The guard put the phone down and pointed in the direction of the elevators. “If you would like to take the
elevator to the third floor, Mr. Tyrell will be waiting for you.”
Josh and Bob did as they were told. Josh pressed the button for the elevator and they got in.
“Right, Josh, we’re here. Play it cool. We may know what he has done, but we have no proof. I want to get out of here in the shortest period of time possible and still be alive. Remember what this guy is capable of, okay?”
Josh pursed his lips and nodded.
Bob grabbed Josh’s arm. “You’re with me on this, right?”
Josh shook Bob’s arm off. “I know exactly where we stand,” he said, sharply.
The imitation bronze elevator doors, polished to reflect a distorted image of the occupants, opened. Dexter Tyrell stood on the other side to meet them. He looked as if he’d just stepped off the nineteenth hole. He flashed a shark’s smile and welcomed them into his lair.
Tyrell ushered the two men off the elevator car.
“Welcome, gentlemen, do come this way.”
Tyrell led them along the thick pile-carpeted corridor and directed them into his office.
Josh’s hatred for Dexter Tyrell boiled inside. Up until then, he’d sunk into a pit of self-pity and self
reproach for his own actions. But now, he was
face-to-face with the devil himself, the man who had ordered his death. This monster would be sorry for what he’d done. Josh didn’t care what Bob said. Tyrell wouldn’t be allowed to escape scot-free. His family was dead because of this man’s command.
“I hope the arrangements were satisfactory to you both.” Tyrell followed them into his office.
Bob turned to Tyrell. “Yeah, great. A nice way to travel. Private jet, I mean.”
Josh nodded his agreement.
“Yes, it’s a charter firm we use now and then. A reliable outfit.” Tyrell took a seat at his desk. He gestured to the leather club chairs in front of him. “Please, take a seat.”
“I prefer to stand,” Josh said, remaining in front of Tyrell’s desk.
Bob had moved toward the chairs, but stopped
when Josh made his decision to stand. He took a step to one side and stood by the bookcases. “So will I,”
Bob said.
“As you prefer.” The courtesies over, Dexter Tyrell got down to business. He leaned back in his high
backed leather chair. “So, Mr. Deuce tells me you want to reverse your viatical settlement.”
“Yes, I do.” Josh fought the desire to launch himself over the desk and throttle Tyrell’s smug smile from his face.
“Well, I have given the subject great consideration since speaking to Bob and I have decided that it won’t be possible, Mr. Michaels.”
“What?”
“You see, we have made a substantial payment to
you and we have been paying your monthly dues over the last eighteen months. We’ve placed a significant investment in you and I personally would prefer to see a
return on that investment.”
“I can pay you your money back.”
Tyrell interlaced his fingers, brought them up to his lips and feigned contemplation. “No, Mr. Michaels. I think I’d prefer to collect. There’s no profit for Pinnacle Investments if we give your life policy back. We
aren’t a charity.”
The vice president’s sickly sweet manner was cloying.
It made Josh sick. He couldn’t stick to the plan any longer. He grabbed the chair back in front of him and sunk his fingers into the soft fabric. He wished it was Tyrell’s throat.
“Look here, you son of a bitch. Let’s cut the bullshit.
I know what you did. Your company was going to the wall because of this viatical shit.” Josh waved a dismissive hand in disgust for the viatical principle. “People stopped dying when you wanted them to, so you
started killing them. You sent a man to kill an old woman and me, and God knows how many others.
How many are there? How many have you killed?”
“Hold on, Josh,” Bob said. “This isn’t what we
agreed.”
“Not enough.” Tyrell replaced his business smile
with a hateful leer.
Tyrell’s candor amazed Josh. He’d just called Tyrell’s bluff and the man didn’t give a shit. Dexter Tyrell gave the impression he was bulletproof. What did the executive know that he didn’t?
“You bastard. What gives you the right to kill people for profit?”
Tyrell unlocked his fingers and pointed at Josh.
“You do. You and all the others like you, who coming rushing to this company, to me, and ask to be saved.
Those with AIDS who fucked one too many times
with the wrong John. The sick that are hoping for the miracle cure that will never come. And people like you, who rustle up a shit storm so big, only money can buy them out.
“But I solve all that for them. They just sign a piece of paper and all the bad stuff goes away. I grant them a second chance. The opportunity to live out their days in fine style until I decide they die.”
“Until you decide they die,” Josh said.
“Yes, me. And you wouldn’t believe how many are
willing to sign up.”
“You disgust me,” Josh said.
“Why? You’re all going to die anyway. It’s inevitable.
Once you’ve made a settlement, your life is no longer your own. It belongs to me and it’s my decision when it should end.”
“Oh, bullshit. People weren’t dying as quickly as you liked so you started wiping them out to balance the books.”
“Admit it, Josh, you don’t care about the other people, only about you. You’re pissed that your life has
caught up with you.”
“My wife and child are dead because of you.”
“No, your wife and child are dead because of you, Mr. Michaels. Your problems killed them.”
Josh went for Tyrell, throwing the chair aside and sending it crashing into the one next to it.
Suddenly, a bullet turned the corner of the desk blotter into confetti and a chunk of wood exploded from
the table, taking a pen with it.
Josh froze in his position.
Tyrell smiled.
“Josh, you should have played along,” Bob said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Dexter Tyrell’s grin broadened by the second. It was a winner’s smile. His cold eyes sparkled with delight.
Josh could see it, anybody could see it—he had lost to Tyrell. Josh shook his head in defeat and turned to his friend. Bob pointed John Kelso’s semiautomatic pistol at Josh. His fear evident, the gun trembled in Bob’s hand.
Not Bob, it can’t be Bob. How long has he been involved? He couldn’t believe his best friend had sold him out. When had Bob’s part started? When John Kelso turned up in California? Or had Bob known Josh had signed his own death warrant when he made the viatical settlement? No wonder Tyrell hadn’t looked concerned at Josh’s accusations; he already knew the game was rigged in his favor. A week ago, he would have hated Bob for his betrayal, but now, he had no more hate left.
He was prepared for the executioner’s bullet.
“Bob,” Josh said.
Bob swallowed hard. “Shut up, Josh. I’m not too
good with guns and I don’t want to shoot the wrong person.”
Josh braced himself for the next shot to rip through his brain. He didn’t fear his life ending; he welcomed it.
He couldn’t wait for that bullet to pierce his skull and end his misery. Josh had lost everything he held dear—
his wife and child burnt alive in their home, one friend murdered and the other a betrayer. All he had left was his life. Now the betrayer had him in his sights. It would be a fitting end for Josh—he’d done everything for the right reasons, even the bribe had been for the benefit of his daughter, but every decision he made had only wreaked more havoc.