Post by Cross Recoba on Oct 4, 2019 6:07:03 GMT -5
Life was looking good for Cross Recoba. He’d engineered his way, once more, into the spotlight, this time being a heavy favorite for the Seven Pillars. On top of that, after months of planning and waiting, he was now only weeks away from delivering the biggest score the Palombo outfit had seen in decades and to top it off - it washed away the stench of crime from all the capital invested.
He’d checked into the penthouse suite at the Hotel Le Crystal ahead of the weekend’s Blitz event and, after thumbing a C note or three at the bellboy to unpack for him, had made a beeline for the treadmills in the gym. He had correctly assumed that the place would be sparsely attended at five in the morning, and more to the point - being in a French-speaking province would afford him some level of ignorance to any request from fans or otherwise.
The only thought that really dragged him down was that Dakota refused to travel with him, her recent departure from Valor still being too fresh for her to want to come along. That, he suspected, was a kinder way than to say she’d possibly try and cave in heads if she thought it’d right any wrongs she felt in her head.
He balanced his phone on the console of the treadmill. The drop in the Chinese economy, as suspected, was being blamed on the American President and his dealings, or lack thereof, with the communist state. Elsewhere, Brexit continued to cloud any investments he had in Europe both in the United Kingdom and elsewhere, the doubt and uncertainty of what would actually unfold meaning that markets had slowed but, in the UK, public borrowing was trending a third higher this year than at the same point in 2018.
That news made the twenty-odd million that would make itself to New York far sweeter, he’d seen Palombo’s face try to suppress the grin that eventually escaped when he sat down in the cafe with him. That the old bastard had ever doubted him rankled him, that he felt like an All-Star being sent to the minor leagues when comparing Vegas to New York was still a source of annoyance. He still spoke to Costello back in Sin City at least once a week but he’ given no indication that the sabbatical was coming to a close.
He knew what he needed to do, he’d known it since the first day he had spoken to Palombo in New York. The only way he could turn this into a gain for him would be for him to somehow usurp the dinosaur from the driving seat. How he would do that was still mostly unclear.
He could reinvest his profits back into the loan scheme but that would still be uncertain, what if the next crop of companies looking for cash to bridge them from the last round of investor calls to the next didn’t perform how the initial class did then he’d potentially be looking at bad debts cancelling out profits.
He could try to ingratiate himself into the good graces of some of that class but that would need to be handled with finesse and also rely on at least two of the companies striking gold in Silicon Valley. If he could get that to happen then he could extend his influence far beyond that of Angelo’s. The downside there would be that Beasant and himself, though not enemies, had a friendship that was hardly stable or deep-rooted. Besides, would Beasant consciously help him if he felt it could threaten his newly discovered Cash Cow? He’d need then to have dirt or some form of leverage to even engineer Alexander into that position.
Cross knew deep-down that his age, on all fronts, would hamper him. Despite possessing the vision needed to identify and execute the opportunity he was still only a quarter of a century old, useful for talking to the founders of such companies but the investors? They, for the main, were people either old enough to be his father or of a generation or three removed from Recoba.
He upped the incline on the treadmill, he knew that while in Montreal it wouldn’t serve his chances of victory well if he were too distracted. Despite what others might think, he hadn’t seen it all inside the ring just yet. His wits and wiles would often steer him through an unknown or unforseen circumstance but the ability to learn from it only came in hindsight when the pressure had dissipated, allowing the cool, hard facts to stand out.
Whatever his desired thoughts were intended to be during the workout they all changed with a one-word text message.
He’d checked into the penthouse suite at the Hotel Le Crystal ahead of the weekend’s Blitz event and, after thumbing a C note or three at the bellboy to unpack for him, had made a beeline for the treadmills in the gym. He had correctly assumed that the place would be sparsely attended at five in the morning, and more to the point - being in a French-speaking province would afford him some level of ignorance to any request from fans or otherwise.
The only thought that really dragged him down was that Dakota refused to travel with him, her recent departure from Valor still being too fresh for her to want to come along. That, he suspected, was a kinder way than to say she’d possibly try and cave in heads if she thought it’d right any wrongs she felt in her head.
He balanced his phone on the console of the treadmill. The drop in the Chinese economy, as suspected, was being blamed on the American President and his dealings, or lack thereof, with the communist state. Elsewhere, Brexit continued to cloud any investments he had in Europe both in the United Kingdom and elsewhere, the doubt and uncertainty of what would actually unfold meaning that markets had slowed but, in the UK, public borrowing was trending a third higher this year than at the same point in 2018.
That news made the twenty-odd million that would make itself to New York far sweeter, he’d seen Palombo’s face try to suppress the grin that eventually escaped when he sat down in the cafe with him. That the old bastard had ever doubted him rankled him, that he felt like an All-Star being sent to the minor leagues when comparing Vegas to New York was still a source of annoyance. He still spoke to Costello back in Sin City at least once a week but he’ given no indication that the sabbatical was coming to a close.
He knew what he needed to do, he’d known it since the first day he had spoken to Palombo in New York. The only way he could turn this into a gain for him would be for him to somehow usurp the dinosaur from the driving seat. How he would do that was still mostly unclear.
He could reinvest his profits back into the loan scheme but that would still be uncertain, what if the next crop of companies looking for cash to bridge them from the last round of investor calls to the next didn’t perform how the initial class did then he’d potentially be looking at bad debts cancelling out profits.
He could try to ingratiate himself into the good graces of some of that class but that would need to be handled with finesse and also rely on at least two of the companies striking gold in Silicon Valley. If he could get that to happen then he could extend his influence far beyond that of Angelo’s. The downside there would be that Beasant and himself, though not enemies, had a friendship that was hardly stable or deep-rooted. Besides, would Beasant consciously help him if he felt it could threaten his newly discovered Cash Cow? He’d need then to have dirt or some form of leverage to even engineer Alexander into that position.
Cross knew deep-down that his age, on all fronts, would hamper him. Despite possessing the vision needed to identify and execute the opportunity he was still only a quarter of a century old, useful for talking to the founders of such companies but the investors? They, for the main, were people either old enough to be his father or of a generation or three removed from Recoba.
He upped the incline on the treadmill, he knew that while in Montreal it wouldn’t serve his chances of victory well if he were too distracted. Despite what others might think, he hadn’t seen it all inside the ring just yet. His wits and wiles would often steer him through an unknown or unforseen circumstance but the ability to learn from it only came in hindsight when the pressure had dissipated, allowing the cool, hard facts to stand out.
Whatever his desired thoughts were intended to be during the workout they all changed with a one-word text message.
MAYDAY