The Catch

“So, what’s the catch?” Destyn Owen asked.

Her words hung in the air as Leo Hawthorne got up from his chair and walked around to the front of his desk. He wore a three-piece suit that cost more than the apartment complex Destyn lived in. He was one of those GQ model-looking types whose private lives were never private. 

“What makes you think there’s a catch?” Leo asked. “I lined out exactly what I need from you.”

Leo leaned against the edge of his desk, folding his arms and flashing a debonair glance that Destyn was sure he thought would work magic on her.

“There’s always a catch with your kind?” Destyn said.

“My kind?” Leo asked.

Destyn shifted in her seat, casting a glance at the door.

“Silver-spooners who take over for daddy, only to muck it up and need my help,” Destyn said. “Nothing is ever a one-and-done with your kind.”

“That is a pretty jaded point of view,” Leo said.

Leo slid closer across the rim of the desk. He was close enough to touch her. 

“I’ve racked up a lot of experience with men like you,” Destyn said.

Leo flashed a smirk. His green eyes caught the light, which made them bright for a moment. 

“Well then, let’s not waste another moment of your–expensive and experienced–time,” Leo said.

Leo winked at Destyn as he returned to sit at his desk. He opened a lower drawer and dropped a thick envelope, which landed with a thud. 

“First things first, your payment, in full and in cash,” Leo said.

Leo had dropped it short of Destyn’s reach, forcing her to get up and snatch it quickly. She checked the amount, which looked like more than her regular price.

“I padded the price, just a little,” Leo said.

“Why?” Destyn asked.

Leo leaned forward, locking eyes with Destyn. He was more challenging for her to read, which made Destyn uneasy.

“Considering who I need your help, re-negotiating with,” Leo started. “I figured it was in our mutual best interests to give you more than you may need.” 

Destyn tucked the envelope against the back of the armchair she was sitting in and met Leo’s intense gaze.

“That’s another question, Mr. Hawthorne,” Destyn said. “You’ve been frustratingly reticent regarding who I’m dealing with.” 

Leo clenched his jaw.

“Out with it, or I walk,” Destyn added.

“I need you to–handle–a contract disagreement I have with–Marcus Wentworth,” Leo said.

Destyn felt her stomach drop. Of all the businessmen in Bellstead Leo could get involved with, Marcus Wentworth was the last person Destyn wanted to know she was still in the city. 

“What the hell did you get yourself into?” Destyn asked.

Leo’s shoulders dropped in shame. A strand of hair fell loose from his perfectly coiffed do.

“Mr. Hawthorne, what are you involved in with Marcus Wentworth?” Destyn pressed.

“He’s called in a debt that my father wracked up the last time the dow plummeted,” Leo answered.

“Oh God,” Destyn sighed.

Matters of money were Marcus’ specialty. He threw it around to every tycoon in Bellstead, knowing it could never be paid back on time. He had the city by the short and curlies because of it. 

“When I took over Hawthorne Industries, my father’s debt became my responsibility,” Leo said.

Destyn’s stomach was in horrible knots, but that sensation paled compared to the anger boiling over.

“Great–shouldn’t be a problem.” 

The sarcasm dripped off her tongue like a waterfall down the side of a mountain.

“Now, at least you understand why I threw in a few extra grand,” Leo said.

“No extra grand is going to do me any good if this goes south, Leo,” Destyn said. “You must realize that–it’s not just your life you’re risking by involving me.” 

The use of his first name had caught up with Destyn, and she rubbed at her face, hiding in the palms of her hands for a moment.

“I wouldn’t have hired you if you didn’t come as highly recommended as you do,” Leo said.

“Flattery–really?” Destyn said.

Leo and Destyn sat in the high-rise office, staring anywhere in the room but at each other. Tones of flirtation had been replaced with tension.

“Before I take this job, I need something from you,” Destyn said.

“A catch of your own,” Leo said. “Smart woman.”

Destyn bulldozed right past the compliment, leaning onto the desk and looking at Leo.

“My daughter,” Destyn said. “She’ll need to be kept as far away from Marcus Wentworth as humanly possible–if–if something happens to me.” 

Leo’s assurances gave Destyn little comfort, but it was the best he could offer, the gravity of the situation considered. Destyn grabbed the envelope and left the office without another word to Leo Hawthorne.

Wentworth, LLC. had been built on the waterfront. It was shrouded in mystery, heavily guarded, and a beehive of nefarious activity at all hours. Destyn sat in an unmarked, inconsequential economy car by the loading dock. 

“What the hell was I thinking, taking this job?” Destyn asked.

A Glock-35 sat in the passenger seat next to two spare magazines and a Smith & Wesson knife. Trucks pulled up, one by one, for Marcus’ goons to unload. Wentworth, LLC. had a hand in every financially advantageous cookie jar. 

“Shit,” Destyn said.

Destyn hyped herself up before sheathing the knife at her thigh, shoving the spare magazines in the hidden pocket of her vest, and tucking the Glock-35 in her holster. 

“Here goes nothing,” Destyn said.

