Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Doug Denning has an office in the back corner. He’s waiting for me at his door with a big, confused smile. His face is baby-soft and freshly shaved, and I try not to smirk at his baggy jeans and his sweatshirt. He’s in his early forties, but he looks like he’s trying to hang on to his twenties still, and it’s a sad state of affairs.
“Mr. Corvino, I didn’t know you were coming today,” he says and blanches at the sight of me. He glances at himself, and I know what he’s thinking.
I’m in a black designer suit that fits me like a glove.
He’s looking like a frat kid on spring break.
“No, you didn’t. It’s good to see you, Doug.” I offer him a hand. This conversation will only go downhill from here, but it’s best if I put him at ease, at least to begin with.
He shakes, still looking uncertain. “Please, come in. To what do I owe the pleasure? You got sick of talking to my lawyers?”
The joke doesn’t land. I sit casually in front of his desk. The office is well appointed and neat. I spot photographs of Doug with his family: four young kids, a pretty wife.
“You can guess why I’m here.”
Doug beams at me. It’s a good-old-boy smile. “Honestly? I haven’t the slightest idea. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you. The deal has been on hold for too long. Maybe if we discussed terms, we could loop in the lawyers—“
He reaches for his phone. I hold up a hand to stop him. “We’re not looping in anyone else.”
His eyes dart to the closed door. “Me and you then. I don’t mind one bit, Rafe.”
“No. You will call me Mr. Corvino. I will continue to call you Doug.”
“Well, that doesn’t seem very fair, but—“
“What isn’t fair, Doug, is the way you’ve treated me and my associates for the past few weeks. What isn’t fair is the way poor Theodora’s been running around the city trying to figure out what’s going on with you.”
Doug Denning sits back and stares at me. He’s got spine though, I’ll give him that. He doesn’t go running and screaming. He doesn’t start apologizing. But clearly something’s wrong. His eyes keep cutting to the phone, to the window, to the door behind me.
Like he’s afraid of something.
“There’s no disrespect meant, Mr. Corvino. When your organization came to me with the merger deal, it felt like a godsend. You know the state of Denning right now.”
“You’re breaking even. And barely at that.”
“Numbers only go down around here. I can be candid. You’ve seen all the projections but you still want the place. I assume you’ve got big plans.”
“My plans are not your concern.”
“Good, that’s fine, but here’s the thing. This is still my shop. So until the paperwork is signed, you don’t get a say on what goes on around here, do you hear me?”
I almost laugh. This worm standing up to me has to be the most absurd thing to happen in a while. I rise to my feet slowly. He stares, his face beet red, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair.
I move around the desk and lift his phone.
His skull makes a soft wet thud when I bash him with the receiver.
“Fuck!” he grunts, cringing away.
I hit him again. And again. And again. I hit him so hard the cord snaps and I keep going. He cries out, falling to the floor, covering himself with his arms as I kneel on his thigh and hit him in the ribs, in the chest, in the hips and the stomach.
When I’m done, I stand and toss the phone aside.
He stays on the floor breathing hard, looking at me in pure terror.
“Let’s start this conversation over again.” I pull his chair back and sit. He remains on the floor. “Why have you been stalling?”
“I don’t know what—“
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. He flinches away. “Don’t do that, Doug. Why have you been stalling?”
“It’s not my fault.” He’s whispering now. His eyes dance around in his head, a nervous, freakish jig. “They told me not to say anything. They told me you’d blame me if I talked.”
“Blame you for what?”
“I don’t know! Everything!” He sits up cross-legged like a small child, head hanging. “He showed up a month ago. I didn’t take him seriously. Not at first.”
My heart races. “What did he say?”
“He told me that the merger can’t go down. That if it did, bad things would happen. I laughed at first, you know? Because it was so stupid, so crass and obvious, but then—“
I curl my hands into fists. “What happened?”
“My dog. I came down one morning and found my dog with his throat cut lying in a puddle of blood. God, if my kids had found him—“ Doug covers his face with both hands. “Men were following me. I got letters in the mail with graphic threats. One looked like it was stained with blood. A brick got thrown through our window. That was hard to explain to my family. And then he visited.”