The Other Side of Greed by Lily Zante

Chapter Fifteen

KYRA

I’m not usually so hard on people and Simona’s reminder that I am with Brad makes me consider why I’m being like this. Maybe she has a point. The breakup with my ex has hardened me.

Brad isn’t going to be here for that many days in the week, so maybe I should make an effort to be civil to him and not jump to any conclusions.

Perhaps I am guilty of some bias, and that’s why on an unconscious level, I find myself unable to trust him. He comes across as someone who hasn’t had it hard. I shouldn’t hate people who haven’t suffered hardship.

I don’t.

Simona hasn’t suffered, and neither has Fredrich. So, that can’t be it. Maybe I’m wasting too much time thinking about our interactions, and the best way to overcome the analysis, and to get Simona off my back, is to make a conscious effort to be nice to him.

“How about we go through a few things, and I share with you our plans for the future?” I say when he comes in the following week.

For a moment, he looks surprised, but he quickly covers it. “Sure.”

“Grab a chair.” Simona looks up from her desk at this looking very pleased. I narrow my eyes at her while waiting. This is Brad’s small reward for spending all day cleaning up the storerooms. Him doing that saved me from coming in over the weekend and for that I’m grateful. “This is what I envision.” On a large sheet of paper, I draw the layout of Greenways with the factories, and the row of stores, and large expanse of land at the back.

A whiteboard would help, because it would mean that Brad wouldn’t have to sit beside me at my desk, and that way I wouldn’t be able to catch a hint of his shower gel or cologne.

It’s distracting. I never notice this about Simona or Fredrich. I don’t waste countless minutes of my brain time obsessed about their shower gel.

“That’s a lot of land,” he remarks.

“Here is where we’re thinking of setting up another factory or warehouse.” I indicate the area to the side of our factory.

“But that’s not empty land,” Brad points out. “There are still buildings on either side of you.”

“I’m hoping that they might sell soon, and then we can either rebuild or take them over.”

He scratches his jaw as if he’s unsure. “Are you sure you want to stay here?”

“I’m absolutely sure. Why?”

“Look around you. This building has holes in the roof. The area is becoming more downmarket—”

“Who told you that?” I ask him. He blinks but says nothing. “This area is up and coming, especially with all of the new roads and infrastructure that they’ve been building around here. Soon enough, it’s going to have an impact and we will see the benefit.”

“I don’t know.” He doesn’t look convinced.

“Who told you that this area was diminishing in value?”

He shrugs and slaps a hand across the back of his neck. “Maybe I got it wrong.”

“You’ve been out of the loop too long. How long were you away for?”

“Away?”

“You said you worked abroad on community projects.”

“A couple of years.”

“A couple of years? I had no idea it was that long. I got the impression that you were there for a few months, less than a year, if that.”

“I guess that’s what it felt like. That whole time is a blur to me because I moved around a lot and worked on a few different projects.”

“You must have been gone a while because this part of Chicago is up and coming. It would be silly of me to leave now when things are picking up around here. I know this from the city officials.”

“The city officials?”

“We have access to people who are informed about these things. It’s nice getting noticed for the work we do. We’ve had lots of people reach out to us with donations of money.”

“Excuse me, Kyra …” Simona interrupts to announce that Elias is on the line now.

“I need to take this. Elias Cardoza is our biggest benefactor. Put him through, Simona.”

* * *

BRANDON

Holy crap.

I move back to my desk and absorb what Kyra has just told me. She has officials that are on her side, and Elias Cardoza has called her.

How is it that Lewis has people like him on her side? The fucker didn’t get in touch when my people reached out to him. Knowing that he is Chicago’s favorite son, and the city’s biggest draw, and that he’s suddenly accumulated vast wealth which someone of that caliber won’t have a clue what to do with, I told my people that we needed to meet with him. Having him endorse a few of our projects, or even invest in some, wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

But he never returned a single call, and now he’s calling Saint Kyra Lewis.

