Page 43 of Billion-Dollar Ransom
“Don’t bother. They’re on their way. No, I need your brain for something else.”
This was the primary reason Schraeder had hired Capital: spare brains. Logistics bored him, even logistics involving the return of his abducted family. If something bored him, he delegated it.
“Anything,” Virgil said.
“What’s your best guess on the payment instructions? I mean, should I be thinking about higher denominations in fewer bags? Or will the drop-off involve some kind of shipping container? Your expert guidance, please.”
His expert guidance, huh? All Virgil could think wasThere’s no way any kidnapper would want all this fucking cash.
But Virgil swallowed. He’d known this question was coming, and he’d spent much of the flight crafting the best possible answer, one that would reassure his mega-wealthy client but also not sound like total bullshit.
“The best thing to do,” Virgil told his boss, “is what you’re doing. Stay flexible and prepare for all possibilities. Most kidnappers like to keep their targets scrambling. But here’s the mistake these guys made: They chose you as a target. And you’re way ahead of the game.”
It was flattery, yes, but also true. Schraeder didn’t waste time on emotions. The moment he’d understood the situation,he began gathering the cash, knowing that time was the only commodity that truly mattered in this predicament.
“And remember,” Virgil told his boss, “this is for show. Because there is no scenario in which these sons of bitches get away with part of your fortune. We guarantee it. And we guarantee you’ll be with your children and the beautiful Mrs. Schraeder very soon.”
Old Man Schraeder looked out over the tables of cash, seemingly lost in thought. Virgil knew better. Schraeder was not one for idle reflection. He was calculating… something. Virgil was steeling himself for another logistics question, so he was surprised when Schraeder said, “You have no idea how much I love her.”
Virgil had to pretend he wasn’t stunned. “Of that, I have zero doubt.”
“I was on the verge of divorcing her,” the old man said. “Yeah, nobody knew but my lawyer. But you want to know something, Virgil? Success is a lousy teacher.”
“Sir?”
“It seduces people into thinking they can’t lose. And I very much donotwant to lose my wife.”
CHAPTER 46
Thursday, 2:47 p.m.
IAN COUGHLIN DIDN’T consider himself a criminal.
He was awatcher. Big difference.
Like right now. What he was doing was not a crime. Anyone was allowed to stroll around Fashion Square in Sherman Oaks and do a little window-shopping and people-watching. No laws against that—yet. And so what if he liked to focus on the high-end stores (Bloomingdale’s and Coach and L’Occitane) and the people who frequented them? The human eye was designed to be drawn to pretty things.
Besides, Ian Coughlin was not simply an observer; he liked to consider himself a storyteller. When he found attractive human beings inside a shop (Swarovski or Apple or Kiehl’s) surrounded by pretty things, he liked to make up little stories about them.
Take this attractive human being—late thirties, ash-blondhair, pumps, lips with filler, no wedding ring. She had money and liked to treat herself, but that was not why she was shopping alone this afternoon. She had the look of the lonely, someone tired of swiping right on the dating apps and spending quiet nights at home with her cat. If only she could find a partner…
That was a good story, right?
Sometimes those stories could be turned into profit. Wasn’t that what Hollywood was all about? Once Ian Coughlin had a fairly complete idea in his mind, he could enjoy the story himself and follow it through to its natural conclusion—if the risk profile was low. Or, if the tale was a little more complex, he could sell it to an organized band of people who specialized in follow-home robberies.
So, sure, Ianassociatedwith criminals. But when you think about it, every American business was rooted in a crime at some level.
But this one here looked like a story Ian could handle himself. This woman didn’t pay too much attention to her surroundings. Ian suspected she considered people like himself unworthy of notice, which worked to his advantage. Once she finished making her purchase (nice bracelet, by the way), he’d shadow her to her vehicle in the adjacent multilevel parking lot and then decide which way the story should end.
But wait.
Someone else was watching too.
Ian could feel it at the back of his neck.
Not the useless mall security. He’d stopped fearing them years ago and now saw them as comic relief. It wasn’t thewoman either—she had no clue Ian had been trailing her for the past twenty minutes.
There was someone else.
