Forrest — Chapter 34 Ghost From the Past

FORREST

IT WAS gut-wrenching, terrifying shit to face him today—the person I feared for years, François Xavier. In a few minutes, I would be standing in front of him—face to face—eye to eye.

The thing that feared me the most was if I could walk out of here alive after this most anticipated meeting. I knew for a fact that people feared him, followed him like a goddamn god, and I was nothing, no one to him, to anyone. I was just an insignificant businessman, nothing more.

The five-star hotel lobby was busy as always. These people were not aware that a dangerous person on the planet was just staying above their heads.

I scanned around as I entered with nerves buzzing through me. This whole situation wracked every bone in my body and made me think if it worth my efforts. I hoped it is.

I kept reminding myself of why I was doing this, even though it didn’t help a tiny bit. I remembered someone said that a day would come that you have to face those moments you feared, to forget what fear felt like. I prepared this moment for years, and it happened today or never.

I noticed three strong tanned-skin men in suits. The long-haired was staring at me in silence, but I knew he was a part of his entourage.

I heard my feet pounding on the floor as I marched toward the nearest elevator. The hair at the back of my neck was rising, telling me that the three goons were watching me my every move. I entered quietly, then as expected, they followed me in.

After releasing somewhat a sigh of relief which was complete bullshit, I shoved my hands inside my pants pockets, balling them into fists to stop myself from fidgeting. I started sweating, but I couldn’t let them find out I was nearly peeing in my pants.

One of them punched a floor number. I clenched my jaw hard as my patience evaporated of waiting to reach the exact floor, but the elevator would still stop in the middle. I studied the floor plan carefully. And I was right, the elevator halted. The three goons walked out first, and I followed them with a confident paced.

Then they turned left toward the small hallway and stopped in front of another elevator. The long-haired guy swiped the card and punched some numbers, then the elevator door slid open.

“Right after you,” the tallest guy said in a thick French accent.

Without uttering a word, I walked in, then they followed like puppies.

A few moments later, dread had filled me when the elevator stopped. I could even hear the strong beating of my heart, the pumping of my blood in my ears. My lips went dry when the man inspected me, tapping my suit from head to toe.

“Wait right here.” The black guy knocked on the door, then it swung open as if they were aware of the exact moment of our arrival.

My heart sped up a million a mile. My tongue thickened in my mouth. I straightened my posture and sucked in a deep breath to find more strength to grasp as I walked inside the French-inspired luxury suite.

Finally, I was in the lion’s den.

I stopped in the middle, scanning the beautiful art hanging on the wall. At the corner of my eye, I saw another guy with the same height as mine, probably a decade older than me, standing like a statue, almost not blinking. I licked my lips and slipped my hand to my left jacket pocket, causing the statue guy to go rigid.

I turned to face him, lifting a brow when I pulled my Cuban cigar. I hated this shit, but I wanted to get pissed and fill my blood with rage before I faced him.

Then he marched in.

The one and only Francois Xavier or should I say, Oliver Huxley.

An eerie feeling surrounded us. My world spun, then everything blurred around us. My heartbeat went unsteady. I could feel the sweat beaded on my forehead as I stood there like I was slowly turning into a stone.

I took a deep breath and faced him. I’d been waiting for this moment to happen. Now we were face to face, as expected, my rage started to boil in my veins as the old memories came flashing back in my head.

What I first noticed, he was older than I thought he was—than in the picture Alan gave me weeks ago. How did it even possible? He even lost some weight.

Funny that he wasn’t I thought the god he was after all. His hair was graying. A frown was deep on his face as if he was stressing too much, and even his eyes were filled with so much emptiness, that surprisingly, I even felt pity for him.

He was the fucking demon in my nightmares. Right now, he was standing in front of me that I should be scared of, only, I felt nothing but boiling rage.

Then our gaze locked, and I gave him a curt nod before I lit up my cigar.

“You are too young to smoke,” he stated casually, gesturing me to sit as he took a seat on the red-golden intricated chair. Am I now? Was there an age-limit I didn’t know of? But one thing I remembered about him was he heated cigarettes. Maybe what I was doing was to piss him off. Who cared?

His voice hadn’t changed a bit than the last time I remembered other than it aged with him.

“I actually hate cigarettes in any form.” I unbuttoned my suit and took a seat as we faced each other.

“You must have reasons.” He crossed his legs.

He didn’t know me at all. I couldn’t see any recognition in his eyes when he first saw me earlier. Was I supposed to be relieved? Hell, yeah.

So, why was he searching for us? Or he was just canny and a skillful bastard in hiding his emotions?

