Page 156 of Brutal Collateral

I thought he was dead...

Christ, what the hell else happened between Ava and Rand during the training class that he would show up in New York, stalk my wife, and get himself on a committee to fuck with our project?

Donly opens the door to greet the members filing in. The door closes, but it’s held open for one more person. My world slides off its axis making eye contact with Rand Miller for the first time in seven years.

But he’s...in a wheelchair.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Griffin

The air in this meetingroom changes and years of instincts of shit going sideways smacks me in the face like a baseball bat.

Rand Miller’s cold gray eyes focus right on me while Donly makes a brief speech about the project, what it will mean for the city, and how our costs have been heavily scrutinized by an independent firm who have recommended us above other bidders.

Donly finishes and introduces the five members of the committee, including the chairman, who Kai assured me is in our pocket because he likes the taste of women he gets at Ares’ club.

The members are seated at a horizontal table several feet in front of us. Shane, Kai, and I are at a smaller table, facing them. A whiteboard has been set up behind us if we need to illustrate anything.

Members 1 and 2 ask us if we have a guarantor for the money we’ll be borrowing in writing. Kai took care of that, so he hands the signed guarantee to the chairman.

Member 3—the only female on the committee—thanks us for the office gender division consideration Ava had brought to our attention. We provided a report written by Ava that was certified by a UN gender rights protection committee.

Member 4 suggests we consider a different telecommunications contractor for the building’s fiber optic wiring. Kai scribbles on a pad:Brother-in-Law.

“Happy to look at that,” I say with a smile. But I’m not hiring anyone ridiculously corrupt.

“Mr. Miller, your turn,” Donly says, glowering his way.

Seated all the way on the right, he raps long fingers on the table in a taunting rhythm.

And says nothing.

“Mr. Miller?” Donly repeats, not hiding he’s annoyed.

With an evil smirk, Miller reaches into a leather briefcase at his feet, and my instincts set off alarm bells. I reach into my jacket for a gun that’s not there. Can’t bring firearms into public buildings.

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