The car door creaked horribly as she slammed it shut and made her way past the arm gate. Destyn shoved her foot into the door and slipped inside, careful not to draw attention to herself.

Pallets of crates lined the cement floor. A TV in the office was playing some sort of game, but Destyn didn’t have the wherewithal to concentrate on which sport it was. The dockworkers packed themselves into the office like sardines, craning their necks to watch and debate the latest call by the referee. 

“Thank God for sports,” Destyn whispered.

She quickly crossed the warehouse floor. She pushed one of the doors open and checked the hallway. 

“Alright, Wentworth, LLC., give me your best shot,” Destyn said.

A wholly bored sexagenerian security guard sat at a desk overlooking the hallway. Still, his attention was wrapped up in the book in his hands. Destyn casually walked right by without him noticing her existence.

“Shit,” Destyn mouthed.

Getting inside the compound was one thing. Destyn hadn’t considered how spotty her memory of the place would be. She hadn’t been here since she was a tiny child. The only place to go was up to the second floor. Before reaching the top of the stairs, Destyn came face to face with an ostentatious portrait of Marcus Wentworth. It sent chills all over her body. The artist had accurately depicted the polar stare of a man drunk with power.

“Hey, you there!” a goon shouted.

“Out of the frying pan, and--whatever,” Destyn said.

Destyn took off at a full speed run towards the inner sanctum of the warehouse and Marcus Wentworth’s home away from home. A pair of hands, meat tenderizers more like, grabbed Destyn’s arm and attempted to take her gun.

“I will shoot you,” Destyn said.

“Leave it,” a man said.

The goon wrenched Destyn around allowing Destyn to see who had stopped the buffoon in his tracks. 

“Cassius?” Destyn choked.

Destyn hadn’t seen her brother–she couldn’t recall the last time she saw him. They could’ve crossed paths on the street dozens of times without making the connection between them. But here, at the waterfront, Destyn recognized him. Cassius had aged–less than gracefully–for a man in his prime. 

“Take her to Marcus,” Cassius said. “I forgot something in my office.”

“What no hello?” Destyn asked.

Cassius brushed past James and Destyn as the goon yanked her in step with him. The doors to Marcus’ office got closer and closer, and Destyn felt underprepared.

A wave of moist, hot air accosted Destyn as James pulled the door open and shoved her into the office. Marcus had been waiting for her. 

“Thank you, James,” Marcus said.

He quickly sent James the buffoon back into the hall outside and approached Destyn with an unnerving smile.

“Look at you,” Marcus said.

“Please don’t,” Destyn said.

Marcus gripped the same part of Destyn’s arm where James’ hand had left a bruise.

“You won’t be needing that,” Marcus said.

Destyn watched Marcus’ eyes register the Glock in her hand.

“We can be civil, Destyn,” Marcus said. “Tell me, how long has it been?”

“Not long enough,” Destyn said.

She reluctantly holstered her gun. As much as she didn’t want to use it here, she always felt safer with it in her hand during negotiation jobs.

“You can imagine my surprise upon finding out my niece was still in Bellstead,” Marcus said.

“Circumstances didn’t pan out for me as well as you,” Destyn said. 

Marcus placed Destyn in a chair inches from the glass wall before grabbing a decanter and glasses from the cabinet.

“You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?” Marcus asked.

Marcus ignored the daggers Destyn was throwing with her eyes and set the decanter and glasses on the desk table top. He was enjoying this.

“How is your daughter?” Marcus asked. “Amelia, isn’t it?”

It took every ounce of strength Destyn had not to pull out her gun and threaten Marcus within an inch of his life. Chewing on the inside of her cheek kept Destyn otherwise occupied.

“She’d be about six or seven now, wouldn’t she?” Marcus added.

Marcus’ saving grace, for now, was the office door opening; but matters were now slightly more complicated. 

“Leo?” Destyn said.

Marcus caught the familiarity in her voice as Destyn spoke to Leo.

Leo looked like he had seen the fighting end of a roided-out MMA fighter. His eyelids were swollen, a steady trickle of blood poured from his broken nose, and his lip had been split open. 

“Careful of the carpet, Cassius,” Marcus barked.

A second chair had been placed next to Destyn’s before Cassius tossed Leo down. 

“Raging bull much?” Destyn spat.

Cassius threw her a glare of utter disdain and picked up the glass of whiskey meant for Destyn.

“Now, let’s talk, shall we?” Marcus asked.

Destyn had started grinding her teeth when chewing the inside of her cheek had stopped distracting her focus. This would be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night.

Beads of sweat slid down the side of Destyn’s face. How Cassius and Marcus could stand to be in here in suits confounded her. 

“The father’s sins are to be laid upon the children, Mr. Hawthorne,” Marcus said. “Your father knew what he was doing when he came to me for a bailout.” 

“Thank God you don’t have any children,” Destyn said.

Marcus raised an eyebrow at Destyn. She was taunting the snake, and they both knew it. Leo tried speaking, but the sound came out grumbled and inaudible. Destyn hated seeing Leo in pain. She could, but didn’t want to, imagine what he had been through. 

