The Peyti Crisis: A Retrieval Artist Novel: Book Five of the Anniversary Day Saga (Retrieval Artist series 12) by Kristine Kathryn Rusch Page B
Authors: Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Tags: Fiction
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care that he died.”
“Not fair, Raphael,” Shishani said.
“Fairness and the truth don’t often go together,” said Salehi.
“Neither do fairness and the law,” Schnable said. “But this time, they just might.”
Salehi rolled his eyes. Schnable was so bad at manipulation. But it was still having an impact.
Salehi didn’t care if the firm made millions. He didn’t care if the law firm had prestige.
He cared about making a difference, about doing something right. If he had it to do all over again, he would not go into law. He’d find another profession, one that actually improved lives rather than defended or prosecuted those who costs lives.
Shishani’s argument about changing the lives of millions of clones was rattling around in his head.
“Let me think about it,” Salehi said.
No one spoke.
But they all knew that he had just agreed to take the case.
FIFTEEN
BY THE TIME the group arrived at his office, Luc Deshin had calmed himself. Or, rather, calmed himself as much as he was going to.
He leaned against the front of his desk, legs spread in front of him, crossed at the ankles, his palms resting on the desk’s surface. He was staring at the clear wall with its frozen image, and he hoped that the expression on his face was one of intrigue, not disgust.
The three representatives filed in, followed by two of his security guards. The representatives wore black, which Deshin thought clichéd. The woman had long black hair, an angular face, and large eyes.
The man to her left was muscular in a way not common among the space-raised. Deshin suspected that if he looked closer, he would see evidence of enhancements, not actual strength.
The third man was older, his white hair contrasting against a youthful face. But his small eyes seemed both old and wary, and his mouth was set in a thin line.
The woman glared at Deshin’s guards, then back at Deshin. “We understood this was a private meeting.”
“It is private,” he said.
“No guards,” she said.
“Then no meeting,” he said.
“We agreed—”
“We agreed that I would meet with you privately, nothing more,” he said. “In Deshin Enterprises, privately means protecting the Deshin at all costs. Hence, the guards. If you don’t like it, get out.”
He was taking a risk. The entire meeting could end right now, and he might have to rely on someone else to get the information he wanted.
And honestly, he had no idea who else he could rely on.
Which was why he was doing all of this himself.
The woman studied Deshin as if she were thinking of calling his bluff. Then she looked at the image on the clear wall. She studied the entire office, saw its 360-degree view of the city, and smiled with only half her mouth.
The expression made her seem bitter.
“Well,” she said, “I suppose one of us has to take a leap of faith.”
As if she were making a sacrifice by letting his guards stay. As if she had risked anything at all.
He had let these people into his empire. He was going to risk his reputation—well, not his reputation, really, but his own sense of self-worth—just to talk with these assholes.
The woman took a few steps toward him, then extended her hand. “Hildegard Iban.”
He didn’t want to take her hand, but he did. Her palm was dry, her fingers bony. “Luc Deshin.”
His guards closed the door and then blocked it with their bodies. The men who had accompanied her shifted nervously.
She tilted her head toward the images on the clear wall. “I see you have the most notorious clones in the universe on your screen.”
Deshin smiled slowly, hoping he looked as dangerous as he felt. He let her hand go. “They were the most notorious until last week.”
She shrugged. “I’m assuming you don’t have a need for alien clones.”
He knew how these negotiations went. Probing questions, parried answers, nothing really resolved until the negotiators came to some kind of deal.
If they came to a
“Not fair, Raphael,” Shishani said.
“Fairness and the truth don’t often go together,” said Salehi.
“Neither do fairness and the law,” Schnable said. “But this time, they just might.”
Salehi rolled his eyes. Schnable was so bad at manipulation. But it was still having an impact.
Salehi didn’t care if the firm made millions. He didn’t care if the law firm had prestige.
He cared about making a difference, about doing something right. If he had it to do all over again, he would not go into law. He’d find another profession, one that actually improved lives rather than defended or prosecuted those who costs lives.
Shishani’s argument about changing the lives of millions of clones was rattling around in his head.
“Let me think about it,” Salehi said.
No one spoke.
But they all knew that he had just agreed to take the case.
FIFTEEN
BY THE TIME the group arrived at his office, Luc Deshin had calmed himself. Or, rather, calmed himself as much as he was going to.
He leaned against the front of his desk, legs spread in front of him, crossed at the ankles, his palms resting on the desk’s surface. He was staring at the clear wall with its frozen image, and he hoped that the expression on his face was one of intrigue, not disgust.
The three representatives filed in, followed by two of his security guards. The representatives wore black, which Deshin thought clichéd. The woman had long black hair, an angular face, and large eyes.
The man to her left was muscular in a way not common among the space-raised. Deshin suspected that if he looked closer, he would see evidence of enhancements, not actual strength.
The third man was older, his white hair contrasting against a youthful face. But his small eyes seemed both old and wary, and his mouth was set in a thin line.
The woman glared at Deshin’s guards, then back at Deshin. “We understood this was a private meeting.”
“It is private,” he said.
“No guards,” she said.
“Then no meeting,” he said.
“We agreed—”
“We agreed that I would meet with you privately, nothing more,” he said. “In Deshin Enterprises, privately means protecting the Deshin at all costs. Hence, the guards. If you don’t like it, get out.”
He was taking a risk. The entire meeting could end right now, and he might have to rely on someone else to get the information he wanted.
And honestly, he had no idea who else he could rely on.
Which was why he was doing all of this himself.
The woman studied Deshin as if she were thinking of calling his bluff. Then she looked at the image on the clear wall. She studied the entire office, saw its 360-degree view of the city, and smiled with only half her mouth.
The expression made her seem bitter.
“Well,” she said, “I suppose one of us has to take a leap of faith.”
As if she were making a sacrifice by letting his guards stay. As if she had risked anything at all.
He had let these people into his empire. He was going to risk his reputation—well, not his reputation, really, but his own sense of self-worth—just to talk with these assholes.
The woman took a few steps toward him, then extended her hand. “Hildegard Iban.”
He didn’t want to take her hand, but he did. Her palm was dry, her fingers bony. “Luc Deshin.”
His guards closed the door and then blocked it with their bodies. The men who had accompanied her shifted nervously.
She tilted her head toward the images on the clear wall. “I see you have the most notorious clones in the universe on your screen.”
Deshin smiled slowly, hoping he looked as dangerous as he felt. He let her hand go. “They were the most notorious until last week.”
She shrugged. “I’m assuming you don’t have a need for alien clones.”
He knew how these negotiations went. Probing questions, parried answers, nothing really resolved until the negotiators came to some kind of deal.
If they came to a
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