Kold Karats

I should advise you to take note; I never cared for sitcoms, stuffy suits, or playing dress-up. You could say I didn't like anything most women did. My upbringing was quite unique; a single father raised me, so I was forced to learn how to be self-sufficient. To explain my current situation of unfeelingness, I had missed out on the nurturing touch of a mother, the sweet aroma of freshly baked cakes filling our home. There was so much Everett Forester couldn't do while wearing that bespoke suit of pride and repute. Adding an older brother who was as fierce as he was protective like Olson to the mix, it certainly only heightened my survival skills. I had learned to stand up for myself as early as eight, knowing that if any man dared to overlook my rejection, I could punch him in the face without hesitation. Broken rules could be mended by a broken jaw. It was that simple. I loved the action. I lived for it. Grace Cassandra Forester might not have been able to wrestle and draw out a gun from under her table, she could walk in and out of a room full of predators without a scratch. Now that was the distinction between me and a chick flick. I lacked physical strength; instead, I relied solely on my intellect. Early in my life, I had discovered that events were quite monotonous, and my position at my father's Retirement Firm frequently caused me to feel queasy several times during the day. One might argue that being a financial advisor was a dreadful profession, as I was not content with being restricted to a desk job, having awfully long conversations with greying men, and gazing at crazy figures for analysis. This particular man before me was bald, unfortunately, and probably in his early sixties. He had a set of crooked teeth and smelled of old money. Mr. Tad Franklin, owner of a restaurant in the heart of Los Angeles, California. The man was desperate for answers regarding his retirement plan and I couldn't wait to dish it to him and get the hell out. Olson had left me two missed calls. The knowledge that Olson Forester never called twice unless he was anxious, made me so tempted to find out what the golden bird of the family could possibly want from the black sheep. "I understand," I told Mr. Franklin, attempting to alleviate his concerns. "So, as we've discussed, your current savings are on track to meet your retirement goals, but there are some areas where we could make improvements. For example, we could look into diversifying your portfolio to reduce your risk exposure. How do you feel about that idea?" Mr Franklin's face lit up with interest and he nodded. "I'm definitely open to making changes that will help me achieve my goals." Lifting my eyes from the note on my thigh, I bore the wall clock a look. 11:39am. "I'm a bit nervous about the idea of increasing my risk exposure, though. Can you tell me more about how diversifying my portfolio would help?" I forced in a deep breath, my patience wearing thin. "Absolutely! Diversification is important because it can help you manage risk and improve your overall returns." Experiencing something firsthand might've been convincing, but having Grace Forester give you her word on it was even more persuasive. "By investing in a variety of different asset classes, you can reduce the impact of volatility on your portfolio." I adjusted in my armchair and continued with confidence as his face hardened with intrigue. "For example, if one asset class performs poorly, others may perform well, offsetting some of the losses. I'd recommend a mix of stocks, bonds, and other assets, based on your specific goals and risk tolerance. What do you think? Does that sound like something you're interested in?" He nodded without hesitation. "Another benefit of diversification is that it can help you take advantage of opportunities in different market sectors. By holding a mix of assets, you can benefit from the growth of different industries, even if some of your holdings are underperforming. I'd also like to talk to you about your risk tolerance, to make sure we're finding the right balance for you, but we've run out of time, Mr. Franklin." "Of course, Miss Forester." The chair screeched against the laminated floor as he rose to his feet. "We can schedule another appointment later in the week to start the plan. You'd agree that you need time to go over my financials." "Absolutely," I replied, nodding my head. "I'll make sure to have everything prepared for our next appointment." "In the meantime, I will be in your father's office." A squall of relief washed over me when his footsteps started to recede, and I practically groaned in satisfaction. Descending the stairs to the offices below, I was met by the intricate details, and also the busyness of RetireWell, which had gone unnoticed for weeks until now. Put all the blame on my instability and lack of enthusiasm of late. The walls of the third