Page 88 of Sticky Fingers
Chapter Thirty
Malcolm
“Thank you for coming here tonight,”I say from behind the podium, slowly looking over the crowd in the Clarendon Tower’s lobby.
I’m actually surprised that so many of the tenants showed up. Some of them like me (mainly the women), but others hate my guts. At least pretty much everyone’s here tonight.
Well, I guess after having my name all over the news, it’s to be expected.
Peter Dick-Licker—or whatever his real name is—wasn’t too happy about me calling for a press conference in the Clarendon Tower’s lobby on such short notice...but fuck him.
Just because I fucked his wife, it doesn’t give him the right to act like a petulant child all the fucking time.
Which brings us to why I’m here in the first place.
I’m standing on a small stage in the Clarendon Tower lobby, facing all the tenants and a small army of news reporters. Sonia’s by my side, too.
Well, it’s easy enough to explain. More than just going through the motions and wrapping it all up in paperwork, I want to announce to the world that I’m a new man.
Yeah, I’m still as amazing as I’ve always been, but with Sonia by my side...I’m just better.
A thousand times better.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Dominic and Daphne hanging on the fringes of the crowd. Daphne gives me a thumbs-up, and Dominic leans over and whispers something into Daphne’s ear that makes her giggle.
The mood is celebratory.
Alright, let’s get this shit done. I’ve got the rest of my life to live out with Sonia.
“As you all know from today’s Daily Journal article, I’ve been letting go of some business ventures of mine, among which are the strip clubs I used to own, as well as what many would consider other unsavory businesses,” I start, giving the crowd some time to process my words. “Now, I know that there are some journalists in here, but really...more than coming clean to the world, I want everyone who lives at Clarendon Tower to know that I’ve changed. I know that must come as surprise, but that’s the truth.”
Looking over my shoulder at Sonia, I reach for her and grab her hand, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze.
“I know that some of you were squeamish about me living here…” I pause for a second, just enough to glare at Peter, who’s standing right in the front row, throwing fucking daggers with his eyes. “But, as of now, none of you has any reason to be concerned about me...not that you ever did. I am a hundred percent legitimate.
“Independently wealthy. Hell, I’ve even given up my empire of strip clubs. Maybe I’ll become a philanthropist. But wherever I go, it will be clean, with my lovely fiancée by my side. I hope that shows you the direction my life is going now.”
“Why are you doing this, Mr. Push?” a reporter yells out from the end of the lobby. “You’ve spent years building your empire, why get rid of it now?”
“Because,” I say, lowering my voice, as I turn to Sonia. “I found something that’s more important than having an empire.”
She smiles at me and then turns to face the crowd as well. She takes one step forward, joining my side.
The whole lobby begins to buzz with so many fucking questions—the reporters start battling it out to get to the front rows, and security actually has to come in and push them back.
But the reporters keep asking more questions, building on each other.
“Were you really behind the Atlantic Yards gambling den as people speculated?” one reporter asks.
I ignore him.
“Did you traffic prostitutes?” another reporter asks.
“How much were your high-end call girls on the Upper East Side charging?” another reporter shouts out.
I eye him. A bunch of other people pause and look over at him, too.
“I’m j-just…asking for a friend,” he stutters when he notices the attention he’s getting.
