UNCOVER

18. SECRETS OF THE PATRIARCH

Chapter 18

~ On the Golf Course (continuation from Chapter 16)

Radnor's patience waned, his voice sharp and unforgiving. "I'm not one to be deterred by the prospect of complications. You're handsomely compensated for a reason. In fact, I'll throw in a little extra, now get this issue sorted. I want Louis on our side."

Alastair attempted to argue further, but Radnor cut him off with a dismissive wave. The drug lord was resolute in his decision, unwilling to entertain any further debate. He walked away, shifting his focus to a phone call that demanded his attention.

As Radnor departed, Dalton intercepted Alastair, guiding him to a more secluded corner. With a casual air, he produced a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Alastair, who accepted it with a sigh. Both men exchanged glances, the smoke curling around them as they took contemplative drags. Dalton's voice cut through the smoke, his words sharp and resolute: "He's stubborn. He won't take your advice; he's fixated on the outcome, regardless of the method. We'll have to find our own way."

Alastair furrowed his brow, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" he asked, leaning in.

Dalton ground his cigarette into the pavement, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Tell me more about your client, Marc Bernard," he demanded.

Alastair took a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his words. "Well, let's rewind back to 2014, the peak of the recession chaos. Among all the businesses that were crumbling, there was one that not only stayed afloat but soared sky-high: Bernard's. Their profits shot up by a whopping 110%. Marc loved flaunting it as his big win, but truth be told, it came with a price. He made some life-and-death deal with this shady figure lurking in the shadows. Nobody knows this guy's name; I'm not even sure Marc properly knows who he is; the guy's like a ghost. But he's the reason Marc gets his hands on some strange, potent stuff. Stuff that finds its way into everything Bernard's sells—cosmetics, kids' food, you name it. It supposedly makes his products better, but considering he keeps it off the ingredient list, I'm sure it isn't anything legal. And people just eat it up, like literally, can you imagine? Anyways, since that shady pact, Marc's been swimming in cash, all while expanding his empire and spinning some fuck all fairy tale of success."

"Interesting," Dalton mused, his curiosity piqued by the unknown figure Alastair had mentioned. Still, his focus remained on Marc's story. Leaning in, Dalton's eyes narrowed as he asked, "So, is that why he's so obsessed with his image? Seems like he's always trying to stay under the radar?"

Alastair laughed, a hint of amusement and disdain in his eyes. "Ha! The exact opposite actually. All that wealth has inflated that old man's ego and made Marc Bernard—the most narcissistic asshole you'll ever encounter. He struts around like a peacock, obnoxious and cocky. And the reason he avoids bad press? Well, it's not because he's self-aware. Quite the contrary. That cunt genuinely believes there's nothing wrong with him."

Dalton leaned back, concentration evident on his face. Alastair crushed his cigarette underfoot, his voice dropping to a murmur. "Here's a word of caution: when you talk to him, be careful. He's short-tempered, and his fuse is as fragile as glass."

Dalton laughed confidently. "Well, you've met my boss, so how much worse can he really be!"

~~

Dalton and Alastair stepped into the imposing corporate headquarters owned by none other than Marc Styles Bernard, a renowned business magnate. His name reverberated throughout the industry, synonymous with wealth, power, and influence. The opulence of the building mirrored his success—gleaming marble floors, towering glass walls, and an ostentatious lobby adorned with oversized portraits of Marc himself. Each wall bore witness to his triumphs: framed accolades, magazine covers, and snapshots from high-profile events. Marc's face, chiseled and confident, stared back from every angle as if daring anyone to forget his dominance.