Taste of Vengeance Page 10

  “In the flesh,” he said.

  “I don’t have much time,” Sydney said.

  The man raised an eyebrow. “And I have even less.”

  Sydney left the odd comment hanging and waited for the man to speak. He took a puff of his cigar and then began with a loud sigh.

  “I’ll start by saying that my daughter has been a disappointment since the day she was born. It’s not her fault. Her mother is ignorant and low class, a plebian. But beautiful. Provincial, but a looker. I could not help myself. I am a weak man. The flesh is weak, as they say.”

  “And you wonder why Alaia left home at sixteen.”

  Schwartz ignored her and continued.

  “But there was always some potential there. My so-called death was a test for her, to see if she could tap into her Schwartz side. As I watched from the sidelines, I was pleasantly surprised to see that my daughter did inherit my business acumen and ambition. She just needed a little motivation. Her mobile health pod idea is brilliant.”

  Sydney felt her irritation rise.

  “All this was a trick, a ruse to test your daughter? And then when went it went afoul, you had your attorney contact Joyful Justice?”

  “I needed someone who could be discreet. And I’d read about you years ago on the deep web.”

  Sydney tried to keep her expression neutral, but she squirmed hearing that.

  “I’m running out of time,” he said.

  “What, do you have some fancy gala in Paris where you need to be?”

  “I am dying. That was not a lie. I just sped up my death date, so I could see how Alaia would act. So, far, I’ve been extremely pleased. But my plan was to come back from the dead and reward her for her ambition.”

  “Not to praise her and give her your unconditional love?”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “My fortune is proof of my love.”

  “Well, you might be too late.” It was harsh, but Sydney didn’t know how else to say it.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “As you know, your daughter was last seen in Rio and missed her flight back to America. I don’t think she went rogue. I’ve since learned she had a meeting in San Francisco the following day with a high-powered criminal attorney. I think someone found out about that meeting and prevented her from being there.”

  To his credit, the man seemed devastated. His face grew ash white, and his lips pursed together so tightly they looked blue on the computer screen.

  “I was afraid of that. Are you certain?”

  “No. That’s why I’m here in Rio.”

  “Who did it?”

  “I’m here to find out.”

  “When you do, notify me. I want to handle it my own way.”

  Sydney exhaled loudly. “I’ll let you know, but you might not get the chance to handle it your way. It might be out of your hands at this point.”

  Voices and footsteps alerted her that the group had returned from the beach.

  “I have to go.” She clicked off and switched to a screen showing costumes for the upcoming Carnival celebrations just as Thornwell entered the room.

  Blue stood and growled, the hair on his back spiking.

  Sydney held out her palm, and he settled back down, keeping an eye trained on Thornwell.

  “It’s okay, boy,” Thornwell said, but he looked a little shaken. He walked over and leaned over Sydney’s shoulder, his mouth near her ear, looking at her laptop screen. He smelled like a Pina Colada and sunshine with a thin veneer of male hormones. No wonder Gia couldn’t see through him.

  “This one would make you the bell of the ball, as they say.” His voice was low. “Look here. It will be delivered tomorrow morning.”

  She stared straight ahead. Her finger pressed down, the cursor hovering over the buy button until slowly she clicked.

  His hot breath was on her neck as he spoke. “Have you made a decision about our offer?”

  Without turning her head or flinching, she answered.

  “I appreciate this gorgeous trip. I really do. But the more I think about it, the less sure I am that my company and yours would mesh together.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She turned to face him now, making him draw back so they didn’t collide.

  “We are really pro women in my company. In fact, we only have a few men employees.”

  He smirked. “Your token men?”

  Sydney shrugged. “Maybe something like that, but the point is, we are all about empowering women, which is something that is not really common in Silicon Valley. I was hopeful that your company was more enlightened than most …”

  She trailed off. Just to see what he would say. Whether he would defend himself.

  “What changed your mind?” he said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the parties. This trip. The drugs. The sex.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice was filled with disdain. He stood and paced. “The girls attend the parties because they want to. Nobody requires it or forces them. I would still keep them as employees even if they didn’t want to be part of the fun.”

  Sydney swallowed and paused a minute before answering. There were so many things wrong with those statements, she didn’t even know where to begin. The “girls” didn’t have a fucking choice despite what he claimed.

  “If I don’t get it, maybe you could explain it to me.”

  He helped himself to a drink from her bar.

  He sipped half his drink before answering.

  “We are reinventing the paradigms of society. Our work is reimagining and reshaping the culture. We don’t need to follow outdated and old-fashioned rules about how to interact. About monogamy and inhibitions.”

  Sydney watched him. “So, you don’t think any of the rules apply to you?” She kept her tone neutral.

  He grinned widely. “Exactly.”

  “Okay.”

  “These women are embracing this new way. It’s really the wave of the future. There will be no marriage or monogamy. Just you wait and see.”

  Sydney was happy to see he finally was using the word women instead of girls, but he was still so fucking far off the mark, she had to hide her disbelief.

  “You consider yourself ahead of your time. Ahead of the times in general, then.” It was a statement not a question.