floor were adorned with beautiful paintings that seemed to come alive under the light, and the floors were polished to a mirror-like shine — as bright as the set of teeth that greeted me when Maria, my father's assistant, smiled at me. Traversing the halls to Olson's personal office, my mind ballooned with the thought of tasks that needed my attention before the day's end. In an hour, I had a meeting with my team to discuss the latest developments in our retirement plan for men like Mr. Franklin who had recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. We were going to review our clients' portfolios and make sure that they were on track to meet their retirement goals. I was eager to share my insights with my father just so he could deliver the 'proud of you' speech and take into consideration the ways to improve our services. Our clients' financial security was our top priority in RetireWell, was it not? I had chosen to wear a white blouse and black slacks, as I believed it would give me a congenial and polished look, especially since everyone here always thought me unapproachably diplomatic. Olson's door was directly frontward. Without granting him the respect of a knock, I pressed in. "Would you please stop barging in on me with the savoir faire of a hyena," he said with the savoir faire of an imbecile himself, and flung the newspaper across his table for me to catch. "Have a seat. We've got business to talk about." My question was why he'd thrown a paper about the famous Darren Kold, aka 'The Kold Karat' at me? But instead of actually asking my brother that, I read the headlines that called my attention with its bold font. "The Kold Karat's Philanthropic efforts reaches new heights with record sales, as he becomes the first man to make a real impact on the world of gem dealing by giving back to the community." A good headline always accompanied a worthy photograph. Undoubtedly, Darren Kold was a captivating man with a ruggedly handsome face that was both mysterious and alluring. Piercing gray eyes with a sophisticated persona and beautiful frown, I could tell simply from his picture that he carried pride and self-assurance, along with a f**k-load of intimidation and money. Forget about the headlines of today, Darren Kold's aura in any headline dripped affluence and wealth. Self-assured I said. Only that I wanted to know so bad how a philanthropist could be of profit to a financial advisor. "What am I to do with Mr. Straight Face?" I went down in a free seat and crossed my legs, pushing the paper back to Olson, the exact way he'd done with me. "Good for him that he's made name for himself. He'd never get to sit in a room full of sick men and advise them on how to save for death." The statement was so full of sarcasm that Olson couldn't ignore. "You're bitter and it sickens me." "And your dullness bores me." My contemptuous eye-roll betrayed me when I leaned back to watch him pull up a brief case. His inability to stick to the initial script he always acted in his head before re-acting it would never cease to get me chuckling hard. Olson wasn't the brain of the family, neither was Sterling; I was. They simply wore made-to-order suits, and Olson had his way with client by being unreasonably witty. Olson could maybe draw out a small knife to stab a man's foot to the ground, I could put my last penny on the assumption that he could never come up with a plan without running it through me first. His intellect didn't go farther than buying his w****s flowers and making them moan in the back of his Maybach. If he'd left me two missed calls, then it meant that he wanted my help with something. I was certainly dying to know what. It was the exact reason I fervently watched him decode his coffee brown briefcase. He didn't open immediately, though. "What? Kold gave you money as part of his philanthropic efforts?" I sarcastically played having a heart attack. "Everett Forester may not be as rich as that bastard, but I tell you that his ego would surely be bruised by that." Finally, Olson clicked the briefcase open. "A wise man once said: diplomacy is thinking twice before saying nothing. You, my dearest, are an arrogant talkative." Then he turned the briefcase around for me to have a look at what was inside. My heart almost stopped working as dread pulsed in its place. All my life, I had seen precious things - from fleeting moments to valuable possessions to remarkable individuals. However, it wasn't until I laid eyes on the gemstone before me that I truly understood the meaning of magnificence. The diamond was unlike anything I had ever seen before - a true masterpiece of nature. Its sheer size and weight were alarming, and the way it caught the light made it seem as though it was glowing from within. As I gazed at it in the middle of a darkened surrounding, I marveled at its remarkable clarity and brilliance, which seemed to