Page 163 of Broken Brothers

I quickly put on business professional clothes, finding some slacks and a blue button down shirt that I button so quickly I almost misaligned the buttons and the holes. I quickly corrected myself, tucked my shirt in, put some nice shoes in, and departed the apartment, keeping my hands in my pockets so my phone and my wallet would not be easily snatched.

As I left, I looked across the street and saw two men in suit and ties wearing sunglasses, each sipping on coffee. Though seated at a coffee shop, their body positions suggested that they were watching my building, and I was pretty sure that the building didn’t hold anyone of international or national importance—just a bunch of young professionals and other similar ilk.

I was being followed.

I suspected then that not only would I now be followed, but every trick in the book would be thrown at me. When Edwin said he was going to kill me, I had taken it as the mad threats of a man who had no sense of control or sanity in that moment. Anyone who mocked a man who had lost his wife to an unexpected divorce was bound to face the daggers of judgment, anger, and disgust. That Edwin had taken it out on me was no surprise.

What did seem like an unfortunate surprise, though, was how serious Edwin seemed to be now. It would start with stalking. Then it would move to tampering. It honestly wouldn’thave surprised me if Edwin tried to drive me to kill myself by destroying my world. And then, if that didn’t happen, he’d probably find a way to get me killed.

This was not paranoia. I knew what I saw in those men, and I knew what Edwin had said.

This was now a real race to the finish line, and the loser would face dramatic consequences. Could I ruin Edwin’s career and life first for the good of the rest of the world, or would Edwin drive me into the ground, six feet deep, unable to do anything because I had crossed the one person I never should have?

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My suspicions were confirmed when, upon getting off at the subway stop that was closest to Burnson Investments, the two men I had seen back at Layla’s apartment were still watching me. They were not closing ground, but they also weren’t losing anything. At least Edwin wasn’t going to kill me yet, but then again, not even he was stupid enough to have me killed so close to his wife’s divorce. It would just look a tad bit too suspicious.

Though, then again, if he made me crazy enough to off myself, he could just say the stress got to me. It was maddening how cruel and dangerously effective Edwin could be sometime.Promise yourself one thing. You’ll stay alive no matter what happens.

Just like you promised Morgan you’d believe him no matter what happens.

Just like you promised Layla you’d love her no matter what happens.

Let’s try and keep this promise a little better. Third time’s the charm, right?

When John’s office came into view, I silenced the internal critic, reminding myself why I had come here—and it wasn’t so I could go down a dark place in my mind.

I opened the door and smiled at the secretary, who I did not recognize. She must have not recognized me either, because she just gave me a curt smile without having any sudden flashes of recognition or disgust at me.

“Hi, I’m here to see John Burnson?”

“You are?” she said, a look of disbelief on her face. “He’s got nothing on his schedule saying—”

The phone rang at that moment. I knew what it was even before she answered, and I just allowed her to answer, ignoring the enormous coincidence that this all represented. John Burnson must really have wanted that meeting with me, or I had just stumbled in at the perfect time—a bit of a nice departure from the way things had gone for me before.

“Yes, Mr. Burnson? Yes, I have him in front of me. Are you Mr. Chance Hunt?”

I had to swallow my pride just temporarily, much as I wanted to be called Chance Givens.

“Yes.”

“Turns out you are wanted by Mr. Burnson. Take the elevators behind me—”

“I know how to get there, but thank you,” I said, just barely hearing the secretary inform Mr. Burnson that I was on my way up.

That Mr. Burnson had known to call down as soon as I had arrived and that this was happening so easily gave me hope that perhaps this meeting would go a bit better than expected. I needed some good news anyways, especially since Edwin Hunt’s behavior and words had me thinking I was on the verge of getting shot down like a fighter pilot in war.

A few people got on the elevator who seemed to recognize me, if not place me entirely, because they all wore that same expression on their face, the one where instant recognition crosses over but then, for the sake of avoiding awkward conversation, they just don’t say anything and look straight ahead. Good enough for me, I thought; I just wanted to get to Mr. Burnson with as few interruptions as possible.

Thankfully, they all got off early, and when I reached the final floor, I came to the room where Mr. Burnson worked.

“He’s right inside,” another secretary said.

I thanked her, pushed open the door, and saw Mr. Burnson with his back to me, facing out the window, looking out on the city.

The first thing I noticed was how Mr. Burnson had seemingly lost a ton of weight. And that was closer to literal than most of the time people said it—he had gone from a stereotypical fat cat to a slim, healthy man in his senior years. When he turned to me, I could see that it was not the result of some ill-fated disease that had stricken his appetite from him; instead, in fact, he actually looked younger.

“Chance Hunt, my old friend,” he said. When he extended his hand and I took it, it seemed much more vigorous.