Predator

“You know I’m always on your side.”

Cross wasted no time. He called Kacper, Roy, and Brian into action. Half an hour later, they had all gathered in the living room at the Mazurs’ house.

“I need to withdraw my assets. Today, right now,” Cross said, standing before them. His voice was cold, with no further explanation. “For just two days, three at most. I’ll come back with an even larger contribution. Don’t ask why. I’m flying to New York urgently. I need a million dollars.”

“How…?” Roy couldn’t finish, looking at Cross as though seeing him for the first time.

“I have six hundred thousand in my account. I need another four hundred. But not as a loan. There must be documentary proof that these assets belong to me.” He delivered the last sentence without taking his eyes off Kacper.

Kacper lowered his gaze and began to think. A tense silence settled over the room.

Brian cleared his throat and, as though easing the tension, spoke calmly.

“I think we can arrange that, Mr… Back.” He emphasized the surname.

“There could be an inspection tomorrow, and they could pull every document,” Cross continued firmly. “The assets I hold must be completely above board.”

Kacper took out his phone. Everyone turned to him. A minute later, he was speaking to the accountant.

“I need an urgent report on the partners’ equity. No, right now.” A pause. “Then give me the one from last week, whatever you have. Read out the figures and send the report straightaway.”

Roy rushed to a shelf, grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen, and handed them to his father. Sitting down at a small table, Kacper began writing the figures and names Bett dictated.

“Chris Back: three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars.”

Cross read it aloud, and for a moment his face relaxed. He closed his eyes and let out a breath of relief.

“Another twenty-five thousand?!” Roy looked up in bewilderment.

“That’s nothing,” Cross said calmly. When Kacper had put down the phone, he added:

“Thank you.”

“Mr. Back,” Brian said, “we’ll find those twenty-five thousand too. More, even.”

“How?” Roy asked on behalf of Cross, who had now settled into an armchair, finally allowing himself to breathe.

“We’ll sell ten of Hart’s cars,” Brian replied with a grin, walking over to the window as he dialed someone’s number.

Cross smiled easily and poured everyone a glass of Baikal whisky.

Kacper came over and put an arm around him with fatherly affection. Cross stood and gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Thank you,” he repeated, quietly and with feeling.

Roy was the only person in the room who understood nothing, but he was happy.

By nine-thirty that evening, a slim folder of documents lay before Cross.

The first page was a statement from Salt Lake Trust & Bank for a subaccount in Kacper Mazur’s name. It showed every transaction since the account had been opened and a closing balance of US$1,000,015. There was also a notarized general power of attorney granting Cross Begovich full authority to manage the funds in the account.

Finally, there was a declaration, also notarized, in which Kacper Mazur certified that the funds held in the specified subaccount belonged to Cross Begovich. Mazur’s name was used solely as the nominal account holder.

The documents were impeccable. Stamps, signatures: every page inspired confidence that the game was being played by the rules.

At precisely midnight, a plane carried him to New York.

Chapter 18

Cross entered the conference room in a perfectly fitted dark blue suit, as though he had stepped off the cover of a business magazine. A white shirt and the subtle prominence of an expensive watch completed the image of a man whose style was an extension of his power. His steps were confident, without any affected heaviness. Everything about him said he owned the space. When he stopped beside the long table, those present turned their eyes toward him almost in unison. Anticipation and tension mingled in the air. Some were drawn to his charisma; others feared they wouldn’t be able to hold his direct gaze. He hadn’t said a word, but it was already clear that Mr. Cross Begovich had arrived at the head of the table.

“Good morning,” he began. “Thank you for gathering so promptly at my request.”

“Good morning.”

“Hello.”

The replies came almost in chorus. Cross gave a slight nod and waited for the murmur to subside before continuing.

“An audit initiated by Mr. Thorne may begin at our company today. It will focus mainly on transfers from the company account.”

He looked at his chief financial officer, Linda Hawkins.

“Of course. We’ll provide the documents as requested.”

“Excellent,” Cross replied. “Have any funds been transferred to questionable accounts over the past year and a half?”

Hawkins didn’t quite understand the question and hesitated, unsure how to answer. Noticing this, Cross clarified:

“I mean, among the account holders and companies we’ve made one-off payments to, is there anything that might raise questions?”

“No. Everyone we deal with is a legal entity with a verified address and business activity. No dubious names.”

“That’s what matters most,” Cross said on an exhale, leaning back slightly. Then he turned to John Lawrence, who sat on his right as usual. “After the meeting, we’ll discuss our own matter separately.”

“Yes, everything’s ready.” His assistant nodded briefly, gesturing toward the folder on the table before him.

“Good.” Cross then addressed the senior department managers. “You can return to your work. We’ll resume the discussion later. Review all the documents and be prepared. Thank you.”

Chairs scraped back, and nine people left the room one by one. Jonathan Pierce and Michael Rosenberg, his lawyers, remained at the table. They knew every detail of his agreement with Lance Thorne. Cross slid the folder he had brought from Utah toward them. Rosenberg opened it at once and quickly scanned the pages, while Pierce followed the lines over his shoulder. When they reached the final balance on the bank statement, both looked up at Cross and froze for a moment. He sat comfortably in his chair, calmly watching them as he waited for their opinions.

