Chapter Nine

Dexter

DAF Financial Grand Centre, 901 Wilshire Blvd, Los Angeles, California, CA…

“Double Espresso, Darlene… and keep it coming. I need a serious boost of liquid energy today,” Dexter said as he walked into the large open-plan office of his executive assistant.

The gleaming glass and steel building commanded attention at the corner of Wilshire and Grand. Its angular facade caught the morning light like a prism. The structure rose forty stories into the Los Angeles skyline, each floor wrapped in alternating bands of reflective glass and brushed steel that created an illusion of movement. At street level, a series of cascading water features framed the main entrance, their gentle flow providing a stark contrast to the building’s sharp geometric lines.

“Not just espresso, young man,” Darlene Butler called out from her pristinely organized desk as he continued to his office. “I’m ordering those almond croissants you pretend not to love.” Her blonde hair was pulled back in an elegant chignon, her manner both motherly and professional, even though she was only fifteen years older than him. “You may be running this empire, but someone has to make sure you don’t run yourself into the ground.”

“It’s because of you feeding me all those croissants that I have to run three miles every morning,” he shot back with a broad smile. Darlene had been with him for almost ten years, and the camaraderie between them had surpassed that of employer-employee long ago. He loved her like she was family.

Her office space served as a sophisticated gateway to Dexter’s inner sanctum. The walls were clad in textured white panels with integrated LED lighting that could shift from warm to cool tones. A series of abstract paintings in muted blues and grays provided the only splashes of color. Her custom-designed workstation curved elegantly around her, everything within perfect reach.

Dexter walked into his own office, where floor-to-ceiling windows offered a commanding view of downtown Los Angeles and the distant Hollywood Hills.

“Ah, I fucking love this view,” he murmured and stretched lazily as he stood in front of the windows with his eyes on the horizon.

The space was a study in understated power—a massive desk of white Carrara marble seemingly floated on a glass base, while a conference table of the same materials could seat twelve. The furniture was minimal yet precisely chosen—white leather Barcelona chairs, steel-framed bookcases that appeared to defy gravity, and a single piece of modern sculpture in polished steel that caught and reflected the natural light. Like its owner, the office conveyed success without shouting it. Every element was carefully selected to create an environment of clarity, precision, and quiet confidence.

“You have a full day ahead of you, Dex. Your calendar is back to back,” Darlene said as she placed the tray with his coffee and pastries on the desk a short while later.

“Exactly why I said I need a caffeine injection on tap.”

“Gmphf,” she scoffed. “Not gonna happen since I refuse to be the one to rush you to the hospital when you have a gallbladder attack.” She pointed to the black water carafe on the side table of his desk. “I’ll make sure you have enough water to sustain you through the day, but you’ll stick to your normal quota of coffee… and no, it’s not up for debate.”

Dexter shook his head as she marched out the door. “Some days, I wonder who’s the boss in this company.”

“I heard that,” she piped up from her office since the door was standing open. “Just so you know, I have no desire to be a boss of anything. I’m very happy with my job.”

“One you do very well, I don’t mind telling you,” he said over his shoulder. He never reprimanded her for being too familiar with him. Quite the contrary, he enjoyed the lively altercations they had at times. In the end, she loved him like a young brother, and she didn’t care who knew it.

“Darlene, please get Rex Oliver on the line for me.”

“Ugh… that friend of yours is like the phantom. Why he even has a cell phone, I’ll never understand. He never answers it the first ten times I call,” she complained in a sour voice.

Dexter didn’t respond but rather appreciated the view like he did every day as a reminder of what had brought him the continued wave of success he was riding.

His photographic mind was more than just an ability to remember—it was his secret weapon in the complex world of financial markets. Every chart pattern, every market trend, and every subtle shift in global economic indicators remained crystal clear in his mind, allowing him to spot correlations and patterns that others missed entirely. When analysts needed to reference historical data or cross-check market movements, Dexter could instantly recall exact figures, dates, and market conditions from years past.

His gift particularly shined during the Asian Financial Crisis of 2019, when everyone else was frantically selling. Dexter recognized the pattern. It mirrored a similar market behavior he’d observed in emerging markets a decade earlier. While others saw chaos, his mind pulled up the exact sequence of events that had followed that previous crisis. He moved decisively, acquiring massively devalued but fundamentally sound Asian tech companies.

The defining moment came when he identified a hidden opportunity in quantum computing startups. While the financial world focused on conventional tech giants, Dexter’s perfect recall of technological advancement patterns helped him spot a small company called QuantaTech Global. They had developed a breakthrough in qubit stability that most investors had overlooked. Drawing from his encyclopedic memory of similar technological leaps in computing history, he, along with Rex, invested nearly everything they had—fifty million dollars borrowed against their existing assets.

Within eighteen months, QuantaTech Global’s innovation revolutionized quantum computing, making stable quantum computers commercially viable for the first time. The company's value skyrocketed from $200 million to $89 billion. Their initial investment multiplied over a thousand-fold, instantly launching them into the realm of billionaire class. His memory had allowed him to see what everyone else had missed. The historical parallel to the early days of classical computing, where similar breakthrough moments had created unprecedented wealth.

The corporate world had dismissed QuantaTech Global as too risky, too speculative. But Dexter remembered every detail of how IBM, Microsoft, and Apple had once been viewed with similar skepticism. His photographic memory hadn’t just helped him succeed—it had revealed the future by perfectly preserving the past.

