Page 37 of The Mogul: Leonard

We wait for our orders in silence, even though I’m dying to know how he discovered this place.

When we finally sit down at the small table near the window, I ask him.

“I was looking with some investors for a place to develop a new business, and we ended up in this neighborhood. We didn’t go through with the project, but I love their sandwiches, and I come here quite often,” he explains.

His explanation unsettles me. On one side, he looks really concerned for the well-being of the woman behind the counter. On the other, he knows this place because he wanted to tear it down to build another mall and make a profit, becoming even richer at others’ expense.

There are two sides of Leonard I can’t reconcile in my head. The one I’ve discovered recently, who’s less-than-perfect and worries about other people, and the ruthless mogul who will do anything to satisfy his greed.

Every time I start to reconsider my opinion about him, something reminds me why I hate him in the first place. I decide not to show my distaste and let the subject drop for the sake of the woman who is looking at us with anticipation from behind the counter.

“This sandwich is amazing,” I moan when my tastebuds are hit with the savory pesto and sundried tomatoes, giving the burrata a new layer of flavor.

“Isn’t it?” Leonard gives me a smile that almost makes my heart stop.

He rarely smiles, especially not at me, and the sudden brightness in his face is almost enough to make me forget the morning’s turmoil, from our heated arguments to the revelation about this place. Almost. Because no matter how attractive he may be, I can’t envision a future where my disdain for him goes away.

“If only you’d use the same wise judgment and give me access to all your files,” I taunt him.

He stops eating and studies me with an unreadable expression. Sometimes his thoughts are so inaccessible that he drives me crazy trying to figure out his next move. Most of the time, he surprises me with something I would never expect from him, adding to the intrigue of our relationship.

“I’m working with you. I’m the one doing the job based on your directions. You have to trust me.”

“I know you can do it. But why? It’s not a matter of your employees’ privacy because I understand that, and I don’t ask you to go in there anymore,” I point out.

He takes a deep breath like he is undecided whether to tell me what is going on in his mind or not.

“Because I risk ruining our future collaboration,” he concedes.

I’m a bit lost. “What? Why?”

“Because there’s information in there that concerns my clients. You can’t access their personal data; privacy violation is out of the question, but you can access the structure of their security systems, giving you an advantage over your competitors, who would have to ask for a warrant from a judge to have the same information. Giving you access to that means you can be accused of unfair competition and a couple of more serious charges I won’t dig into,” he explains, and I’m surprised again by his reasoning.

“Why are you so sure we’ll have the same clients?”

“Because I personally know a bunch of them, and I’m sure that, at some point, they’ll need your help. It’s just a matter of time.”

I didn’t think about the implications for my job when I agreed to work with him. It makes sense. He sells security systems, and I try to breach them. Some clients will overlap for sure.

“Why are you doing it? You could get rid of me and my contract in one go and not break a sweat doing it.”

He tilts his head to the side. “You really have a bad opinion of me, don’t you?” His tone sounds almost defeated.

I don’t know what to say. Yes, I don’t expect anything good from him. He built his empire answering to no one, sometimes making questionable decisions regarding his companies. He suffocated every competitor, causing them to collapse and leaving thousands of families without a primary source of income.

It’s impossible to erase years of bad behavior with his current actions. How can I trust him? He doesn’t trust me in the first place. I suppose the sentiment is mutual. We are going nowhere in the trusting department.

We finish our meal in silence, and before walking out, Leonard approaches the counter again.

“It was amazing,” he tells the woman. “Do you also have the other bill?”

I frown, trying to understand what he is up to.

“Thank you. I feel bad every time I ring up this sum for you.” She is almost ashamed when she hands him the credit card reader to pay more than two thousand dollars.

Now, I’m definitely curious.

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s not a problem?” he says playfully, clearly having had this conversation a bunch of times.

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