Chapter Twelve
Cherry's return home gave Senator Goldman the rare opportunity to assess, with unflinching clarity, the depth of turmoil consuming both his daughter's marriage and his relationship with the family of his late friend, David Kock. Cherry had shared parts of her story—about Jack, the man who had introduced her to drugs at an early age. She had cleverly framed her past to win her father's sympathy, painting herself as a vulnerable teenager exploited by an older boy.
But she never revealed the full truth.
Even as an adult, Cherry had remained entangled in that life of vice and volatility. She hadn't told her father about the street fights, the shoplifting, the gang affiliations, or the brutal intimidation of fellow students. The reality was stark: Cherry loved it. She thrived on the chaos. Within Jack's gang—The Hatters—she wasn't just a member. She was the most resourceful, the most daring, the one with the mind for strategy and execution.
One memory stood out: a supermarket heist, executed with the precision of a military operation. That day, like many others, Cherry entered the store under the guise of a casual shopper. Her team, stationed a few poles away in a vehicle, was already at work. They wielded a high-tech device—an equipment capable of detecting and hijacking any voice recorders or CCTV systems within their operational radius. Within seconds, all security feeds went black. Cherry was free to move.
But fate had planted a challenge that day—a young African American security guard with sharp eyes and sharper instincts. He noticed her immediately. Unlike the cameras, his vision couldn't be shut down. He followed her every movement as she glided through the aisles like a shadow, selecting items without a second glance at the price tags—or the consequences.
As she neared the exit, she sensed the guard's attention tightening like a noose. Time for improvisation.
A well-dressed young man—a rich customer—was at the self-checkout station. Without hesitation, Cherry approached, dropped to one knee just opposite him, and pretended to adjust her shoelaces. Her mini skirt rode up slightly, revealing just enough to distract. She glanced up, eyes locked with the guard's. A flicker of chemistry—or manipulation—passed between them.
The guard looked away.
Cherry stood, flashed a polite smile, and moved to the checkout. Just before reaching it, she deliberately looked back at the guard, a silent question in her eyes: Did you like what you saw? The guard, clearly flustered, stepped away from his post. Mission accomplished.
Cherry feigned another misstep—tripping near the rich young man. He caught her reflexively.
"Sorry, pretty," he said, steadying her. "Are you alright?"
"I'm good," Cherry replied, brushing herself off. "Thanks for catching me. I'd hate to crash in a place like this."
They laughed. The tension broke. The young man, unaware of the role he was now playing, continued loading his trolley and strolled off.
At the register, the guard was back. He scrutinized her items. Something was off—two products were missing from her visible collection. He intervened.
"Is this everything you picked?" he asked.
Cherry turned sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"We'll need to speak to you privately," he said.
She complied.
The scan room search yielded nothing. Her charm, calm, and apparent innocence worked in her favor. The management apologized profusely and even offered her a discount as a peace gesture. Within seven minutes, she was outside. Her crew, watching anxiously, sighed in relief.
But Cherry wasn't done.
She walked straight to the rich young man, now arranging his items into his car.
"Thanks again," she said with a grin. "You'd make a good goalkeeper. But... my stuff is with you."
The man, dressed in blue jeans and a blazer, froze in disbelief. "What?!"
Cherry took a step closer, slid her hand into his inner jacket pocket, and retrieved the two missing items. She gave him a sly smile and turned away.
As she stepped into her waiting car, she glanced back at the stunned young man. "Thank you for making my day," she said sweetly. Then the car pulled away, vanishing into the city's sprawl.
Cherry had woven her tale to fit the image she wanted her father to believe, but that didn't erase the truth. What now of her son, Mario? And Elizabeth, her last daughter—was Steven truly the father? Even Cherry wasn't certain.
Senator Goldman had expressed his disappointment—assuming, or at least hoping, that her past truly was the past. But she was still his daughter, and in his mind, that meant protection—even if it came at a cost.
He sighed, frustrated. If David Kock were still alive, matters would be simpler. But Steven, David's son, was a different kind of problem—a man with his own mind, resistant to manipulation, possibly even more dangerous than his father.
Goldman's instinct was to gather information the way he always had—through backchannels, informants, and shadows. But this time, he considered something else: a strategic disruption. A move so calculated it would force Steven to come crawling to him, the way David once had.
His target?
The Venezuela Refinery Project. A multi billion-dollar deal. A legacy initiative for the Kock Group.
After all, it had been his contacts and support that helped David Kock break into the South American energy market. And he still had men on the ground.
Senator Goldman narrowed his eyes, calculating every potential consequence.
"I know what to do," he told himself aloud, voice cool and certain.
But he was wrong about one thing—Steven wasn't David. And this time, the game was about to change.