I put the accent on family because I know Maxim’s. I’ve met his wife, I’ve cooked for his kids, I know all his grandkids’ names and the order in which they were born. Those family values he’s always touting? I am praying they translate to mine.
He leans back in his chair, studying me as he takes a deep, long drag that takes all day. Less than an hour until the bullets start flying, and Maxim here is taking his sweet time. The tobacco crackles as it burns its way up the tube.
“That explains why you’re so jumpy, at least. How much does he want?”
“Just over seven hundred thousand. I’ve managed to piece together some cash, but it’s not much. I’m still way short.”
I sound calm, but on the inside I’m at full-on panic. Maxim is my last resort. If he says no, I’m out of options. I’ll lose Jade, the Bees, and it’ll be all my fault.
“How much are you short?”
“I need $685,296.”
Maxim whistles between his teeth—a sound I don’t take as a good sign. It’s the most I’ve ever asked from him, way more than I would normally dare, but the thought of life without Jade, without the sound of little feet tearing up the hardwood floor upstairs as they get ready for school… I can’t even process what that would be like, or why up to now I’ve been okay with missing out on so much of their lives. They’re sound asleep by the time I drag my ass home from work, long gone by the time I roll out of bed. I grumble whenever the noise from their morning routine wakes me, but I never get out of bed to give Jade a hand, or kiss everybody before they take off. Why not? What the hell is wrong with me?
He flicks a quarter inch of ash into a silver ashtray. “Let’s say I float you this cash. Seven hundred thousand to save your family. How would you pay me back? Your restaurant business isn’t exactly booming these days.”
“I’ll put up all my shops. Every last one of them, including the real estate. I own every building but Bolling Way, and I already told you the insurance money for that comes Monday at the latest. That’s only a few days from now. When that happens, every penny I owe you from both loans plus interest will be in your hand by the end of the day. And in the meantime, you can hold the pink slips for all my shops as insurance.”
He waves a crepey hand through the air. “What do I want with a couple of overpriced restaurants halfway to Tennessee? I don’t go outside the perimeter, you know that. And I told you when you bought that Inman Park property, it’s on the wrong side of DeKalb Avenue, which means you can call it Inman Park all you want but really it’s Reynoldstown. Bolling Way is the only one of your properties I’d be even remotely interested in, and you don’t own it.”
“My house, then. A neighbor up the street just sold for two million, with a smaller lot and no pool. Mine’s got to be worth more.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong here, but didn’t you come to me last month for that hundred grand because the bank refused to give you a third mortgage?”
I don’t push back, because it’s true. There’s more debt than equity in our home, way more. If Maxim found out how much, he’d sic his goons on me for even suggesting it.
“You know me, Maxim. I pay my debts on time. And you’ve seen how hard I work. I work my ass off.”
“How hard you work is not the issue, Cam. The issue is the shaky economy on the other side of these walls, and that Bolling Way is the only decent property you got but you don’t own it, and that nowhere but in Buckhead are people falling over themselves to pay a hundred bucks for a Lasky dinner when they can toss a decent steak on the grill at home. Tell me, how many times a night do you turn the tables in your other shops?”
I don’t answer, because Maxim is not wrong. The only shop pulling in any sort of decent revenue is—was Bolling Way. It’s what was keeping the others afloat.
“Please, Maxim. I am a desperate, desperate man. I’ll pay whatever you want. I will run your kitchens and cook your steaks until the end of time. Just please. I am begging you.”
He stubs the cigarette out, then pulls a fresh one from the pack. “I’m a businessman, Cam. You’re a businessman. Let me ask you, if you were sitting where I’m sitting right now, would you do it? Would you give yourself the loan?”
No. Hell no. I’m not stupid. Only desperate.
I flash a glance at my watch, and my heart wants to crawl out of my chest, Alien-style. It’s 6:10, and home is still more than a thirty-minute battle through Buckhead traffic.