radiate outwards in all directions. "What is this?" The question came out without warning. "A diamond, the first of its kind - a true rarity in the world of precious stones. Its size and weight making it almost unparalleled in its value." "I get that, Olson." To be honest, his explanation didn't really add up for me. "I mean, why would you have a diamond of this size, or even a diamond at all?" Thanks to the generous privileges he received as part of his RetireWell executive compensation package because he was the boss's son, he was able to purchase a diamond without any financial strain. But Olson could not afford that diamond, not even after saving for a gazillion years. My eyes fell to the stone again, a sense of reverence bathing me, almost as though it was imbued with some kind of mystical power. It was like I had been granted a glimpse into the very heart of the earth itself, and I was humbled by the experience. "You know what they say, little sis? Life tends to smile upon those who are willing to take risks, who aren't afraid to put themselves out there." Olson got up and rounded my chair. "It's all about being in the right place at the right time, and having the courage to seize the moment when it presents itself." "Kold gave that to you?" I was pensive. "He's not that philanthropic!" Olson yelled, losing his last smidgen of patience. He chinned my left shoulder so hard and threateningly that I nearly screamed. "Forget about him for a second, can you?" The moment of quiet lasted until he was confident that I was prepared to listen. "Weighing 132.5 carats, this baby here is worth way more than five hundred times the value of what the papers gave Kold credit for his philanthropic efforts." "Clearly." No way in hell that it wasn't worth more than five hundred times the hundred thousand dollars that was said he donated to the community; a rock that big, beautiful and steel blue was definitely more than fifty million dollars, even if I knew nothing of stones. "How much is it worth?" I swallowed, waiting in mortal anguish to hear the figures And Olson stretched the suspense when he lifted his chin from my aching shoulder and returned to his seat, at snail's pace. He palmed his hands together in a calculative position and drilled me a look that made me feel like he was trying to figure something out. "Roughly seventy-five million." My digesting coffee creeped up my throat and left an after taste of bile on my tongue. "Seventy what?" "You could even leave it at that and we'll all be fine." He sat back down. "Seventy million. It's rare, the only one of its kind so far from the mountains of Colombia. It's about twenty years old." His chuckle filled the room with cacophony. "You know the best part? People believe it to have mystical properties, bringing good luck and fortune to whoever possesses it." "Please stop. You don't actually believe that mystical bleh bleh part, huh?" I hissed. "But now that you are talking luck, you should keep it in a safe somewhere to help your negotiating power as you clearly have none to see that this gem will not sell at that price off your hands." "You're supposed to be the smart one, Grace!" "Don't blame me for thinking like you once in a while." I greeted him with an outsmarting smile, to which he responded with an impressed smile as well. Soon after, silence ensued, but it wasn't just any silence. It was a heavy silence that triggered deep introspection within me. "That's when Kold becomes relevant," Olson eventually mentioned, making me want to claw at my brain to pick out every letter of that name. It undeniably exuded an uncanny kind of chill. "You said to forget about him." "Well, it's time to remember him." Kold's name had come up again, and I found myself getting utterly confused. Darren Kold and Olson Forester had nothing in common, so it would be less confusing if Kold was not mentioned at all. It just felt wrong to have him and my brother in the same sentence. "Quit this bullshit of yours, I'm so allergic to it." I could feel my eyes narrowing as I looked at him with a sense of wretchedness. Part of me wanted to bark hard and let out all of my frustrations, but I knew that it wouldn't help me get any closer to the truth. Instead, I tried my best to maintain composure and keep my emotions in check. "What's the scoop on this diamond, and what's your plan for it?" My all too professional brother ran a shaky hand into his dark brown hair, his brown eyes dilating on me. "Listen carefully, Grace. s**t's about to get pretty intense." "Then I like it already." Olson laughed. "Ensure the door is locked, because if someone hears this plan of ours, we'll be gone for a long while." Fucking s**t. Why did my blood reorganize into something intoxicating and thrilling at the thought of that? "Shoot, Olson," I said once I turned the key in its hole, twice. "Tell me in details how we're disposing of this."