“I saved Hawthorne Industries, and in exchange, the catch was, I’d be paid back in full plus interest,” Marcus said matter-of-factly.

Marcus grabbed a cloth from a drawer in his desk, poured a splash of whiskey on it, and handed it to Destyn.

“For his lip,” Marcus said.

Destyn wanted to jump down Marcus’ throat and get Leo out of there, but Leo was in no condition to go anywhere quickly. She bit her tongue and gently pressed the cloth into Leo’s lip. 

“You’ve done an admirable job delaying the inevitable, Mr. Hawthorne,” Marcus said. “But I’ve run out of patience and can’t have a precedent set.” 

“Yes, God forbid people’s opinion of you should change,” Destyn said. “What a tragedy that would be.” 

She couldn’t stop herself. Decades of anger had pent up inside Destyn. Her mouth was running away from her, plowing full steam into Marcus’ last nerves.

“Keep talking, Destyn,” Cassius said. “I’m itching to make a matching set of the pair of you.” 

“There’s no need for that, Cassius,” Marcus said. “Destyn is, after all–family.” 

Hearing that word from Marcus’ mouth set her skin on fire. To make matters worse, Destyn’s connection to Marcus had just been ousted for Leo to hear. She was grateful Leo couldn’t look at her; Destyn didn’t need his eyes to be open to know his thoughts.

“We’re not family, Marcus,” Destyn snapped. “We were never going to be family. Not after what you did.”

Leo had taken the cloth from Destyn and leaned away from her. 

“Marcus saved this family’s legacy, Destyn,” Cassius said. “You should be as grateful as the rest of us.”

Destyn gawked at Cassius.

“Like hell he did!” Destyn shouted. “He tore our entire family apart from the inside.”

Again, it took all of Destyn’s practiced restraint not to shoot Cassius right there.

“Tensions are running high,” Marcus said. “Understandably so–let’s get this meeting back on track.”

“Cut Hawthorne Industries lose, Marcus,” Destyn said. “Wipe all ties to them from the ledger, for good.” 

Cassius joined Marcus in a callus laugh.

“I won’t be doing that,” Marcus said. “I’m sure you can understand.” 

Destyn inconspicuously reached for her Glock, keeping it out of Marcus and Cassius’ sight.

“You’re not incapable of doing the right thing, Marcus,” Destyn said. “I know that better than anyone–I’m proof of that.”

“What’s she talking about, Marcus?” Cassius asked.

A vein in Marcus’ forehead began to protrude.

“Kept that one close to the vest, did you, Marcus?” Destyn said. “I should be flattered, but–flattery was never really for me.”

Cassius lunged across the floor at Destyn, smacking her hard enough that Destyn’s ears were ringing.

“You’re a little loose in the tongue,” Cassius seethed.

Marcus pulled Cassius away from Destyn, stepping in between brother and sister.

“Stand down, Cassius,” Marcus warned.

Cassius was livid.

“Why are you protecting her?” Cassius asked.

Destyn had pulled her Glock out of the holster, tucked it into the cushion at her side, and kept her hand on the trigger guard.

“Leave us, Cassius,” Marcus said, and it was not a request.

Cassius balked as he seemed to try and scramble this puzzle into making sense. 

“Cassius,” Marcus snapped.

“Does she have something on you, Marcus?” Cassius asked. “Is that why you’re treating her with kid gloves?”

Marcus stood his ground, concealing Destyn from Cassius. She watched his hands start to shake before he balled them into fists.

“We can end her like that,” Cassius said.

The snap of his finger sounded louder when it preceded the words, ‘end her.’ Destyn looked over at Leo, who was starting to be able to peel open his eyes. He did his best to meet her gaze. He was terrified.

“I will not ask you again, Cassius,” Marcus offered a final warning.

Destyn heard footsteps walking towards the doors, and only when Marcus stepped to the side did she see the back of Cassius’ head as he left.

“Marcus,” Destyn said. 

Marcus returned to his desk, sitting in his chair and looking slightly older.

“Sever all ties with Hawthorne Industries,” Destyn said. “And I’ll make it worth your while. You have my word.” 

“Dessyn,” Leo said.

The whiskey had started working, and Leo had perked up enough to be alert.

“Dessyn, don’,” Leo added.

Marcus rolled his chair across the floor, closing the space between him and Destyn.

“I am a woman of my word, Marcus,” Destyn said. “No matter what.” 

Marcus stared at her, looking, she presumed, for a hint of deception. Destyn had no intention of giving him any because she had a plan. 

“So, what’s the catch?” Marcus asked.

Destyn glanced at Leo, whose eyes had a pleading look in his eyes. For the first time since she first met with Leo and took this job, Destyn was perfectly calm. She leaned forward, bringing herself nose-to-nose with Marcus.

“What do you have to offer me, Destyn?” Marcus asked.

Destyn carefully pulled her Glock out, and the only target in the room she cared about hitting was straight in front of her.

“The catch is–” Destyn started. “I’m gonna burn this place and everything you stand for to the ground, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” 

Marcus caught the light refracting off the barrel of Destyn’s Glock.

POP! 

POP!

POP!