Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
And every square fucking inch of his apartment was stacked with money.
"Holy shit," I said, mouth gaping, not quite ready to accept what I was seeing as reality.
Sure, Finch was a criminal.
Clearly.
He had the prison tats to prove it.
But I hadn't exactly pegged him as someone who was rolling in it.
"Ferryn. Ferryn's fuck buddy," Finch greeted us, more curious than concerned, despite what looked like millions of dollars surrounding him. "And this ravishing creature I don't believe I've met," he said, giving Chris a smoldering look.
"Yeah, no," Chris said, rolling her eyes.
"You're breaking my heart, beautiful," he declared, putting his gun hand over his heart.
"Something tells me you'll survive. Anyway," she said, looking over at us, waving her arms out. "Meet the mission's bank."
"Alright, sweetheart, you might have the face of a fucking angel, but I'm not giving you money."
"It's not money!" Chris declared to us, face triumphant, positively beaming.
"Alright, Chris, um, you kind of have crazy eyes right now," I said, looking between the parties in the room, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. "What do you mean it's not money?"
"Oh, right," she said, shaking her head. "I forgot you guys are a couple steps behind me."
"I'm pretty sure the whole world is a couple steps behind you," I told her. "But go on."
"Right, so. This is Finch McAwley. And he is possibly the world's best counterfeiter."
"Not going to complain about you knowing my name, dollface, but I can't be having you spread my business around like that."
Suddenly, things I had missed when we'd first walked in were clearer to me now.
Like the fact that he had covered the kitchen surfaces in computers and scanners and printers. The massive piles of some sort of specialty paper. The ink. The dryer that the units didn't come with, plugged into an outlet.
"Anyway," Chris went on as though Finch hadn't spoken. "Let's just say that Finch's counterfeit money can pretty much fool anyone."
"Then how do you know who he is?"
"Oh, please. I know who everyone is," she said, shaking her head. And, well, there was probably a lot of truth in that. "Anyway. Finchy here has absolutely perfected five and ten dollar bills. He sells them for two and five dollars respectively, leaving him with a nice little profit. I mean the ink and paper and such cost very little."
"The paper is linen, and imported from Poland. It's not that cheap."
"In the grand scheme of things, it's cheap," Chris told us, ignoring him. "Don't let his shabby little office fool you, he's rolling in it. And he is going to help fund us."
"See now, here is the part where I need to interject. Dollface, I never said I was going to fund shit," Finch insisted, placing the gun down on the table.
"Oh, but you will say it,"Chris insisted, smirking. "And do you want to know why you will say it?"
"Is it just me, or is she terrifyingly creepy when she makes veiled threats like that?" Vance whispered to me. And, well, I couldn't disagree. Her intensity, her knowledge, and her utter self-assurance mixed with the fact that she clearly had a lot of power in this town, well, it was scary and impressive and hard to look away from.
"Yeah, angel, I'd like to know why I would say something like that," Finch agreed, not as intimidated as Vance and I seemed to be.
"Because if you don't agree to fund our little mission, then I am going to have to make a little call," she said, leaning forward slightly like a mother about to tell a child the repercussions of their bad behavior. "Do you know who I have the number for, Finchy?"
"No, doll, can't say that I do."
"Does the name Ewan O'Neil ring a bell?"
Finch was pale in general.
He went ghostly right about then.
"I thought that it might," she said, nodding. "Anywho. You've done a pretty good job of avoiding him thus far. It would be a real shame if he learned where you are hanging up your cap these days."
"That would be a shame," Finch agreed, giving Chris some unnerving eye-contact that didn't dull her almost bubbly mood. In the end, he was the one to break it, looking over at me and Vance before glancing back at Chris. "And what mission do you want help funding?"
"How do you feel about human trafficking, Finchy?"
"Look," Finch said, holding up a hand. "I might not be the most moral of men, but I draw the line at that fucking shit. I'm not getting involved with trafficking. Not even for you, dollface."
"We don't traffick people," Chris snapped. "We take down traffickers."
To that, Finch let out a low chuckle, his gaze moving to me, piercing, penetrating. "That makes a lot of sense. Well," he said, taking a breath as he got to his feet, unfolding much like a cat. "It is important to be altruistic. Think we have a deal, Chris, was it?" he asked, extending his hand.