Uncommon Criminals Read Online Free PDF Page B

places and black market deals, but if there was one thing every W. W. Hale learned early on, it’s that you never really want to know where the money comes from.
    “And as I said on the phone, we at Chamberlain and King believe that moving the Cleopatra on this schedule could be quite dangerous. If you could delay—”
    Kelly came to an abrupt stop and wheeled on the pair. “I’m sure you would like me to delay, but seeing that it’s my stone, I think I’ll do with it as I please.”
    “Before his death,” Hale started, “your father was adamant that the stone not be displayed in public, and—”
    “My father inherited this company,” Kelly snapped, gesturing to the people and things that filled the hall. “And do you know what he did with it?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Nothing, Mr. Jones. He maintained what my grandfather had built—that’s all. I don’t expect you to understand what it’s like to be in a family business, but the job of future generations is not to maintain . The one major decision my father made was to buy the Cleopatra back thirty years ago, and then he locked it up goodness knows where—”
    “Switzerland,” Hale said.
    “What?”
    “According to our records, the stone is in a high-security box in a Swiss bank.”
    “I know that,” Kelly snapped, and pushed the elevator call button. “The point is that no one has seen it. I have never even seen it. It’s the greatest asset this company has, and all it’s done in thirty years is collect dust and wait for some mythical mate to turn up so that some ridiculous curse can be broken.”
    “Of course, of course,” Hale said.
    Kelly looked at him as if to say, I was talking to your boss .
    That was when Hale slid closer. “You’ll have to forgive Mr. Jones, Mr. Kelly,” he confided softly as Marcus stood three steps behind them, stoic, silent as the grave. “He can see the smallest crack in a company’s defenses, the slightest fault. I’m here to make sure Mr. Jones isn’t distracted. The man’s a genius, you see. And when Mr. Jones says that it might be best to wait—”
    There was a ding, and the elevator doors were sliding open.
    “ My grandfather was a genius,” Kelly snapped. “A visionary.”
    Hale stepped inside the elevator, secretly wishing the man would have the nerve to add “ a thief .”
    “That stone is the Kelly Corporation’s signature piece,” Kelly continued, “and it’s not going to stay in a hole in the ground. Not on my watch.”
    The doors slid closed, and Hale couldn’t help but study the reflection of Oliver Kelly the Third—the handmade suit and full-Windsor knot. Antique cuff links and Italian calfskin shoes, all of which had one purpose: to make sure no one ever mistook him for ordinary. All at the age of twenty-nine. Hale might not have hated him so much had it not been like looking in a fun-house mirror—at who he might have become if he hadn’t been home two years before on the night when Kat came to steal his Monet.
    “Yes, Mr. Kelly,” Hale said slowly, still taking the image in. “I understand completely.”
    “Good.” When the elevator doors opened, Kelly turned and extended a hand toward Marcus. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Jones. I appreciate your time. But as you can see, our paperwork is in order, and our security”—he gestured at the showroom on the main level of the building, its gleaming cases and cameras and guards—“it is the best it can possibly be, so I’m afraid you’ve made the trip for nothing.”
    “Indeed.” Hale reached to take the hand that was offered, held it a little longer than Kelly was perhaps expecting, squeezed it a little tighter. “What do you think, Mr. Jones?”
    Marcus let his gaze sweep around the room. His voice was stoic and cold when he said, “I think the last time I heard that was at the Henley.”
    Hale watched Oliver Kelly the Third shudder at the words. The color faded in his cheeks, and his mouth drew