  “Bingo.” He winked. “You get it after all don’t you.”

  She didn’t answer.

  He stared at her for a second before speaking.

  “I really hope you’ll consider our offer. I think we could really be a good partnership. I’ll double the initial investment amount I offered.”

  She swallowed. He just put $40 million dollars on the table. For a fake company, but still.

  She didn’t answer.

  He slammed his glass down on her sidebar and turned toward the door.

  “We leave for dinner at the Hotel Copacabana at nine.”

  35

  Eye-talian

  Damien had called The Hotel Copacabana an “Art Deco treasure,” but when we pulled up it looked like a really tall, really big white building across the street from the beach. The Copa was nice enough, but the way Damien had raved about it, I’d expected the Taj Mahal.

  Before he and Rich bought the villa, he’d stay here during his visits to Rio.

  “The Copa was designed by French architect Andre Gidare,” he said. “This is where Orson Welles and Marlene Dietrich would stay when they came to Brazil.”

  I nodded as if that meant something to me.

  “I was going to surprise all of you,” he said, “but I can’t wait to share the good news. I’ve been asked to emcee the Wizard Ball this year.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I half-smiled.

  “It’s the grand finale of Carnival. A very exclusive gathering here at the Copa. Once you emcee the event, you are put on a list and can never do so again. It’s quite an honor.”

  “Cool.”

  He didn’t seem convinced that I was sui
tably impressed so he went on. “Frank Sinatra was an emcee. Bill Clinton. Fidel Castro. Johnny Carson.”

  I smiled and nodded.

  As we walked through the blasé lobby, I caught glimpses of hallways and giant rooms with Art Deco flair—ornate pillars, sleek marble floors, and brilliant chandeliers.

  Once again, Damien was telling the group about how anyone who was anybody stayed here. That’s when I got it. What mattered to him about the hotel wasn’t the architecture—it was the prestige it carried.

  Whatever.

  But it made me wonder.

  I hadn’t thought of him as pretentious or shallow before. Then again, I didn’t know him. Not really.

  A hotel staff member led us into an enormous room with a massive, white grand piano holding center stage in the center of the marble floor. The staff member explained that the hall was used for weddings and other events and, that the following night, a famous Brazilian pianist’s concert would be held there.

  I felt right at home in my black cocktail dress that swirled around my ankles. Sydney wore a white maxi dress with small beading on it. All the men wore tuxedos. If it wasn’t for the other two women’s too tight and too short neon dresses, our party would’ve looked like we stepped out of the Roaring 20s.

  Two women wearing gray-and-white bellhop uniforms complete with white gloves and little pillbox hats asked us to follow them. They directed us to red velvet chairs next to an Olympic-sized swimming pool reflecting the orange glow from the dimmed lighting inside the restaurant.

  Because I’d been told we were dining at Copacabana Beach, I’d expected ocean views. But I wasn’t going to complain. The pool, only a few feet away through open French doors, was lovely with floating candles.

  Then, I saw the menu and realized we were seated at an Italian restaurant within the hotel.

  For some reason this irritated me. I smiled and then quickly hid behind my menu, pretending to read it. I was ashamed of myself. I was acting like a prima donna. I hated women like that. I hated the way I felt. I was goddamn lucky to be sitting in a restaurant in fucking Rio de Janiero. Who the hell did I think I was being irritated that I had to eat Italian food.

  But I was.

  Maybe Dante was right and I was a fucking snob, but seriously, when in Brazil, I want to eat Brazilian food. Not Italian food.

  Which I could’ve lived with until he made an announcement to the entire table:

  “This is the best Italian food in all of Rio. I thought my little eye-talian princess would want something familiar.”

  I was pretty sure that lightning bolts were shooting from my eyes when I drew back from him. Is that how he viewed me? Some fucking exotic bird to show off?

  Standing up so suddenly my chair tipped over I turned to him. “Fuck off.” Grabbing my bag, I stormed toward the door. I was ready to fucking punch something.

  I heard Damien calling after me and then heard some screams. I didn’t bother to turn around to look.

  On my way to the restrooms, I turned a corner and nearly mowed down a man in front of me.

  “Fuck!” I drew back and then looked up.

  It was Cameron Stone. The latest It boy, A-list celebrity movie star. Even I’d heard of him, which was saying something.

  He looked down at me with a smirk. “You always swear like a truck driver?”

  “Yep.”

  His smile grew wider. “I like that.”

  I shrugged and brushed past him. I was too angry to make polite conversation, even if the guy was gorgeous.

  Looking in the mirror at my flushed cheeks in the powder room, I balled up my fists wishing there was something to hit. I did some deep breathing to calm down.

  After a while, I felt a semblance of calm again. I’d go back and tell Damien off. Tell him he was completely fucking out of line and furthermore, had insulted me, and demand he apologize that instant. The fact that he didn’t even realize this sent fury rising again.

  Calm down, I told myself.

  The door swung open. It was Sydney.

  “He’s an idiot,” she said.

  I didn’t respond.

  She watched me in the mirror.

