The two executives glanced at each other, their grins slipping.

“We were really hoping to settle this today,” Tad/Todd said. “When we spoke with Minister Jarami, he indicated that things would be settled while you were here. That it was, in fact, the purpose of your trip.”

“I see,” Thabiso said. “There must be some confusion, as Minister Jarami does not have the final say in this matter.”

He wasn’t happy to hear that there had been discussions which he hadn’t been kept abreast of.

“We’re positive that this deal is something that would benefit Thesolo greatly, especially given the economic decline in the region,” the other exec said, steepling his fingers and holding Thabiso’s gaze.

Thabiso ran his fingertips over his beard, glad that the facial hair hid the sudden tightness of his jaw.

“What economic decline?” he asked. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Well, the data speaks for itself,” one of the execs said calmly. “Outdated practices and dwindling natural resources present a pretty bleak forecast for Thesolo’s future.”

Thabiso remembered the gaslighting Naledi had told him about and was fairly certain that was what was happening. He had no idea what bleak forecast the man was speaking of, but he still felt pricked by dread, by the possibility that if he didn’t go along with their plan he’d be hurting his people in the long run. Unfortunately for the men, one benefit of being the sole heir to the crown was a fairly large ego; Thabiso had the Moshoeshoe stubbornness to boot.

He laughed as if the man had told a mildly amusing but offensive joke.

“Thesolo’s economy is the strongest it’s ever been, having experienced explosive growth in the import, export, tourism, and renewable energy fields to name just a few,” he said. “We are not some stripling nation ready to jump on the first piece of meat waved in our direction. Chinese, Korean, and Brazilian companies have also submitted proposals for coltan extraction, and a few local outfits as well. We’re currently assessing all of those, as well as the long-term environmental impact such an undertaking would have on the country.”

The men didn’t look at each other this time, but their expressions both hardened. “Omega Corp is the number one producer of smartphone technology in the world. We have coltan mining operations in six African nations, and several in South America. Considering partnering with anyone else would be absurd—and dangerous.”

He wondered what Minister Jarami had promised these men—what he’d told them he could deliver—that they thought escalating from gaslighting to full-on threats was a sound plan.

Thabiso’s anger flared. “I’m well aware of Omega Corp’s worldwide interests—as well as the civil wars, unexplained maladies, and governmental strife that seem to follow your operations like flies on shit.” So much for diplomacy. But if they wanted to discuss data, Thabiso had done some research outside of the dockets that Alehk Jarami had given him, and thank goodness for that.

“I cannot know what Minister Jarami has discussed with you, but my interest is and will always be the well-being of my people.” He checked his wrist although he wore no watch, and then stood. “I must be going. Thank you for the lunch, and I’ll be in contact.”

Thabiso shook their hands, and then strode out of the restaurant. A nice, but basic, compact car waited out front, its driver halfheartedly holding up a sign with “Jamal” scrawled on it. Likotsi was still having her fun, it seemed.

He nodded at the man, who opened the door for him. Thabiso exhaled around the pressure in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he’d committed his first major political misstep. He was the sole heir, in truth, but just as that meant that his people didn’t have another option, neither did Thabiso. If he did something not to their liking, he would bear the full brunt of it for so long as he reigned.

His suit suddenly seemed too tight, and he fidgeted with his cuff links. He didn’t believe himself to be wrong, but he knew he’d have to defend his behavior.

If the deal was sound, why the rush? Why the anger? Shouldn’t vetting it and examining all possible outcomes, good and bad, be a priority instead of a hindrance?

“Work got ya down?” the driver asked as he pulled into midtown traffic.

Thabiso wasn’t used to his drivers speaking to him. The palace chauffeurs certainly wouldn’t dare be so unprofessional, but things were different in America. When in New York . . .

“Yes,” he answered. “The world is full of opportunistic parasites, looking for their next resource to suck dry. Dealing with people such as this becomes tiresome.”

“Don’t I know it,” the man said, meeting Thabiso’s gaze in the rearview mirror before focusing on the road. “You know how much a taxi license costs? One hundred grand! Nobody who has a hundred grand lying around wants to be a driver. So poor guys get together and pay our little part, share the license with others, but every day there’s some new law, some new bullshit to deal with. Someone always wanting something from you. That’s why so many people are switching to working for these app companies. It’s a kick in the ass to everyone who shelled out money for a medallion, though.”

Thabiso had never considered that a job driving a car would be so fraught, or costly. One hundred thousand was a significant amount, even to him—he couldn’t imagine how many drivers it took to scrape up that much. And they didn’t get to go home to a palace afterward.