“Mr. Begovich, are you terminating the partnership agreement ahead of schedule?” Rosenberg finally asked.

Cross nodded without speaking. Then he leaned a little toward the table.

“Will these documents be sufficient proof?”

“Yes, quite sufficient, provided the other side doesn’t question how the sum was accumulated.”

Cross gave a brief sigh.

“Of course they will. I’m more than certain they’ll demand a full investigation, with the prosecutor’s office involved.”

“They have no grounds to involve the prosecutor’s office,” Rosenberg said.

But Pierce disagreed.

“If the other party is dissatisfied with the final documentation, the agreement entitles them to request an audit of transactions on the corporate account, the personal account, and Mr. Mazur’s subaccount, over which the power of attorney grants authority.”

Rosenberg looked at his colleague.

“If there’s resistance, yes, they’ll investigate where the money came from and where it went during the period specified in the agreement. But Mr. Begovich is prepared to provide all the documents.”

“Yes, but in any case, at least the overall inflows and withdrawals will be subject to examination.”

“No problem. Even if Mr. Thorne brings in a detective, he won’t dig anything up,” Cross replied quietly. “I did everything above board.”

“We’re more than certain of that,” Pierce replied. Rosenberg nodded in agreement and lowered his eyes.

Cross checked the time. He still had twenty minutes to spare. Excusing himself, he left the lawyers and went to his assistant’s office.

“John, when is our meeting with…?”

“Five this afternoon, Mr. Begovich.”

Cross slipped his hands into his pockets, stood by the panoramic window, and nodded slowly.

“So Godsbury has decided to switch companies…?”

“They say he’s planning to start his own.”

At that, Cross turned sharply to look at John.

“I’ve spoken to a few people, and that’s what I was told,” his assistant said, coming closer.

“But he can’t manage it on his own. He hasn’t got the experience!” Cross said with a faint smile of surprise. “Do you remember how I brought him into this business, and what he was doing before?”

“Yes. Restaurants. His business was beginning to fail.”

“And what had he made after just a year?”

“Over a million. I even remember the speeches he made in your honor at his birthday celebration.”

Cross gave a dry chuckle and turned back to the window.

“‘I’ll owe you for the rest of my life… You kept me from going under…’”

“He practically cried, too… Though perhaps he actually did,” John added quietly.

There was a knock at the door. The secretary looked in.

“The gentlemen have arrived. They’re waiting for you in the conference room.”

Cross adjusted his tie and, lifting his chin slightly, stepped toward the door.

Everyone was there when he returned. Cross went around the group, greeting each man with a firm handshake. When he reached Lance, he gave him a friendly smile too.

“I’m glad to see you in good health, Mr. Thorne,” Cross said, looking him in the eye.

“Likewise, Mr. Begovich,” Lance replied, meeting his gaze with a serious look.

Cross then greeted Lance’s lawyer, Mr. Samuel Clayton, and went to his place opposite Lance. Before sitting down, however, he addressed the room.

“Well, gentlemen… thank you for gathering at my request…” He let the pause linger a little. “Owing to urgent business circumstances at my company, I’m obliged to suspend my partnership agreement with Mr. Thorne.” Cross gestured toward Lance as though introducing him for the first time, then continued, “Without any intention of breaching a single provision of the agreement.”

Lance leaned back in his chair, sparks of victory dancing in his eyes.

“It’s important to establish, Mr. Begovich, that you’ve reached this decision yourself, without any pressure, much less interference, from anyone else,” Lance said.

“Of course,” Cross replied. “And I doubt anyone would have managed that anyway,” he added with irony, drawing a little laughter and even a joke from the other men, his close friends and members of the oversight committee.

But neither a smile nor pleasure appeared on Lance’s face. He continued staring at the man who had once been his close friend and was now a formidable opponent.

Cross settled comfortably into his chair. Looking first at Lance’s lawyer and then at his own, he asked them to proceed with terminating the agreement between himself and Mr. Thorne in accordance with the established procedure.

Rosenberg and Clayton rose, each opening his copy of the agreement. Cross’s lawyer began reading aloud.

As he moved through the clauses, he paused and looked at the committee members and Mr. Thorne himself, receiving silent confirmation that everyone remembered the terms and that all would be taken into account.

“In the event of failure to fulfill or breach of any of the foregoing provisions of this agreement, Mr. Cross Begovich undertakes to transfer the sum of one million United States dollars to the account of Mr. Lance Thorne,” Rosenberg read clearly, then paused. Cross watched Lance. One of Lance’s eyebrows rose, and a flash of triumph passed through his eyes that he could not conceal.

“If Mr. Cross Begovich breaches none of the provisions of this agreement before the specified deadline of January 1, 2017, and provides satisfactory documentary evidence that, between January 1 and December 31, 2016, he has increased the funds in his bank account by no less than one million United States dollars, Mr. Lance Thorne shall be obliged to transfer one million United States dollars to Mr. Cross Begovich’s account. The obligation to transfer the aforementioned sum shall be fulfilled within one month, thirty calendar days, following the expiration of the agreed term or the early termination of this agreement by either party.”