Page 86 of Destined for the Devil
With trembling fingers, I opened the envelope and spilled the contents onto my kitchen island.
Roman had delivered his final and most important gift, and I knew my heart and mind were about to descend into hell again.
Inside were details about who my father really was.
There were newspaper articles, police reports, coroner reports, copies of emails and texts, transcripts of phone calls, incorporation documents, bank statements, tax returns, and photos.
Forgetting to breathe or blink, I stood at the kitchen island and pored over the contents, listening to the sound of my own blood pumping in my temples.
Was any of this even real? There was no way for me to know, but there was one thing I was certain of: Roman wouldn’t have faked any of this. Maybe he was a killer, but I knew…I knew he wouldn’t lie to me like this.
One email exchange really caught my eye. It was between my father and one of his directors named John, whom I had met many times.
February 14, 8:08am, John Clemens
The russkis are really pushing. They mean business and I believe we really have to sit down and reconsider our plan, Dave. This will become an explosive situation and we have delayed until the absolute LAST possible second.
They’ve been accommodating like never before. They’re willing to give up smaller contracts to have this one. Our time is running out—let’s talk about it asap.
February 14, 2:40pm, Dave Barrington
I know your concerns and the risks, but I will not bow down. We worked very hard to secure this and have cleared the path for ourselves, not for them.
March 17, 9:05am, John Clemens
R is coming in next week, for the last time. He has provided us with a final warning. Dave. Reconsider. You have a family.
March 19, 9:40pm, Dave Barrington
He won't do anything.
March 19, 9:42 pm, John Clemens
You've used the same methods, you know what can happen! You have a daughter. I pray that they will target you and not her…R has been fair and given you the choice. He will stay true to his word.
My parents died on March thirtieth. This email exchange left nothing to the imagination—this was John trying to convince my dad to give in to the demands Roman was making. How the fuck did Roman find this?!
My mind racing, I wondered how I could find John Clemens again to confirm these details and ask more questions. If he could verify that this email exchange really happened, it would turn my whole world upsidedown.
It would prove that my father was not who I thought he was, no matter how much I tried to deny it.
It would prove that my father had, in fact, refused to negotiate and back down when the Russian Mafia was intimidating him, placing himself and his family at risk.
And finally…it would prove that Roman wasplaying by the rules,just as he said.
I whipped out my phone and found John’s name on LinkedIn. Frantically, I typed out a message, asking him for an urgent meeting. This couldn’t wait. And then, I turned back to the contents on the kitchen island, forgetting to breathe, forgetting to think, forgetting to blink—I needed to know everything first.
There were many, many,manycoroner reports. Oh God, oh God, oh God. All the previous owners of Anders C & C—the three brothers—had undetermined causes of death. No heart attacks, no slip and falls that were described in the article Roman made me read.
The information was undeniable. My dad was involved in all the sins this wretched earth contained. There were emails with state officials, articles questioning the methods of Anders C & C and describing their tactics, and then…an article about the journalist who wrote the piece and his untimely death.
There were financial documents of my dad's competitors' companies and how Anders used to lend them money, bankrupt them, and then take over. So many emails and texts, all easily decipherable.
When I thought my head was about to explode from the information, my phone lit up with John's response.
Hi Isla. Great to hear from you. I hope everything is okay. Come by my office tomorrow at 4pm, let's have coffee.
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