It was that success that had given him the opportunity to have Jax Crowthorne, his cousin, develop the DAF Financial Grand Centre building in the heart of the financial district of Los Angeles. It was the proud location of DAF Investment Bank as well as the headquarters of DAF Investment, Inc.

“Well, wonders never cease to happen.” Darlene’s voice yanked him back to the present. “Rex is on line two.”

“Thanks.” With long strides, he walked to the door to close it. “No interruptions, please. The board members can wait a couple of minutes,” he preempted the reminder he knew was coming that the first meeting of the day was about to start.

“Rex, my man! Fancy getting hold of you this early in the morning,” he quipped as he picked up the receiver. Stretching out his legs, he leaned back in the chair and powered up his laptop at the same time.

“Early, my ass. You know very well I’m up before the first rays of the sun hit the horizon.” The sound of rustling papers in the background confirmed that Rex was already at the office. Since he was an IT Mogul, he didn’t keep to normal business hours but trusted his employees to keep his company functioning perfectly. However, that didn’t mean he didn’t have an amazing and prolific work ethic. “Besides, I expected you to demand an early progress report on little Miss Spitfire.”

“You know me so well,” Dexter shot back with a chuckle. “So? Anything I should be concerned about?”

Although they always did general background checks to verify the lifestyle and experience level of everyone applying for membership or drop-in attendance, Dexter couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to Violet Russo than she let on. Or rather, the actual reason why she has been onboard the GoldenEye Airbus III in the first place.

“I have to admit, I was surprised when you asked me to do a deep dive background check on her. We’re not usually concerned with visiting members.”

As an entrepreneur in the financial field, Dexter had learned very quickly to be cautious. To always trust his instincts and tread lightly when red flags appear. Since he had guarded his heart up till now, no matter how attracted he was to Violet Russo, he had no intention of jumping blindly into the fire… a spitfire blaze that could easily consume him.

“My concern is of a private nature,” he responded, knowing that Rex would be able to read between the lines.

“Fuck me. You’re infatuated with the chit, aren’t you?”

“Infatuated is a strong word. Attracted is more like it.”

“If you say so, my friend. Either way, I’m glad you’re taking precautions before becoming too deeply involved… especially in light of what I found.”

“I’m listening.”

“Defense Attorney Violet Russo has a rather shady past… or to be more accurate, her past is littered with a family of… how shall I put this… ill repute.”

Dexter frowned as he searched the banks of his memory for details on a shady Russo family. Russo was a common surname across the States, and more so in the EU, where the name originated from. “Fuck me,” he breathed as flashes of newspaper articles and news reports of one elusive Mafioso Lucky Russo bombarded his mind.

“I concur,” Rex’s voice turned gruff as he realized Dexter had made a connection. “So, it seems your little subbie, who is also one of the most revered defense attorneys in Los Angeles, is none other than the oldest daughter of the mighty Don of the Los Angeles Crime Family, aka the Gragna Mafia, or simply the L.A. Mafia.”

“Reputedly,” Dexter muttered.

“Reputedly, my ass. You know as well as I do where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Just because the authorities can’t find something to stick doesn’t mean he’s not a criminal. It just means he has conquered being a mastermind in eluding prosecution.”

“Yeah, like so many other fuckers in the mafia.”

“Exactly, and in George Lucky Russo’s case, he lives a double life. To the world out there, he’s nothing other than a Los Angeles-based prosecco magnate.”

“Prosecco? The Italian DOCG white wine that’s produced in a large area spanning nine provinces in the Veneto and Friuli-Venezia Giulia regions?”

“Yep, and digging deeper into the dark web, I found confirmation of him being the reputed boss of the mafia family since the late 1990s.”

“I don’t recall that he’s ever been charged with anything relating to crime or any association with the mafia,” Dexter said as his memory bank came up blank on further information.

“Because he hasn’t. For all intents and purposes, Don Lucky Russo is a ghost. No one knows what the mobster looks like, and since he keeps his mafia dealings under wraps, it will probably stay that way.”

“How did you find confirmation? Surely the FBI’s IT gurus should be able to dig it up as well?”

“Let’s just say that I have developed a dark web algorithm that could get me killed if any crime syndicate finds out about it.”

“So, you have no reason to doubt that your intel is correct? Violet Russo is part of the Gragna Mafia family.”

“Here’s the catch. She might be the oldest of his children, but she cut ties with them as soon as she finished school. She left, got her degree, and lived a separate life from them. I can’t find anything to indicate that since then, she has had any contact or association with them insofar as their criminal activities are concerned. She has dinner with her family at a public restaurant once a quarter, and they spend Christmas with her at her place, but that’s the only contact she has with them.”

“So, why can’t I shake the feeling that she was onboard the GoldenEye Airbus III for reasons other than being part of an amazing opening night of a kink club?”

“A question you should be asking her, Dex. One thing I do know is that if your gut is sending out those kinds of warnings, don’t ignore them.”

“Don’t worry,” Dexter said with grim resolution. “I have no intention of doing so.”

“Good thing that I managed to find her home address for you. I’m emailing it as we speak.”

“Thanks, Rex. I owe you a drink.”

“I’d be happier with a threesome with you and that little spitfire.”

“Well, that can be arranged. Be sure to keep the weekend after the next open. We’re heading out to the Caribbean.”

“Oh, I’ll be there, locked and loaded.”

Dexter laughed as he ended the call. There’s nothing he loved more than having a threesome with Rex. They had a rapport that resonated with the submissives, turning every encounter into an explosive experience. He already envisioned blowing Violet’s circuits in the Caribbean.