Four Wishes 

Chapter 23

Flores hadn’t cared to stay in the bedroom while his guest got dressed. He dressed quickly in a tailored suit, and hurried into his study. He had business to attend to. As he approached his desk, his eyes widened, searching the desk. Where was the file? He’d left it here, on the desk. He looked around. The study looked tidy, unusually tidy, nothing out of place.

The ranting of the woman in the corridor outside drew his attention. Glancing at the closed door, he could hear Andrew dealing with Miss Collins. He screwed his face up with disgust. Not Amy. He shook himself and continued with his search, ignoring the voices in the corridor, frantically opening the desk drawers, one by one. A knock at the door disturbed his thoughts.

“Come in,” Flores called from behind his desk, his frustration rising. He looked up as his butler hurried in. “Andrew, what happened to the file that was on my desk?”

“That’s what I’ve come to tell you about. Last night, we had,” Andrew paused, his voice urgent, “a break in of sorts.”

“A break in?” Flores stood up and leant on the desk. “Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”

Andrew walked closer towards the desk. “Sir, I would have told you last night, but you’d brought, uh, Miss Collins back with you.” Andrew raised an eyebrow, choosing not to mention Flores' own condition at the time. “Two men pretended they had come to fix the alarm which had gone off unexpectedly.” Flores frowned, questioning, at his butler but Andrew shook his head and continued. “When I came in to check on them, the large black man knocked me out. After I came to, I realised they hadn't stolen anything of value. I thought you wouldn't want the police involved and cleared up the mess the best I could."

“Who were they? Did you recognise them?”

"The large black man had a distinctive haircut, but I hadn’t seen him before. The other man, well, I knew at the time I’d seen him before, but with the confusion of the alarm, I couldn’t place him. But he was Miss Phillips’ chauffeur.”

The large black man was probably this BA, Amy’s so called bodyguard that had been keeping tabs on her. Flores had seen him a couple of times. He banged his fist down on to the desk. That explained how they had gotten to her so quickly.

“I’m sorry.” Flores raised an eyebrow in concern. “Are you okay, Andrew?” he asked, realising he’d been deep in thought for a minute. “I mean you must have suffered a nasty blow.”

“Yes, Sir, I’m fine. Nothing a couple of aspirins won’t fix.” Andrew nodded, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m sorry, I feel such a fool for letting them in.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Flores said firmly, unable to hide his anger, his face tense and fists clenched. He wasn’t angry with Andrew; he wanted these men to pay. How dare they violate his home? “When Mr Mason turns up, show him through and then take the rest of the day off.” Flores sat down behind his desk. He could see his butler was about to argue. Flores calmed his tone, “Andrew, I insist. You deserve it.”

Andrew nodded and started to leave.

“Oh, one last thing, the phones were out, but I’ve had someone working on it all night and they finished fixing them this morning.”

Flores nodded. “Thank you, Andrew. You may leave.”

Once his butler had left the study, Flores rose from his desk and walked over to his closet, opening the large doors. Nothing looked out of place there. He then checked the filing cabinets. As he flicked through the drawers, he frowned. Files G through K were missing. Why an earth would they steal only those files? They only concerned companies he was negotiating on. He shook his head.

Was there a link between these companies and Amy Allen? Flores could understand the intruders taking the file on Amy. Although it annoyed him, he’d read enough of it before he had to leave for the charity ball. He had hoped to digest some of the information more thoroughly today, however. And he wanted so desperately to see her face again. There were so many questions he wanted to ask Amy Allen.

He forced his thoughts back to the missing files. G through K. He knew exactly which company files were missing, and whom he’d left to deal with them.

Flores glanced at his watch, checking what time he had before his appointment showed. He picked up his phone and dialled.

“Okay, ‘Mason’ you say... Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Goodbye.” Flores put the phone down, one of many calls he’d made this morning. There was a knock at the study door, and he looked at his watch. An hour had passed without him realising it.

“Come in,” he called. His eyes narrowed and underneath his desk he stretched out his fingers.

A short stocky man in a business suit entered the study, carrying a file under his arm.

“Please sit down, Wesley,” Flores said from behind his desk, holding out his hand. He kept his mannerisms calm and polite, but inside his anger raged. The phone calls and their findings had helped fuel this anger. He noticed Wesley was nervous; sweat already appearing around his hairline. Not often you get called to your boss’s home on the weekend, Flores thought, folding his hands and placing them under his chin.

Wesley sat in the chair opposite him, as directed, and the tight plastic over the fabric creaked under his weight. He jerked, almost as if he thought he were in the wrong chair.

Flores waved a hand at him.

Wesley nodded and smiled at Flores, relaxing into the chair, placing the file on his lap.

“How long have you worked for me, Wesley?” Flores looked him straight in the eye. He picked up a pen and twiddled it between his fingers.

