Page 45 of Save Me
“We handle this discreetly,” my mother says, her lips barely moving. “We need to contain this before it blows up in our faces. You’ve been handling that contact, Jacobs. We need you on it.”
I nod, already mapping out potential fixes in my head. Payoffs, threats, the usual dance of keeping the law at bay. It’s a tightrope walk I’ve done a hundred times.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll sort it out.” It’s not just an empty promise; I will fix this.
Stepping away from my parents, I dial a contact in the police department on a secure line, ready to pin him down for information on what they want at the hotel. Anonymous tip? Evidence? A mole in our ranks? I need to know.
Pulling the phone away from my ear, I wait for the ring to be answered. When it’s finally picked up, I get straight to the point.
“Lieutenant Jacobs. It’s Harrison Bennett.”
His voice is cautious, wearily respectful. “Mr. Bennett. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I heard there’s been an interest in my family’s business. Wanna tell me why?”
There’s a pause, and I can practically hear his mind working overtime, deciding how much to reveal.
“We received some concerning information,” he eventually admits. “Routine check.”
“Cut the bullshit,” I press, my patience running thin. “You and I both know there’s nothing routine about this.”
Another pause, then a reluctant sigh. “We’ve got orders from above. Seems someone high up has their sights on your operations.”
I clench my jaw. This isn’t some low-level nuisance; this is serious heat coming our way.
“Send me what you know,” I say curtly before hanging up.
There’s no time to waste. The Syndicate does not fall because of a few nosy cops; we’ve weathered worse storms than this. Seconds pass, and the secure phone buzzes, flooding with information about the possible raid.
I scan through the encrypted messages, pieces of a puzzle that could spell disaster if not managed correctly. It’s clear we have a leak somewhere, some traitorous fuck who thinks they can play both sides. No one fucks with the Bennett family, not unless they want to find themselves six feet under.
I pocket my phone and turn to find my parents talking with hotel security in hushed tones. “We have a rat,” I tell them flatly.
Their expressions harden immediately. “Fucker,” my father hisses.
I leave my parents discussing damage control and stride towards the hotel security office.
They look up as I enter. “We need to move anything that isn’t on the up,” I say without pleasantries. “Get it packed andshipped to the shell corp warehouse in London. Every last piece of the pie. Got it?”
The security team nods, their faces reflecting the severity of the situation. No questions, no hesitations – they understand the drill. We’ve trained for this kind of shit; simulated raids, cops on the take, all while running a tight operation that keeps the luxury facade intact. It’s a well-oiled machine, but even machines falter under enough pressure.
Then I turn on my heel and, with narrowed eyes, call in the squad—an elite team of loyalists who owe their entire existence to the Syndicate.
“I’ve given instruction to the guards on duty to move the shit to London, but I need you to intercept and divert. You know where.”
“On it, Harry,” the leader’s voice grits out.
We hang up, and I slip back into the security quarters, eyes out for anyone who looks suspicious enough to take down right now.
Unfortunately, it’s not as easy as that. Fuckers. Every one of them acts cool and collected.
So, I oversee the operation, ensuring that each questionable document and every incriminating piece of evidence disappears like a ghost in daylight.
It’s a fucking ballet — everyone playing their part in perfect synchronicity. The stakes couldn’t be higher and fuck me if I’m going to let this family topple because some prick got cold feet or a conscience.
Once I’m confident everything is moving as it should be at the hotel, I step out into an alley for a moment of respite, joined by my mum, who lights up a cigarette.
“How are you?” she asks with a slight smirk.
