Lucky me.
Still, she's family – the only blood family I really have left anymore. So, because of that, I do my best to keep relations with her amicable. I hope that one day she can drop the contempt and be a better person, but I'm not exactly holding my breath.
“Kid,” Kendrick says, his tone serious as the proverbial heart attack. “Tiffany Greene can never get her money grubbing mitts on KT. Ever.”
I look at him in surprise. In all the years I've known him, he's never had a bad word to say about Tiffany. Granted, he never said much about her at all, but the level of venom I hear in his voice is surprising all the same.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“If Tiffany assumes control,” he says. “She is going to break up KT and sell it off piece by piece. Mark my words, kid. She's not interested in running the empire. She's only interested in selling it. And that includes your precious Copperheads. And knowing her and what a vengeful little bitch she can be, I'm betting she'll jettison your team first.”
Hearing Kendrick speak the way he is – even more bluntly than usual – tightens a knot in my stomach. Knowing that Tiffany is only interested in dismantling KT – destroying everything my father built – just to turn a buck and satisfy some petty, made-up vendetta in her mind utterly sickens me.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask.
Kendrick shakes his head. “I'm afraid not. I've heard it through the grapevine that she's already got the wheels in motion,” he says. “She doesn't think you're going to be able to meet your burden and that KT is going to pass to her without much of a fight.”
“What wheels could she possibly have in motion?” I ask. “I've still got two years to meet my obligations.”
He shrugs. “I don't know all the specifics yet, obviously. But I do know that it takes time to dismantle a company as big as KT,” he says. “Got to have buyers lined up, ready to bid for this division or that division. Have to have all of your legal ducks in a row too. Tiffany wants to hit the ground running. And the day after you turn thirty – if you haven't met your obligations – she wants to parcel KT out, pocket the cash, and do whatever it is she does. That's her plan.”
I run a hand through my hair. “How do you know this?” I ask.
“When you've been around as long as I have, kid,” he says, “you make a lot of friends – friends who are willing to give you a heads up when it's needed.”
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach – a knot wrapped up in a ball of dark anger. I don't want to believe that Tiffany would do that – would dismantle my father's life's work. But I also know that Kendrick wouldn't be sounding the alarm if there wasn't some fire underneath all that smoke.
“Well then,” I say, “I suppose I have some things to sort out.”
He nods. “I'd say you do,” he replies. “But you need to know that you aren't in this alone. You don't have to put the weight of the world on your shoulders and your shoulders alone, Brady. You have help. All you need to do is reach out for it. Go and talk to Thomas. Seriously. I think he can help you.”
I pick up my hat, putting it on as I get to my feet. Kendrick comes around his desk and gives me a firm embrace.
“I love ya, kid,” he says. “I want what's best for you and your son. I truly do.”
“I know it,” I reply. “And I appreciate it more than you know.”
I leave his office, my head spinning a million miles a minute. Tiffany is making moves behind the scenes and I don't know that there's anything I can do to stop her.
Chapter Seven
Tiffany
“Nice to see you, Mr. Dempsey,” I say as he takes a seat at the table.
“You too, Tiffany.”
I bristle at the familiar use of my name – I don't consider us to be that close. But Rick Dempsey is a useful tool – one I need to achieve my goals – so I will endure him. For now, anyway.
We are sitting at Brevia's, a lovely little outdoor cafe that served a wonderful breakfast. Brevia's is one of the only redeeming things about this disgusting little cowtown. I grew up in Dallas and like it well enough – but, I much prefer the tropical climate of Miami.
San Antonio though – it just seems to have a foul odor that saturates the air. There's so many things about this city I can't stand. And I hate having to come here. But, I unfortunately have to from time to time for business. My hope is that a couple of years from now, when I take control of Keating Technologies and then sell it all off piece by piece, I won't ever have to set foot in this cesspool again. I should have enough from the sale of the company to live a luxurious life in South Beach.
If the sale goes well enough – as my advisors continue to assure me, it will – I might even be able to buy my own island in the Caribbean if I wanted to. I love having options. Options that don't include being tied down to this little dump of a city.
The waitress comes by and offers Mr. Dempsey a mimosa. He declines and orders a black coffee instead and it's all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes. Who doesn't drink mimosas with breakfast?
“So, I had a meeting with your brother the other day,” Dempsey says.
“Half,” I say. “Half-brother.”
“Right,” he says. “Anyway, he's not really happy with the –”
“Tell you what, Mr. Dempsey,” I say. “Let's not ruin what should be a splendid breakfast by talking business through it.”
“Come again?”
“I enjoy breakfast, Mr. Dempsey,” I say. “I don't like having it spoiled by unpleasant news. And judging by the tone of your voice – and the mention of my half-brother – this is going to be an unpleasant conversation. So, let's just enjoy a nice breakfast first, and get to the unpleasant business after. How does that sound?”
“Ummm – fine, I suppose.”
“Excellent,” I say. “I took the liberty of ordering breakfast for us – I hope you don't mind. But they have Eggs Benedict and strawberry crepes that are simply to die for.”
Mr. Dempsey chuckles. “I'm a simple man,” he says. “Pancakes and eggs would've been just fine for me.”
I bite back the scathing reply that popped into my head. He's not from Texas originally, but Mr. Dempsey is taking on the simplistic nature of the natives – and I find it appalling. Such unrefined tastes and uncultured attitudes. It's no wonder I don't belong in Texas – I simply don't fit in here. Most probably think it sounds arrogant to say, but I'm above them. Better than them. I don't think it's arrogance – it's just a statement of fact.
The waitress brings our food and sets it down before refilling my mimosa and disappearing without a word. I take a bite of the crepes and moan in delight.
“Delicious,” I say. “I only wish Brevia's had a location in Dallas. It's the only thing about this city I can stand.”
Mr. Dempsey chuckles. “Yeah, I can't say I'm too fond of San Antonio either.”
Well, at least we have that in common. When my father passed away and Mr. Dempsey was appointed to run the football team, I knew I had my in. I don't really know him – I only know people who know him – but I know his type. He's a man obsessed with power, personal prestige and wealth. Those are things I've been able to offer him – at least for now. And only so long as he does what I tell him to do.
The football team is the last puzzle piece in my master plan. But it's also the one that has the potential to bring in the biggest prize. But for me to maximize that prize, a few things are going to have to fall into place. And to ensure that they do, I need a man like Mr. Dempsey on the inside, working for me.
Eventually – and regrettably – our meal ends and the waitress appears to take our dishes away. When our table is clear, she comes back and refills our drinks again before disappearing again.
“That was divine,” I say. “How did you enjoy your meal, Mr. Dempsey.”