I’m also not sure she bought my story about going abroad and helping out in community projects. That was a near miss. It’s not easy keeping my story straight, and Kyra has an annoying habit of quizzing me on details when I least expect.

She’s smart and that’s something else I wasn’t prepared for, as well as her letting me in on her plans. This is a turnaround from yesterday. I woke up aching all over. It wasn’t the gym type of ache, where only the muscles that I’ve worked out hurt, but a dull whole-body ache. Lifting and shifting those pallets around wasn’t easy work and I came in today dreading that Kyra would find something else just as hard for me to do.

I have nothing to do now, except eavesdrop on her conversation with the boxer. She’s laughing, and her voice is softer. They’re talking as if they’re friends.

This is news to my ears.

I had all these preconceived ideas about this woman and they are all coming apart one by one.

“You’re on her good side today.” Simona’s whisper sounds positively jubilant.

I hold up my hand and cross my fingers. Kyra—still on the phone—lets out a hoot of laughter which pinches my sides. “Are they best buddies?” I ask Simona, because I find it strange, the idea that Lewis and Cardoza are friends.

She opens a tube of hand cream and rubs it over her leathery hands. “Elias supports Redhill. He got in touch with us a while back, and he’s a very generous donor.”

He got in touch with them?

The fucker.

“We’re doing a special food night event when he has his big fight.” She’s still massaging the cream into her hands. “But I’ll let Kyra tell you all about it when she gets off the phone.” She stands and picks up a notebook and pencil. “I’m going down to the factory floor. Would you please let Kyra know, in case she needs me?”

“Sure.”

“You can come visit any time, Elias. You’re always welcome here,” Kyra smiles into the phone. My belly hardens. I swear she’s doing that on purpose, wanting to show me how friendly she is with Chicago’s biggest draw.

I’m not used to playing second.

Not in business.

Not in conversations.

Not ever.

Kyra has managed to get results where my team and I have failed. When the phone calls ends, I walk towards her, with my chair in one hand, strategizing and plotting in my head. “You guys seems to know Elias Cardoza well.” Kyra was talking to the guy as if they were best buddies.

“We all do. He’s a cool guy,” Kyra replies.

“Yeah?” I’ve tried to get the guy to commit to a few special projects I’ve had on the go but he’s been impossible to pin down. His management team isn’t forthcoming either.

“He’s one of our biggest donors.” Is that a smugness I sense around Kyra as she delivers this news? She seems to enjoy pointing out this fact. “He’s been here quite a few times.”

“Really?” This is incredible and it pisses me off. I’ve got it all wrong. I used to think the doors opened if you were filthy rich, but it seems that Hollywood and sports types want to help the poor.

It’s an interesting angle and one I hadn’t considered or appreciated before. I listen as she tells me about the times Elias Cardoza has come here, how he was given a tour of the factory floor, and how he seemed particularly interested in Kyra and how she set the entire operation up.

“He’s empathetic, he wants to do good, he doesn’t take things for granted. He isn’t a—” She stops. She was reeling off a list and I am sure she was making a point about me.

“He isn’t a?”

“He’s just a really great guy.” She blinks at me, and I suddenly find myself marveling at the length of her long lashes. They’re naturally long, because she’s not wearing any mascara, at least, not that I can tell. “What were we talking about before?” she asks, suddenly.

“You were telling me about the city officials.”

“And I was also telling you that we’re not moving from Greenways.”

“But expanding and building a new factory or warehouse might not be efficient,” I counter. “What if you could find exactly what you need, more space, a larger factory, and all you had to do was move in? No rebuilding, no nothing.”

“Greenways is perfect for what I have in mind. I’m not just talking about having a larger factory, I’m talking about developing the land.”

“I hear you wanting to stay here. This is your baby. You’ve created this magnificent company and you want to see it grow tall and strong, but you need to have a strong foundation.” I pause for effect and point to the buckets behind her. “Those things do not indicate that.”

“We had a thunderstorm and because the roof’s flat, it causes the water to pool,” she explains matter-of-factly. “There’s nothing wrong with this building. In fact, we have plans about developing the land.”

