Aster

Chapter Eleven: Drying the floods.

Jacob

     Like a mind reader, the next thing to leave Bastien's mouth was, "My daughter is downstairs spending time with her mother. Ma femme is... Assertive." The man trailed off, allowing time for Jacob to fully step into the room. He was almost livid. All of this was his fault, putting Aster in danger was his fault, and now he sits in his father's hospital room as though Jacob were to bask in his presence, "At least someone could get her out of this room." He responded, his voice stiff which earned a low chuckle from the man sitting down, his legs uncrossing as he leaned forwards to gesture towards the other chair in the room, his voice aired with unmistakable mirthful narcissism, "Don't take this personal camarade, but you look like shit."

     Taking a seat, the younger of the pair felt his blood boil just being in the French man's gaze. His elbows rested on his knees where fists clenched together angrily, "And you look calm for a man whose daughter was forcibly taken." Bastien's expression staled, any mask of amusement dispersing from his facial features and for the first time Jacob truly noticed his age. Lines riddled him beneath his eyes and around the corners of his lips, accentuating the thinness of his face. For that one moment, he looked like just a man. The smile didn't return as his narrowed gaze held Jacob's immovably, and for a single second, Jacob felt as though the tables had turned, "Not to mention your father who is on life support ," He paused, allowing his words to digest so he could watch their effect filter through the older man's features, "It's been a rough few days, not that you'd know. So yes, camarade, I'd say I look like shit."

     The last thing Jacob would ever want to be, is like the man before him - but one thing they had in common that would forever bind the both of them was the fact they were businessmen. That was exactly how Jacob needed to treat him if he was ever going to gain the upper hand. Their entire industry was built on the foundation of negotiation, bringing someone to a cease and desist so one party could profit. He didn't spend the entirety of his youth building up from the ground just to be torn back down by a bastard who wanted to stage a coup. 

     This was his God damned empire, and he was its King.

     Sitting back in his seat, Jacob allowed his body language to relax, his ankle crossing over his thigh as fingers laced together over the material of his white button-down, "The terms of our agreement have changed." The heaviness of his tone was laced with unmatched confidence, and each word hit heavily while he laid it out for Bastien. They were no longer partners, but the man would have a portion of income suitable to launch an investigation through a bridge in their companies - after all the biggest thing hanging over the French man's head was his debt to the Mafia. It would be untraceable, paper transactions. Nothing would change between the contract made with him and Aster considering his resources would provide the best security for her; and when Emily was found her engagement would be nullified. After Jacob finished his new terms, there was silence, to which he broke one last time, "As you said... I rule this corner of the world. I don't need your company, or your fuckin' blood money." When Bastien's silence remained, his expression impassive but coupled by a anger that burned behind the cut of his stare, Jacob stood from his seat, rolling his shoulders, "Does your wife know? I've done some research Mr. Bernard, and considering she is a world-renowned artist it would be a shame if your incurred debt to an illegal Russian trade-ring were to be made public..." That question was a gamble at best, but he stood before the older man now, menacing in the white-lighting of the room, eyes narrowed and studying his features like a hunter and their victim, "I'll give you a few days to think on it, how does that sound? You know how to contact me."