3. Luis

CHAPTER 3

LUIS

L uis Morales wove through the crowd with a half-full champagne glass in one hand and a miniature crab cake in the other. Crystals hung from every chandelier and from every woman in the room. The men were all dressed to the nines in bespoke tuxedos, and each one of them had a swagger to match.

Luis should have felt he belonged in this world. He'd been here for the last decade of his life, that magical decade in which he went from your run-of-the-mill entrepreneur to an actual billionaire. Who knew a simple brewery could drive a fortune like that? But it had. One year, for what seemed like no reason at all, Luis struck gold with his great-grandfather's recipes. And ever since then, the world wanted everything to do with him.

You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Luis never felt so isolated, so distanced from who he really was, as he did at these overindulgent soirées. He was meant to be networking, or at the very least, he was meant to be available for others to network with, which they did, especially the women. Though, that wasn't anything new. Luis had never struggled to gain the notice of women. He'd been an attractive youth, poor as he was. And now, he was tall with dark chocolate hair, piercing eyes, and a strong jaw line. His extensive gym and personal chef kept him in remarkably good shape. He had everything was going for him, in fact, though that hadn't always been the case.

Yet another woman approached him and tried to strike up a conversation. He noticed she had ordered his brand of beer and was careful to hold the label outward so he could see it. "How's your evening been?" she asked.

Luis swallowed the last bite of his crab cake and washed it down with champagne. "Not bad. How's yours?"

"Also not bad," the woman said. "And getting better."

Luis extended his hand. "Luis Morales."

"Oh, I know who you are."

He leaned in and whispered, "If you pretend you don't, I'll find it more charming."

She laughed, blushed and shook his hand. "I'm Jennifer Connors, nobody special in other words. I just wanted to meet you so badly. I wanted to tell you how much I've always enjoyed your beer. You know, I feel like it truly brings people together, makes family gatherings memorable. It's nostalgia in a bottle."

She was far too young to be feeling nostalgic about any alcoholic beverage, but Luis knew she was only paraphrasing an interview his father had given years ago. She was putting on a plastic personality to woo him. She was doing exactly what every other person who ever spoke to him did, and he was tired of it.

Nevertheless, he forced a smile. "I agree completely. So glad you enjoy our product." He always found himself slipping into plural pronouns when someone treated him as a CEO rather than a normal person. Meet fake with fake, he always thought. Speak for the company. That was the best way to make it through these hellish parties without insulting anyone.

Jennifer continued to prattle on, though Luis had long stopped listening to her. He'd always been good at feigning interest. Right now, he wasn't in the mood to be seduced, even if she was an attractive young woman. Nothing good ever came out of his trysts anyway, just more people wanting to know what he could do for them. He was tired of the games and tired of the act he was expected to put on.

A server passed with another tray of hors d'oeuvres, and Luis snatched what looked like some kind of mini quiche. It was bound to be delicious, whatever it was. Everything at these events was delicious, though none of it held a candle to his mother's traditional Colombian cooking. And now that he was reminiscing and feeling melancholy again, he excused himself and headed to the library.

Luis had come to America from his home in Colombia many years ago, hoping to show the people up north how good his family's beer really was. He had been certain he could make a fortune on it, and that certainty had paid off. It was true that he was rarely wrong. Even now, people came to him asking his advice on what to sell and when, at what price point to buy, and which businesses were likely to make lucrative investments.

This was how Luis had built his empire in the end. He made money from his father's brewery and then invested it wisely. All of it was for his family back home, and he sent them a check each month religiously. His mother and sisters would get on the phone, one at a time, and beg him to visit. And Luis always promised he would "soon." Unfortunately, soon never seemed to become now , and Luis never seemed to have the time to spare, not when his shareholders needed him to keep things from falling apart.

The library was bright and cheery with wood furniture and a gas-fueled fire in the fireplace. There was some kind of white fur carpet at the center of the room, and white throw pillows everywhere. It was the opposite of what Luis imagined when he thought of a library, but it was tasteful at least.

One of the first things Luis had noticed when he arrived in America was the lack of color. Ever since, he swore to make a home his own family could comfortably live in. For this reason, every one of the number of homes he had scattered around the country had at least one bedroom that was decorated with copious amounts of color. Any time he thought he might try something more standard, his heart would rebel. He would imagine his mother wandering through the place, clutching her elbows with a shiver, saying, "But why is it so cold?" And then he would demand the room be painted red.

He was sitting in one of the loveseats around the fire and staring lazily into its perfectly balanced line of flames when another figure sat across from him. Luis didn't bother to glance up, assume the man was here to get a breather from the event just like Luis. But then the man took it upon himself to speak.

"Hiding from the party, Morales?" he said.

Luis looked up. "Caught me red-handed." An attempt at playful friendliness seemed appropriate until he saw who was sitting across from him. It was Charles Kent, his rival, if the man could even be called a rival. He was more of a hopeful, Luis supposed, always trailing after Luis, investing in his wake, puffing out his chest at parties to make some kind of impression. Luis had barely noticed him until recently, when Kent had tried to buy out a small, local brewery that Luis was quite fond of.

