with a fedora and a long coat, but with a modern fashionista twist. Thus, her coat was a pleasant lavender hue, and a feather stuck out of her cap. If you asked her what kind of feather it was, Jack told you a different story every time.

“Jonathon. The Tiger.” She deadpanned on her way to my side. “What’s up? Have things been grrrrreat?”

I laughed in spite of myself, even though I knew the joke was coming. “Thanks for stopping by, Jack.”

“No problem. You know you’re my favorite client. You’re too dumb to haggle with me on rates. I can name whatever outrageous number I want, and you’ll pay it.” She smiled, showing off a diamond filling in one of her front teeth.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to say that and weaken your negotiating position?”

She shrugged. “Not really. You’re desperate and/or in a time crunch, or you wouldn’t have called me. Now, what can this Jack of all Trades do for you?”

“There’s a bakery in Greenwich Village called Breadcetera. Ever heard of it?”

“Ever heard of it?” She gaped. “It’s THE place to get jelly donuts. They have them with a wonderful honey vanilla glaze, instead of that powdered sugar crap.”

“So you’re familiar with the place.”

“Yeah, you could say that. How do you think I got this filling? I’ve always had a sweet tooth.”

I chuckled obligingly. “I have it on good authority that the owner is seeking to retire and leave the business to her niece. I need you to try and find something to convince her to sell it to me instead.”

She blew out air, her cheeks puffing. “Man, that’s a tall order. Most people are pretty set on preserving their legacy. Why should I convince her to sell it to a soulless capitalist such as yourself? No offense.”

“I’m not sure, Jack.” I sighed. “It’s entirely possible there won’t be a way, but I figure if anyone can figure it out, it’s the world’s greatest detective.”

“Ooh, flattery will get you everywhere. Almost.” Her pierced brows climbed high on her face. “There’s still the matter of my fee.”

“So you’ll do it?”

She laughed. “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet. I’ll do it for twice my usual rate.”

“Twice?”

“Hey, the lady who owns that joint is a nice, sweet person. If you want me to use my powers for evil, it’s going to cost you extra.”

“Why?”

“So I can recover from the emotional and psychological trauma of compromising my morals. Fork it over or I’m going to hit the road. I’ve got a good feeling for this horse called Genghis Bob making it all the way to the Preakness.”

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