Chapter 6 Face To Face With The Enemy Ii

- Yes, I do. Your house belongs to me. Your company belongs to me. The car you drive belongs to me. You belong to me. And your daughter will belong to me. - Mr. Clifford, can we negotiate for my daughter Rita? - He finally gave in and decided to make an offer. - No, I have no interest in Rita Abertton to be Jorel's wife. The bastard's breathing became heavy. And if he suddenly collapsed or anything else, I'd bring him back to life, no matter what it took, because he couldn't die without paying for every tear I'd cried, every pain I'd felt and every scream I'd shouted in the middle of nowhere, trying to find answers that weren't there. - Mr. Clifford, I don't understand what you really want. - Haven't I made it clear enough that I want your daughter Olivia to be my brother Jorel's wife? - With all due respect, but my Olivia is a spectacular girl. Her brother... will make her suffer. I couldn't help laughing. That dinner was a lot of fun. And I thought that seeing that man face to face for the first time would make me suffer like a bug, like in the past. But no! It would be so easy to destroy him and watch him suffer that it didn't even seem as funny as I thought. Because all too quickly I would crush that worm. - I usually work with objectives, Mr. Abertton. And this one is already accomplished! - I got up and went to the place where he had left his family, taking a seat at the table. - Good evening, everyone. I'm Gabe Clifford. As soon as I sat down at the table, the maitre d' brought the menu, which he offered to me first. - I'm Rita Abertton. - The woman introduced herself, and I wasn't interested in anything more than choosing what I would order for dinner. - Mr. Clifford, did you manage to do business with my husband? - The loud-voiced woman asked, making a point of butting in where she didn't belong. - I think so - I looked at Ernest sitting at the table, totally unstructured and speechless. - My sister Olivia has a photo of your brother," the teenage apprentice mentioned, turning to me. - Is your sister a dreamer? - I smiled, with all my sarcasm. - Actually, she's just a girl with good taste! - she winked and took a sip of the water in her glass. I noticed that they hadn't placed their orders yet. - Chipperbec potatoes with Don champagne Perignon and French Ardenne vinegar, fried in goose fat and seasoned with French truffle salt and shavings of Italian truffles and pecorino cheese. Replace the house sauce with Mornay sauce with Swiss cheese. For dessert, an Italian cassata flavored liqueur with with mango and pomegranate compote. The base Bailey's must be Zabaione. As for the drinks... Bring the best in the house, please. After all, we're celebrating, aren't we, Mr. Abertton? Soon the women of the family began to place their orders. I waited for them all to choose and called the maitre d' again, asking for another dish from the menu. - You eat a lot - the teenage apprentice caught my eye - I don't know how you manage to be so thin. - I haven't eaten yet! - I looked directly at her, who kept her head up, staring at me. Petulant! - My sister can't eat much. She has type 1 diabetes. Does your brother Jorel eat as much as you? Was she really asking me how much Jorel ate? I hadn't seen Jorel eat for at least five years. We lived separate lives. We only spoke once a month, when he came to Clifford's to pick up the money. I didn't even know if my brother was allergic to anything. And I had no obligation to know. - Jorel prefers to eat other things, not food. - I couldn't help myself, noticing Mrs. Abertton's reproachful look. - So, Mr. Abertton? Do we have an agreement? - I asked. - No, Mr. Clifford. Unfortunately we don't have an agreement. - the man paid to see. - What do you mean you didn't accept an agreement? - Mrs. Abertton made her dissatisfaction with her husband clear. I waited for the to come disheswhile I listened to the teenage apprentice talking non-stop. The good thing was that the apprentice model couldn't insert herself into the conversation, because the youngest wouldn't let her. I realized that it didn't take much for Olivia to be her father's favorite, since his two daughters were simply boring and inconvenient. The owner of the Abertton bus station, who was going bankrupt because I had bought all the companies that competed with him and invested heavily in order to him with leaveno way of fighting them all, which was really just one, was as pale as a napkin. He had taken out several loans to finish work he had started, trying to get his name out of the black so that he could bid for tenders, and in the end he couldn't even pay his employees, who were knocking on his company threatening him. And yes, I bought out all the banks he had run up debts with. And with each one I used contracts that were increasingly impossible to fulfill financially. In the end, Ernest owed more than he was able to pay back in his lifetime. In fact, I didn't even know how that man still kept his family eating and drinking. As soon as the food was served, I took a bite and looked at Ernest Abertton: - Is your final answer no? - My final answer is no. - He confirmed hesitantly. I stood up, loosening my tie a little, certain that being close to that monstrous man was what was making me almost breathless. - Suffer the consequences of your decision, Mr. Abertton. I left without saying goodbye. Before leaving the place, I told the maitre d': - The bill will be paid by Mr. Abertton. I don't usually do this, but he insisted. Not that I needed to satisfy a simple maitre d', but I wanted to make it clear that Ernest would bear the cost. For me, the final amount of everything consumed that night was what I used to tip good waiters in restaurants in Dubai, for example. But I knew that Abertton would break out in a cold sweat when he found out that I was paying for the food. It would be his loss, not mine. I knew that Ernest would go back on his decision and unite the chuchu with my playboy little brother, who I had now discovered was also a gambler. That's why I hated people. None of them were worth liking. The only one who reached my heart was dead. And Ernest Abertton would pay for it until his last breath.