Page 7 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
By this point in our interaction, he has to know his job is forfeit, but that’s when he starts talking about the wolves. How they act when they are in captivity versus when they are free. His brightness, visible down to his soul, shines out of his warm brown eyes when he talks about the cage we all live in.
I grip the phone, an uncomfortable sensation rippling from the top of my head down to my shoulders, tightening the muscles. More queasiness in my guts.
The only thing that alpha bullshit ever got you was a prettier cage.
Sherry looks up at me when he delivers the line, and Edgerton shakes his head. It was a direct hit. No, scratch that. It was a complete evisceration.
Worse, it’s the truth.
I can see it on my face as I gawp like a big-mouth bass, casting about for an answer. That line was a perfectly thrown rock, right in the middle of my forehead.
I push the spiraling thoughts aside and go into fix-it mode. “What’s your estimate of the damage?”
The grim set of Sherry’s jaw is not encouraging in the slightest. “It’s a study you’ve quoted several times. Written a book on. Built your whole personality around. The damage will be significant unless you course-correct hard. Immediately.”
To her credit, she doesn’t remind me she’s also warned me to step back from that language on more than one occasion.
I hand her phone back, shaking my head. “It’ll be old news by the end of the week. Just ignore it.”
I know as I say it that I’m lying. This has teeth.
“Sir, not to disagree with you—because that is always an unpleasant prospect—but this will not blow over. You need to read the comments.”
I remind myself that I hired her to provide counter-arguments. I hate a blind spot, and her job is to illuminate me. I suppose I could ignore her again, but something tells me this is one of those moments where she pays for herself a hundredfold.
Don’t take it out on the messenger.
“Fine,” I say, gesturing for her to hand me back the phone.
I scroll down to the comments, see that the first several commenters are making fun of his less-than-stellar attire, and grin to myself. Never mind. This man has no teeth.
“Those comments are from our people. They were ultimately ineffective, even though they got there first. Keep scrolling,” she says, touching her finger to the screen and moving it up. At this point, I realize it’s not even five-thirty in the morning, less than eight hours since this one video was posted, and there are more than ten thousand comments. And this isn’t the only copy of the video out there.
Finally, someone speaks truth to power.
Did you see how he went all shocked emoji at the end there? He knows that the man is telling the truth. He’s no alpha. He’s just a caged beast.
That man is a multibillionaire, and he has people in this Manhattan economy eking out a living? Eat the rich.
Eat the rich.
He sure looks tasty.
The only language these entitled bastards listen to is that of money. Don’t buy those damn shoes.
An auditorium full of lemmings and one man in a wrinkled shirt said the truth. These billionaires get so much of our time and attention already. They don’t get the rest of us. They don’t get our time with our family. They don’t get our weekends. No more.
No more.
No more.
Sherry looks over my shoulder, pointing to the No More comments. “Now there’s a Facebook group called No More. It already has over three thousand members, and that number keeps jumping every minute.
“It’s five-twenty in the morning. Eastern.”
“You know…they do get the internet outside of the United States, Mr. Wolfe. It’s mid-morning in London.” Sherry’s snark is somewhat blunted by the way she’s wringing her hands, which makes my stomach drop even farther. “But we’re in for a bad time when the rest of the country wakes up.”
I scan the empty office space around us and set aside the mantle of CEO for just a few seconds. “Quick, before the rest of the billionaires get here, give me your opinion. Do you really think what he said was right? About this level of wealth being unethical?”
