A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(147)

“I’d be careful which words you choose, Mr. Thomas,” Ford warned. “Walls have ears, you know.”

“Oh,” Ben answered unwaveringly, “I know.” He dropped a handful of black-and-white photographs on the desk.

Ford, with eyes like granite, stared hard at him. “What’s this?”

“Insurance,” Ben answered smoothly. “To make sure that these requests are met without comeback on my client.”

“Comeback?” Austin repeated.

“Yes.” Ben placed a finger on the top photograph, which showed Austin smiling over dinner and shaking hands with Raphael Casari, a convicted felon known by the FBI for money laundering and drug trafficking. “As I understand it, Mr. Casari is not the kind of character one would have involved in a business such as yours, unless there were more, shall we say, dishonest things at hand.” Ben smiled.

“Pictures prove nothing,” Ford said indifferently.

Ben smiled. “True. Although these might.” He slapped another two folders down.

Ford’s eyes flickered over them. “And these are?”

“Statements.” Ben sat forward. “Monetary statements, which, for some reason, were harder to find than your others. Mr. Ford, does the word ‘embezzlement’ mean anything to you?”

With that heavyweight punch, Ben knew the ground under Austin Ford’s two-thousand-dollar loafers became unsteady. He glanced once more at the photographs and folder and pressed a palm down the front of his tie. He stared hard at Ben. The menace spreading through his features, pinching and sharpening, was truly terrifying. He was no longer the big dog. He had his ass against the wall, and he didn’t like it.

“What. Do. You. Want?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Ben met Ford’s glower. “My client owns sixty percent of WCS Communications, with a value of six hundred million dollars.” He cocked an eyebrow. “If he were to cash in those shares, it would be one hell of a blow for your investors, right?”

“What. Do. You. Want?” Ford repeated in a breath that reeked of anger.

“I want you to honor the goodwill proposal for Mr. Carter, effective immediately. I want written confirmation of said honoring in triplicate, signed by yourself and your CFO, faxed through to my office and to my client by the end of business today. I want funds transferred to an account of his choosing by the same time and his name put back on the public shareholder list.”

It was Ben’s turn to sit forward. He dropped his chin and glowered at Ford. “If that doesn’t happen, Mr. Ford, I’m sure the police would be interested to know just what business it is you do with Casari.” He held up a picture. “Considering he’s wanted by the Feds for crimes dating back some thirty years.”

Ben released the photograph so it sailed elegantly back down to the table, drifting from side to side in graceful silence. He picked up his briefcase and stood from his seat at the same time Ford sprang from his own chair, moving so close to him, Ben could feel Austin’s breath on his chin.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game here, Thomas,” Ford growled. “You and Carter. And you’d better know one thing: I don’t lose. I always win. I always f*cking win.”

“Well,” Ben answered quietly, standing toe to toe with him. “It doesn’t seem that way in this case, now, does it?” Ben edged closer. “And on a more personal note, stay the f*ck away from Kat.”

After a beat of tense silence, Ben turned from Austin Ford and walked toward the office door.