Page 120 of Broken Brothers

“Maybe he will mature, but keep in mind you’re not in business with a man, but with a horny teenager.”

“OK, Dad, I get it, Chance isn’t that bad.”

“If you say so.”

I nearly ripped the headphones out in frustration. At least the conversation had ended and Morgan had now left.

Quickly, before Morgan exited the building, I made my way down the opposite side of where I’d come from, giving the appearance of an appointment further south of where I was. I would rendezvous back with Morgan at the apartment at a later time.

It was strange how things that I thought didn’t matter sure mattered like hell once Edwin said them.A horny teenager.He was brutal, but unfortunately, he also wasn’t wrong. I knew that continuing to see Claire was questionable in business, and I knew that seeing Layla as I had had fucked me over on the deal.

Except, had it? If Edwin and Craig had agreed to screw over John Burnson, then nothing I had done with Layla would have ever made a difference, would it? My show with Layla was nothing more than side theatrics meant to hurt me and Layla and bring amusement to Edwin and Craig.

If so, that made them even worse sickos than before.

It also made Layla even more innocent and guiltless than before.Funny how that all works out.

It took me a good two hours to get back to my apartment going the long way, which gave me plenty of time to stew on the idea. In the end, I came to two inescapable conclusions.

One, Edwin was not going to stop hunting us. He knew how to maintain enough distance to have plausible deniability and let the harassment continue. Morgan might get a little bit off the hook, but I was destined to bear the brunt of Edwin’s games for as long as I was around. I just had to figure out how to win this damn battle.

Two, what Edwin had said in that meeting could be used to effectively strike at him, but even after all my deliberations, I only found two people who could do something with it.

One was, obviously, Layla. I felt she deserved to have it, if for no other reason than that it would help her push away from her uncle. There was always the risk she was still working for her uncle and, by extension, Edwin, and if that happened, my life would truly be over, but I was alert now. She wasn’t going to hurt me like she did before. She had nothing to gain from doing so.

The second person, though, was a major, major gamble. If I went to this person with the evidence I had… well, first, I even had to get an audience with them, which was no guarantee. Then, if I did, I had to make sure I didn’t get thrown out on the spot. And then, even if they listened to what I had just recorded, they had to have something they could work with.

But it seemed like it was worth it. If for no other reason than creating unnecessary hassle and drama in Edwin Hunt’s life, it seemed like it was a worthwhile endeavor. If it blew up in my face, well, I’d already decided I could handle a little bit of risk.

I would have to approach, with this recording, John Burnson.

49

When I got back to the apartment, it surprised me a bit to see that Morgan was not there. It wasn’t the most shocking thing in the world, given that he could have just as easily gone out to get a bite to eat, met a friend for drinks, or had some other sort of business, but it was still a bit contrary to what we had planned.

Nevertheless, taking advantage of the open space, I plopped down on the couch, turned on ESPN, and stored the file I had just recorded on a USB stick that I would keep on me at all times. I texted Layla and told her that I needed to see her—she wouldn’t be free until Friday but wanted to meet then. I tried to keep my message as innocent and flirtatious-free as possible. I didn’t want another meeting where the whole point of the meeting was dismissed and moved on to drinks.

Not immediately, at least.

Then it became a question of going to John Burnson. I had last seen John when I threw his coffee against the wall, cussed him out, and refused to ever step foot in the building again. It would not surprise me if I learned in my research that Mr.Burnson would now have a restraining order against me for my actions.

On the flip side, though, I remembered how I was told that in the world of finance, that kind of action was seen pretty regularly and wasn’t so much a “never hire again” signal as instead a sort of rite of passage. You weren’t a true member of the economics and finance world until you’d had a blow up so severe you quit or got fired.

Still, those people who committed such a brutal display of “fuck you” probably didn’t go back to that same boss, at least not a couple of months after. Years later or decades later, maybe, but not so quickly after the fact.

The enemy of my enemy was my friend, though, so I knew I would be contacting John at some point. I just decided it was better to rest on it some and not make a bold decision now. That could wait until later when I’d had time to make some rational thoughts.

Instead, I decided to give myself a little bit of a break from the rush of all of this. I put an order in for some bagel sandwiches to get delivered, turned on the volume on ESPN, and reclined on the couch. I opened my phone just in time to see my favorite digital attraction had sent me some messages.

“Hey handsome ;-)” she wrote. Good start. “We are officially just two weeks away from me arriving. Are you excited?”

I smiled. Oh, I was. I most certainly was. To say I was excited to fulfill a ten-year crush that had never had any culmination was an understatement.

“You could say that,” I said, adding the sunglasses emoji.

“Show me,” she said. “Show me how excited you are.”

When I read that… there was something off about it. Was she drunk? Was she… was she asking for a dick pic?