“It calms my nerves. It makes me think sharply.”

He then gestured to the statue man. The man walked to the liquor table, grabbing an old whiskey bottle with two glasses.

“Leave us,” he ordered and signaled his fingers.

The statue guy walked out without delay. Francois then poured us to our glasses and stood up to offer to me.

I took it from him. “A Double Eagle Very Rare. You have quite a taste. Thank you.”

“I collect good liquor, son. In fact, I just bought a fifty-year-old Whiskey in the auction last week.” Son my bloody arse. “Let’s talk about why we are here today. I didn’t usually come here more often. This city is too loud for my taste. I prefer a serene environment, fresh air, but your proposal caught my attention.”

“In fact, I do. I’m glad my proposal got your attention even though you are a busy person.”

“Tell me then.”

I sipped my Whiskey. “You don’t bit around the bushes, do you?”

He eyed me suspiciously, causing my heart rate to accelerate. “I believe when we have the same interests, there’s no reason to beat around the bushes—”

“Forrest Wood.”

“Mr. Wood. Correct me if I’m wrong, you have no experience in our line of business.”

“You’re right, I don’t have, but I’d like to take my chances.”

“So, tell me why you’re interested in a shipping company? And I’m a believer that someone who starts from scratch is the one who mostly succeeds.”

“My great-great-grandfather received a piece of land after the conflicts between Britain and France. He started from scratch by cultivating his land into a vineyard. It wasn’t easy, but he was a man who didn’t know the word give-up. He left his family for months to travel by boat just to sell a few bottles of his finest wine, but that was not the hardest part for him. He was a nobody. Aristocrats didn’t even give a damn about his wine until a down to earth businessman tasted it. It was even by accident. At that time, that man was drunk, but then, he searched for my ancestor when he found a bottle on his table.” I paused. Thankfully, he was listening. Until now he didn’t have a clue who I was. My plan seemed to work.

“You see, Mr. Xavier, it takes a lot of courage and patience to earn a place in this society. One thing I learned from my old folks is patience. You wouldn’t believe me if I tell you that I’d been waiting for years to be here in front of you today. I think I deserve a little bit of your time, don’t you think?”

“I don’t play with my associates, so you better have something for my time. Or it is in your best interest to leave now. The door is open and forget that we met.” Of course, he never changed, still the short-tempered, impatient, and horrible person I once knew.

“I see.” I bit the cigar and inhaled the smoke deeply now that I got his attention. I maintained strong eye contact with him. I took the cigar with my left hand, and his eyes slightly widened when his gaze landed on my ring.

“You are an Oirdheirc.” And again, of course, he knew the meaning of this. He knew one of the most respected brotherhoods in the United Kingdom. It was founded by an English noble in the early 14th century. At first, it was to offend Scottish during the war. Then, later on, it grew into a brotherhood. Up to this day, Oirdheirc still existed.

I knew he owed a blood debt to the Oirdhreirc, and now, it was time to claim the fucking payment.

Years ago, Francois almost died from blood loss when he escaped from the feud with his last known associate. One of the Oirdheirc members gave him a place to stay and treated his wound until he was able to stand in his two feet. That time, I didn’t know he was my bastard of a father. If I had known, I would have prayed and let him die alone. That was how we found out he was still alive and had been asking about me and my mother.

“I see now,” he muttered, a little impressed glint at the corner of his eyes.

I crushed the cigar to the ashtray and stood up. “My offer still stands if you’re interested. Everyone has a price, and I only wanted two things from you in return.” I side glanced at him, and he was pressing his lips into a thin line because I just disrespected the almighty Francois Xavier.

He was still a fucking bastard in my eye.

“There’s one boy,” he stated. “Out of pity, an old miner took him in and treated him like a son. One day, he took the boy with him and trained him to be a miner like him. Then the boy learned pretty quickly than he expected. An explosion happened at the mine, they were trapped inside. The only light that made them both see each other was from the flashlight. The boy was scared, but the old miner told him not to worry, and the help would arrive soon. They both knew it was impossible. They could be dead by the time the rescuers arrived. Hours passed, they ate their food and kept the leftover with their water. Luckily for them, after being bullied by being thin and black, he brought his lunchbox with him to the coal mine. They were desperate, but the rescue had no chance of finding them. The old man offered the last piece of bread and a drop of water to his boy because he knew he had a tough call to make later. Why would he—?”

My blood pounded in my ears. I knew exactly where this story ended. He was damn cynical and rationalistic, and he would never trust me. That one day, I might betray him.

“You tell me.”

And I just hit a nerve.