  “He’s toxic. And probably deadly. You are infatuated at best and brainwashed at worst.”

  Fuck you, too. The words were on the tip of my tongue. But even though her statement sent a flurry of hate through me, I didn’t want to make her an enemy. I respected her. I was curious about her. And I feared her. Because what if she was right?

  She lifted an eyebrow as if she knew exactly what I wanted to say and why I wasn’t saying it. Her features softened, and she reached out to touch my arm. I didn’t draw away.

  “I’m on your side. You need me, I’m there.”

  I nodded, acknowledging her words.

  “By the way, you can go back to the table now. Damien won’t be there for a while.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Right when you left, an older woman fell in the pool. He jumped in to save her. He’s upstairs getting changed into dry clothes the hotel is providing.”

  When I looked back up, she was gone. The bathroom door swung closed gently.

  36

  Clem

  Sydney woke early the next day. After a run on the beach with Blue, she was back in her room on her laptop searching before anyone else in the villa had stirred. Maybe Thornwell and Zimmer didn’t own property in Brazil. Maybe one of them—or both of them—rented a room and took unsuspecting women there. But Alaia’s text had said pied-à-terre. That seemed to imply ownership. Maybe not. Well, just to be safe, she’d try to find any records of the two of them or Sky Enterprises renting and owning other places in Brazil.

  Sydney knew in her gut if she found that pied-à-terre, she’d find proof of what happened to Alaia.

  She dialed Dan.

  “Any luck?”

  “I think I have something.”

  “I’m listening.” Sydney sat up straighter.

  “Do Zimmer or Thornwell have anyone working for them with the name Clem?”

  Sydney froze.

  “Why?”

  “I found some property owned by a Celeste Industries in Brazil. The official owner is listed as Clem Smith, but it seems there is a convoluted connection to Sky Enterprises. It is vague and well hidden, but they are definitely connected through a shell company.”

  Clem was the name Zimmer mentioned on the plane.

  “That’s it, Dan!”

  “I can’t find an actual address, but I’m narrowing down the broker, who should have that information.”

  “Thanks, Dan.

  “Sydney?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be careful.”

  She hung up without answering.

  The previous night Thornwell had announced that today would be a beach day for the group. Sydney changed into her black one piece and grabbed a cover-up, towel, and a faded Yankees baseball cap.

  Their party filed out of the small gate at the back of the house around eleven that morning, lugging baskets with Turkish towels and sunscreen.

  Blue watched with a sad look out the second-floor window of her room. She hated leaving him behind, but Zimmer had said the beach had a strict no dog policy.

  Thornwell wore black bathing trunks. His chest was tan and fit, but not full of muscles. He wore dark sunglasses that hid his eyes as he held the gate open for Sydney.

  He led them over to a spot roped off for beachgoers who had a reservation. The area contained lounge chairs with thick red cushions and umbrellas overhead. A man in a white shirt, black pants, and black vest greeted them. He had a white dish towel draped over his forearm.

  “Mr. Thornwell,” he said, nodding.

  “I think we’ll start off with a round of tequila gimlets this morning, Julio.”

  Thornwell looked at Sydney as he said it.

  Big whoop, Sydney thought. You remember what drink I like.

  Julio nodded and set off toward the hotel.

  Thor
nwell threw his towel on a middle chair and nodded at Gia to take the one next to his. She looked annoyed and ignored him, putting her belongings on a chair at the other end.

  She was apparently still pissed off at him. Instead of returning to the table last night, she’d disappeared. It turned out, she’d taken a cab back to the villa.

  Sydney hoped that meant the bloom was off the rose, but it was hard to tell.

  Without a word about the apparent slight, Thornwell scooped up his towel and put it next to Gia’s.

  Gia stripped off her white linen shirt and black shorts and headed toward the surf. She wore a tiny red bikini, and several men stopped to stare as she passed.

  But their attention was short-lived. As Sydney looked around at all the bikini-clad bodies, she realized that, on this beach, the Brazilians looked like they’d all stepped out of a photo shoot for people with beautiful, fit, beach-ready bodies.

  The Brazilians in general were stunning people. From the children playing in the sand to the grandparents resting under large umbrellas.

  Thornwell stood watching Gia step into the ocean. The muscles in his jaw looked carved from stone. His pulse throbbed in his neck. His body was rigid and taut. Though she couldn’t see his eyes behind his shades, Sydney could easily read his body language—he was angry.

  She took it all in behind her own dark sunglasses.

  Meanwhile, Zimmer, who was on her other side, kept yammering on about some A.I. technology he’d just invested in that he claimed would change medicine around the world. The company had invented pods that could do full body scans. The pods would be placed in shopping centers, gyms, even grocery stores.

  Sydney had all but tuned him out, but as he described the technology, her attention snapped back. It was the same concept that Alaia had described in her journal.

  She listened as Zimmer explained how it would work. The pod would scan and analyze body mass, blood pressure, bone mineral content, blood sugar levels, hydration levels, and so forth. The data compiled would be compared against statistical norms, and if there was a potential problem or risk, the person would be advised to contact their physician.