Charles Kent always had a predatory way of doing business. He would set up in an area, and then slowly but surely dismantle the competition, buying them out and closing them down. But when he set his sights on Luis's personal favorite, Dog Days Brewery, Luis took matters into his own hands. He bought the brewery at a price a mediocre investor like Kent couldn't begin to afford, and then he hired the owners to run the place exactly as they had been. He had one personal request for the man he bought he business from: "Don't ever let me chip away at your integrity. Make what you love. Do it well. Tell me I don't know what I'm talking about if I try to change your mind."

The owner of Dog Days had wept openly, and that was when Luis learned why he'd been forced to sell in the first place. His mother had fallen ill and was in the hospital. There were medical bills with no way to pay them. Luis had just unknowingly handed the owner everything he needed to get by without having to sacrifice his beloved business. And for some reason, that fact made Charles Kent furious.

"That was an interesting move you made last month, pulling the rug out from under me like that," Kent said. "I admit, at first I was certain you had something up your sleeve. I scoured your portfolio, trying to figure out what the hell kind of strategy you were using. Until I figured out there wasn't one. Because this was all about screwing me, wasn't it? You can't stand the idea that I might overtake you in the market."

Luis nearly spat out his drink. There wasn't a chance of Charles Kent overtaking him, but then, unearned pride was a hell of a drug. "That's not at all what I'm doing," Luis said. "I just like the beer, that's all. It reminds me of my father's."

"You mean that cold piss you sell now?"

That hit home. Luis could feel heat moving to his cheeks. Over the years, he'd taken advice from experts on what sort of beer Americans preferred, and he'd tweaked his recipe again and again until it resembled something closer to America's biggest brands. He hated himself for it. He felt he was betraying his father and grandfather in a way, which was probably why he'd bothered to fight for Dog Days. "People seem to like it," was all the defense he could give.

Kent looked disgusted. "Well, there's no accounting for taste." Luis hated that he couldn't argue the point. Kent was right. Luis's beer was shit. It was the name people were really paying for. "But I have something fun up my sleeve. I haven't lost yet."

"This isn't a game, Kent," Luis said.

"If you believe that, you're even dumber than you look." Kent made himself comfortable on one of the couches and pulled a cigarette out of his coat pocket.

Luis glared at him. "I didn't know we were welcome to smoke here."

"Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission," Kent said with a laugh. "I mean if you don't just take what you want in life, don't be surprised when no one else hands it to you. That's my philosophy, anyway. You've got to fight for yourself, man, because no one else will fight for you."

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Luis sat across from him but couldn't get comfortable.

Charles Kent shrugged. "It's the truth. Why deny the truth? But there it is, eh, Morales? So here's me fighting for myself. You've put a bug in my plan, I admit, but it's just a readjustment for me. I'll wiggle my way out of this. You, on the other hand…" He laughed again, and Luis felt a chill run up his spine. "You've overstepped, my friend, and now you're about to face the consequences. You should have kept quiet, stayed on your own side of the neighborhood. We could have worked together, you and I, but now you've made me mad." The man leaned in. "Nobody who makes me mad walks away happy."

"What's your point, Kent?"

Kent took a long drag off his cigarette and blew a puff of smoke in Luis's direction. He was like a washed-up actor auditioning for the part of the poorly written villain. "Unfortunately, you drew my attention with your last little stunt."

"It was not a ‘stunt,'" Luis began, but Kent continued talking as though he hadn't said anything at all.

"So I started digging into your past. Most people's weaknesses can be found in their pasts. Did you know that? It's fascinating, really."

Luis massaged his own face in frustration. Wherever Kent was going with this, he'd better get there soon before Luis lost it completely.

"I know you came to this country from Colombia. I mean just about everybody knows that since you brag about it constantly."

"There's no shame in being proud of where you came from."

Charles Kent laughed again. "There's shame in doing it illegally, though."

Now Luis sat upright, listening far more intently than he had been. "I didn't."

"Maybe not initially, but you've overstayed your visa, haven't you? Oh, didn't think anyone would notice, you being the big bad billionaire that you are? That might have been true if you hadn't pissed me off. But you did, Morales. You pissed me off, and now I've got a good reason to destroy you. I think I'll start with your status, which is, let's be honest, illegal. How do you think your shareholders will feel when they find out? Did you mean to drag that poor man's business down with you? Because that's exactly what you've done by buying it out from under me."

Luis Morales had no more words for his rival. Charles Kent couldn't be right, could he? Luis had hired what he assumed to be the very best lawyers, and they should have been all over this. What the hell had he hired them for if they weren't going to keep track of this sort of thing?

Kent read Luis's expression with a disgusting grin. "What a massive oversight, huh? Too bad. One little slip-up. Well, I doubt the United States government will consider it a little slip-up. Legality is very important to them. And as popular as you are, I'm sure the media will consider it quite the story when they get their hands on it. Things are about to get very bad for you, Morales."

"What do you want?" Luis asked from the edge of his seat.

"I don't know. To win? Revenge? Try selling me back that little brewery you bought. Sell it for a song, and see if I change my mind. I make no promises, but I do treat my friends rather well. Just check with them if you doubt me." Kent stood and tossed his cigarette butt into the fireplace. "You don't have long to make a friend out of me, Morales. I suggest you don't procrastinate."