“You? Developing the land? For what?” I sit up taller, straining my ears because she’s beginning to sound like me with all this talk.

“For future projects.” Her guarded voice tells me she’s not so willing to share that dream with me.

“What future projects?” I lean forward, and the tiny flinch her body gives—the slight, imperceptible jerk of her moving a quarter-inch away from me—tells me I’m invading her space in a way that makes her uneasy. Or excited. I look directly into her eyes. She has freckles along her nose and cheeks that I never noticed before. Just like I never noticed the little embers of yellow in the green of her eyes.

She clears her throat, the way someone does when they want to buy time to figure a way out. Only, I’m not about to let her out of this. She’s the fly in my sparkling, glittering web, and I can smell her unease.

“Are you not willing to share because they’re not solid plans?” I ask, now that I have her full attention.

“They’re solid. They’re definitely solid.”

She didn’t like what I said. Kyra doesn’t like to be seen as weak, or lacking a spine. She’s also the type of woman who doesn’t soften with flattery.

“We may not have the best building, but in time, we can build anew.” She gets up and walks over to the window. “You see the almost derelict row of buildings across from us?” She indicates with her finger. “I want to create small units for people to rent out and base their own small businesses in.”

“Small units? What do you mean? What people?” A ball of disbelief, as flimsy as the fabric on which her new dreams are drawn, catches in my throat and holds.

“People who want to start their own business but don’t have the infrastructure in place. We’re talking little mom-and-pop units.”

“Wait, wait, ...” I have to hold it together. If I understand this correctly, the idea is plain batshit crazy. “You want people who have no business experience to set up a small business at absolutely no cost to them?”

This is in complete contrast to my own plan to build luxury condos. The idea that she wants this for people who have no business knowledge sets my guts on fire.

This is crazy. It shouldn’t be allowed because it makes no financial sense. My plan for what I will do with this area is solid, and it will make money. Hers is a straitjacket of insanity.

“It depends on what people want, what their passion is.”

“Most people go through life not knowing what they want, and they certainly have no clue about passion.”

“And some do.”

“But you’re talking about the down-and-outs of society. Do you really think they would magically know about their passion, and what they want out of life?”

At my lowest, it was food I had to forage for. For both of us. I forget to watch what I’m saying because I am so pissed off. That’s the difference between people like her and people like me. Kyra wastes money by investing in losers. I don’t.

Her soft and friendly post-Cardoza demeanor hardens in an instant. “Down-and-outs? Is that what you think of them?” She looks more pissed than I’ve ever seen her; hands on hips even though she doesn’t have the height or body to make a strong stance.

She’s trying, though. I have to give her that.

“I want to empower people to take control of their lives and to fend for themselves,” she snaps.

“These people are happy for handouts.”

“Is that what you think?” The rage inside her combusts and she looks more pissed than I’ve ever seen her. She looks as if she’d like to take a swing at me with a baseball bat. “These people want a better start for themselves and their families. Like many of us do. I don’t understand how you can’t see that.”

“Because it makes no sense.”

“You have no empathy, no compassion,” she rages. Her eyes fire up like angry flames in a furnace.

I’m a businessman and I know better. It’s not what I say to her, of course. I try to level with her. “You have to be careful because if people don’t know the basics of running a business, of knowing their profit and loss, of keeping costs down, and especially if they haven’t had to pour their hard-earned money into something, they won’t care as much as you do.”

Her brows push together. She’s not taking the bait. “We’re done for now.” She dismisses me with a nod of her chin, quickly.

I grab my chair and walk it back to my desk. “This is … this is a great piece of land you have here. It has potential,” I concede. “All I’m saying is that not everyone is as smart and as determined as you.”

“Don’t try to flatter me.”

“I wasn’t trying to.” I bite down on my teeth because she pushes my buttons, and unlike Emma, I can’t give her a dismissive nod or tell her to leave because I am not in charge. This is her domain.