— “The video of Derek has gone viral nationwide. He’s a disgrace to the family now. My business is taking a hit. Partners are pulling out, banks are calling in loans. All because of that damn clip. And the police? They say the account is anonymous, the IP is untraceable.”
Stan Bennett slammed his fist on the table:
— “My son is a cripple. He’s 25, and he’ll never walk right again. I’ve invested millions in his future, and this ex-con destroyed it all. We have to find him and bury him.”
Miller shook his head:
— “I tried. I had my best people on it. We checked the cameras—nothing. We questioned witnesses—no one saw a thing. This Sullivan guy is a professional. He’s got help, connections. Probably from his time inside. You don’t just take people like this.”
Owens poured himself a scotch and downed it:
— “Maybe we hire someone? Just have him taken out.”
Miller smirked:
— “You think I haven’t thought of that? I reached out to three different ‘contractors.’ They all turned it down. They said: we don’t mess with ex-cons who have that kind of respect. It’s too risky. They’ll find us and bury us with our families.”
Bennett lit a cigarette, taking a long drag.
— “Then what? We just sit here and wait for him to come after us?”
Miller shook his head:
— “I think he’s done. He taught the kids a lesson, and that’s enough for him. He was after revenge for his mother. He got it. Now he’ll probably just disappear.”
Owens wasn’t so sure:
— “And if he doesn’t? What if he decides to finish us off? We’re just as guilty.”
They’d protected their kids, given them a sense of being above the law. Silence fell over the room. The three men looked at each other and realized: they were cornered.
Bennett said quietly:
— “We need to meet him, talk to him. Offer him money, a settlement. Tell him to forget this whole thing, and we’ll forget him.”
Miller nodded:
— “It’s the only way. But how do we reach him?”
Two days later, Andrew’s phone rang. An unknown number. He answered. A man’s voice, controlled and steady.
— “Andrew Sullivan?”
— “Speaking.”
— “This is Alex Miller, Kyle’s father. I need to meet with you, man to man.”
Andrew was silent for a few seconds, then said:
— “Where?”
Miller gave him an address. A diner on the outskirts of town, neutral ground.
— “Tomorrow at six. I won’t be alone—Owens and Bennett will be with me. But no security, no weapons. Just a conversation.”
Andrew hung up. Gray, sitting nearby, asked:
— “What do you think?”
Andrew thought for a moment.
— “I’ll go. Let’s see what they have to say.”
Gray frowned:
— “Careful, Andy. It could be a setup.”
Andrew nodded:
— “I know. But I want to hear their offer.”
The next day, Andrew arrived at the diner on time. Gray and Lee were outside, watching for any sign of trouble. Inside, the three men were sitting at a booth by the window. All in expensive suits, looking tired and grim. Andrew sat down across from them.
Miller spoke first, his voice even, without threats:
— “Sullivan, we know it was you. The police didn’t find proof, but we aren’t fools. You taught our sons a lesson. It was harsh, but maybe it was deserved. They were wrong. They humiliated your mother, and you took your revenge. The question is: what happens now?”
Andrew watched them in silence.
Owens continued:
Comments are closed.