Wesley broke the eye contact, nervously glancing around the room, confused by the question. “Er, about six months, Sir.”

“Six months too long!” Flores’ tone changed, becoming harsh and cold.

“Wh, what do you mean?” Wesley stuttered.

Flores laughed coldly at him. “Wesley, you think I don’t know what goes on in my own office?”

Wesley remained quiet, but tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair.

“Last night, five files were stolen from my study. These are companies that are in negotiations, at your suggestion. These are companies that I’ve asked you to handle, partly because you found them.”

“Which companies?” Wesley asked nervously.

“Well, let’s start with Keaton Hardware Supplies.”

Wesley grimaced and he clenched his right hand into a fist. "I'm trying real hard, Mr Flores, but the old man won't sell his company."

Flores leant forward over his desk, his voice low but firm. “How do you mean, real hard? Explain it to me.”

“Well, you know. I’m handling it as I thought you’d-.”

“You think I send in goons to rough up an old man and his business?” Flores’ voice rose. “Is that how you think I operate?” Flores abruptly stood up from his desk, not removing his eyes off Wesley.

Wesley swallowed and stuttered, looking up at Flores, “I, I thought that was how you did business,” Wesley wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, “and it would have worked, too, if Keaton hadn’t gone and hired The A-Team.”

“The A-Team?” Flores asked, his tone still angry.

“Yeah, yeah.” Wesley sounded like an excited puppy, obviously thinking this was going to score him points. “After finding out the woman was a reporter, I checked out Mr Phillips.” He handed Flores the file. “His real name is John Smith, better known as Hannibal Smith from the A-Team. And Keaton hired them.”

Flores took the file, rubbing his forehead as he quickly read some of the notes in it. Not as detailed as the file on Amy, but enough. Flores knew exactly who they were and what they were about; he’d read the papers. And had the girl been their way in, to get close to him? Had he fallen for a honey trap?

Flores brought his concentration back to Wesley; his anger raging, his voice rose. “Is this where it started, with Keaton’s business? You were pushing the old man so far he sought help?” Flores swept his arm across his desk, knocking off anything in its path, displaying his full anger now. “You’re a bigger fucking moron than I thought!”

“But I was doing it for your business, Mr Flores.” Wesley cowered in his chair, his hands clutching tightly at the armrests. Flores could see the whites of his knuckles. Flores sneered, enjoying the fear he was putting this jerk through.

“My business!” Flores stepped around his desk and grabbed the petrified man by the collar, lifting him from the chair. “Can’t you see I don’t need to go around screwing over small businesses just so that I can buy them out? You moron!” Flores shoved Wesley back in the chair and paced in front of him. “I run a legitimate business. You’ve made me look a fool. Blackened my name and that of the Flores Corporation. No one will want to do business with my company again if this gets out. What did you think you were doing? I’m not some millionaire gangster.”

“I, I, I thought it was how you would want things operated.”

“You thought you’d get a fucking promotion!” Flores circled around Wesley, who remained seated, nervously watching him, like a cornered animal. “Thought I’d notice you, huh? Well, you’ve got my full attention now, Wesley Mason.”

Wesley gulped. His eyes were following Flores’ every move around the study.

“And when I said look into the Phillips’ business, you thought I meant rough them up too, did you?” Flores seethed. “I wanted you to make sure the company was legitimate, that the girl had money and wasn’t after mine.” Flores let out a cold chuckle. “And if you’d done as I’d asked, neither of us would be in this mess. If you’d investigated Phillips’ company properly, you’d have found out it was a phony. But instead you sent in your fucking hounds to do your dirty work.” Flores leant in, putting his face up close to Wesley, and spoke through gritted teeth. “Who nearly, very nearly, came close to hurting her. If he’d laid one finger on her...” Flores held one finger up in front of Wesley’s nose and then stood up straight, moving away from him. Wesley cowered in the chair, sweat beading around his hairline.

“But surely now, it doesn’t matter. She’s a reporter,” Wesley stammered, trying to reason. “You saw my file on her, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I saw your file.”

“You were paying so much attention to her-.”

“And not you!” Flores interrupted him, raising an eyebrow. This is what it came down to, the moron wanted my attention.

“I, I thought you’d be interested to know who she really was.” Wesley stood up.

“Oh, I did find it interesting, Wesley, thank you.” Flores turned his back to Wesley. “Two weeks, too late, however.”

“The whore was probably after a story,” Wesley scoffed.

Instantly, Flores turned and backhanded Wesley. Stunned, Wesley fell back into the chair, putting the back of his hand to the corner of his mouth, feeling the trickle of blood.

As soon as he hit the chair, Flores bore down on him, pulling Wesley up by his collar. Wesley’s eyes widened as he looked into the cold hard eyes of Flores. Sweat poured from him now.

“Do not call her that,” Flores spat. He was angry she’d lied but this moron was certainly not going to bad mouth her.

 

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