Page 40 of The Warlord


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The younger Doyle, Cian, nodded, and the lawyer offered Finnan his hand. Finnan stared at the offered appendage before his gaze flickered back to Doyle Senior.

“Take a seat, Doyle. Let’s get down to it.”

The elder Doyle blinked at him before sitting in the seat Finnan had gestured to. The lawyer sat beside him, but his son remained on his feet.

“You understand the purpose of this meeting. You know what’s for sale.” Finnan waited for his nod of understanding before continuing, “For a twenty percent stake in our freighting business, you have to submit your best offer.”

Doyle reached into his inner suit jacket pocket, and I unhooked my hands and pulled my Glock into view. It was a non-verbal warning that he had to tread extremely carefully. Doyle’s eyes widened slightly, and his son eased back a step.

Reaching out, Byrne touched Doyle on the forearm, stopping him from pulling whatever it was from his pocket.

“Mr. Quinn, we understand what’s at stake. You need investors. My client needs reassurance that his bid for the twenty percent will guarantee not just a monetary return but also access to the freighting routes for his own personal use.”

From where I was standing, I couldn’t see Finnan’s reaction to that, but he made acontinuegesture with his hand.

Byrne nodded, and Doyle pulled out a crisp, white envelope to slide across the table to Finnan.

Keeping my Glock out, I reached out to take the offer, passing it to my boss, who slid his finger under the flap and opened the envelope. He pulled out a piece of paper no bigger than the size of a business card.

The figure written on the back was done in a cursive script that looked like it belonged somewhere in the eighteen hundreds. I guessed private education not only got you more wealth but more useless skills that could never really be used in real life. Like fucking calligraphy.

Like buying into a business that dealt with more illegal shit than most people would be comfortable with.

The figure on the card said five-hundred thousand.

It was a fair offer—in line with what Finnan was thinking, but intimidation could you get him a hell of a lot more.

“So, what say you, Mr. Quinn?” Byrne demanded bluntly.

With an ominousthud, I placed my Glock down on the table, pointing the barrel in Byrne’s direction. The lawyer’s wide-eyed gaze flickered from the gun to me. “Are you threatening me?” he demanded.

“Aye, I am.”

“We’re here trying to make a deal, and you think that pointing a gun in my and my client’s direction will make us, what? Offer more?”

“That’s the idea, aye.”

His lips twisted. “You’re a bunch of thugs.”

My lips curled up in the corner. “We’re the Mac Tíre Clan. Of course, we’re thugs.”

He sputtered, “This is a legal deal.”

“Aye, it is,” I replied. I jerked my chin in old man Doyle’s direction. “And he wants in. Badly. So, why don’t you lethimtalk?”

Byrne returned his attention to Doyle Senior. “Sir, I must insist that you reconsider getting into business with these men. This one…” he gestured to me, “… is going to threaten you into offering more.”

“I was going to threaten him regardless of his offer,” I said.

Byrne looked outraged all over again but shut his mouth when Doyle said, “He has what we need, Liam.” His voice was hard. “And I refuse to let that Egyptian asshole Ahmed Hassan get the better of me again!” He slammed his hand onto the desk when he hissed out his adversary’s name. There really was nothing like a rivalry to make a man lose his senses.

Finnan lifted his fingers, silencing me. “Excuse my associate here. He’s more in the business of cracking skulls than talking business.” He let out a sigh. “In answer to your question, Mr. Byrne,” Finnan began. “The deal is barely within the limits of acceptable offers. But I think you can do better.”

“I don’t understand, Mr. Quinn. I came here with an offer. You either accept it or don’t.”

“We have two parties interested in this stake of our business… you and one other. After I’ve received the bid from the other potential investor, you will be able to submit one more bid.”

“Who is the other interested party?” Doyle Junior asked in a small voice.

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