Page 95 of House of Scarlett
Legend
I still haven’t heardfrom Bruce and Gerard, and neither have returned the emails I’ve sent asking for an update on the venue selection. Their radio silence makes walking into the meeting with my investors on Thursday less than ideal.
As Cannon Freeman, Jared Jones-Wyatt, and Lou France file into the office we’ve converted into a conference room for today, I wish I’d put on a fucking suit to feel more like the CEO I’m supposed to be. I hate that I feel this way.
Q and Big Mike step inside last. At least they won’t be surprised to see me in ripped jeans and a hoodie. Some things don’t change.
As the men take their seats around the table, I remind myself that I got here without fancy suits, and wearing one now won’t change who I am. I can learn to be slick and polished if I wanted to, but none of these guys could have done what I did with what I had. The thought buoys my confidence as I survey our guests.
“Creighton couldn’t make it. I’m here as his proxy,” Freeman says.
I remember approaching them on the sidewalk one night, both of them looking at me like I was crazy for going legit. But they both ponied up some money, which shocked me. I thought for sure they wouldn’t change their minds after they initially shot me down.
Then again, it was Creighton Karas who insisted on this meeting to discuss the future of the club and the disappointing financials, so it’s bullshit he couldn’t make it. Rather than start the meeting off on a bad foot, I nod.
Jared Jones-Wyatt is a trust fund kid who can’t say no to coke or any kind of action he can bet on. He was a regular at my underground club, blowing thousands a night on himself and whatever crew of chicks he brought with him. He always bet on me in every fight, though, and that’s why I invited him to bet on me again with Legend. His tolerance for risk is high as fuck, and I don’t expect any pushback from him, no matter which way the meeting goes. He’s on my side.
Lou France leans back in the leather chair, his short arms crossed over his chest. Lou is a retired bookie who wanted a legit investment to help make his retirement more comfortable. From the frown on his face that strangely resembles Danny DeVito, I’m not picking up a good vibe from him.
Off to my left is Big Mike, next to Q, who both put in their hard-earned cash, even after I tried to talk them out of it. I didn’t want their money on the line because I know how fucking hard Big Mike works, and the thought of losing even a penny that belonged to him made me sick. But when it came down to it, I needed every cent I could get, and when they insisted, I caved.
I promised all of them they’d get a hell of a return on their investment. That there was no chance that I could fail. That Legend would become just that—the most legendary club this city has ever seen.
I’ve failed to deliver, and now I’m being called on the carpet to answer for it.
Zoe slips into the room and shuts the door behind her. She takes a chair near the wall with a notepad, ready to take notes on the meeting.
I rise from my seat at the head of the table, facing Freeman at the foot. “Welcome back to Legend. I’ll skip the bullshit song and dance, if you don’t mind, and get right to the reason you’re all here.”
“Fine by me,” Lou says, lifting his chin. “I got chess in the park in an hour. Hoping we can make this snappy.”
I take his comment as a good sign and return his chin jerk. “As you all know, the shooting that happened on our grand opening night was a huge blow to Legend.”
“Killed it dead on day one,” Jared says with a shake of his head. “Total clusterfuck. Still no word from the cops on who did it?”
“I’ve got new information that we’re tracking down,” I tell him, thinking of the rumors circling about Bodhi Black’s possible involvement.
“Are you going to share that information?” Freeman asks.
“Not yet, because it won’t bring the club back to where it needs to be, and that’s what you’re all concerned about—your money.”
“Creighton wanted to make sure everyone is aware that a unanimous vote of the investors would shut the club down and lead to immediate liquidation and return of our investments.”
“Whoa, whoa, Freeman. No reason to pull out the big guns yet. Let the boy talk.” Big Mike’s defense of me keeps me from telling Cannon Freeman to shove his hopes of a unanimous vote up his ass, but I don’t lose my cool.
“I wouldn’t be too hasty pulling that card, gentlemen. I’ve got potential action lined up that could bring in enough cash to pay all of you off—in full.”
Every man at the table stares at me in varying degrees of shock as they sit up higher in their chairs to listen.
“What are you talking about?” Jared asks, the greed already visible in his posture as he leans in.
“I’m in negotiation to host a fight night—”
Lou interrupts. “Thought you were staying legit, Legend.” Accusation underlies his tone. “If you wanted to stick with the fighting, you never should’ve slaughtered the cash cow.”
“Asanctionedfight night with a main event that’ll sell even more tickets, because Legend’s a bigger venue than the one they originally chose and lost.”
Freeman threads his fingers together and taps his thumbs. “Tell us more.”
