Bruised (Hunt Brothers Saga)

by Timothy S. Allen

  The owner, a man about five years older by the name of Andrew Patel, had graduated from Stanford and worked at AirBnB for a few years before taking off to form the company. The company had exploded in its first two years and now sought to work its way up into the rarified “unicorn” air that AirBnB, Uber, and other companies of the last decade had had.

  To say that I was getting excited at the prospect of investing in this company was an understatement. I couldn’t tell how Morgan had convinced Andrew to give us an investment shot, but whatever he was doing, it was working. So far, we had batted 100 percent on the companies we had interest in investing in.

  Granted, I did wonder why a company like Virtual Realty was interested in us investing versus larger companies or more well-known venture capitalists, but I just saw it as a chance to grow even more. If I spent anytime asking why us, I would soon be asking why it wasn’t us.

  My phone rang, but I ignored it at first, more absorbed in the business at hand than at anything else. If it was Layla, like I suspected it was, she could wait for some time before I answered the phone. I was in no rush to get back in touch with her, not especially since my defenses were fading and I needed to have them up for my interactions with all the companies we dealt with. Fucked over, I will not be.

  But then the phone rang a second time, too close to the first ring for it to have been two randomly different callers. Curious, I headed over and saw it was a New York number I did not recognize. I would have ignored this one, too, but the double-up of the phone calls suggested someone wanted to reach me. Claire, maybe.

  I picked the phone off the ground.

  “This is Chance,” I said.

  “I know it’s you, boy.”

  My demeanor immediately soured when I heard Edwin Hunt’s fake cheerful voice on the other side. I’d heard this voice too much to be fooled. He would compliment and charm me, but I could practically taste the venom and smell the disgust from the other end of the line at having to speak to his adopted son. If I had to guess, this was probably the fourth phone call he had ever initiated to me.

  “Hi, Mr. Hunt,” I said, providing my own fake cheerful voice. “How are you, today?”

  “Oh, well, you know me, it’s always a delightful day in the heart of New York City. In any case, Chance, I suppose we should get right to it, I know I am a busy man and you must be busting your behind to find yourself a new job.”

  And there it is. The infamous passive-aggressiveness of Mr. Hunt toward me and Morgan.

  “I would like to have you meet me and Morgan for dinner at Ava’s Steakhouse tonight. 6:30 p.m. What do you say?”

  Well, I didn’t really have much choice in the matter, did I? At least I was getting the chance to enjoy some nice steak at a nice restaurant on a tab that most certainly was not going to be mine. Even if Mr. Hunt “left early for business” Morgan had access to the card that could pay off its monthly tab with the investment interest alone.

  “I say that sounds great,” I said, trying desperately to fill my voice with some degree of enthusiasm. “It will be an absolute pleasure to see the family.”

  “Oh, well thank you, but this will be a gentleman’s evening,” Mr. Hunt said with a chuckle. “Melanie is going to stay at home for this one.”

  I figured, but it’s still shitty to hear.

  “Oh, OK, well that would be great,” I said. “I suppose we’ll have some fun discussing shop.”

  “Now, now, it won’t be all shop, we’ll talk about the Yankees too, we can’t be working all the time!”

  Ironic coming from you. I don’t know that you do anything that can’t make you money.

  “Haha, I understand that,” I said with a fake laugh.

  “Good! Then I will see you there.”

  He hung up the phone without so much as a goodbye, which was pretty much his modus operandi, even with his wife. I contemplated texting or calling back and saying I could not make it, but that would have been really fucking stupid. Edwin did not take no for an answer well.

  And besides, I wanted some steak. Having to skimp on eating, even if I was used to it, wasn’t exactly something I was eager to continue indulging in.

  WHEN I SHOWED UP THAT night, Morgan, thank heavens, greeted me first outside the restaurant.

  “The hell is this about?” I said, careful to make sure first that Mr. Hunt was not in sight anywhere.

  “I have no idea,” Morgan said. “But I don’t think he knows about MCH and I’d like to keep it that way. So please don’t say anything.”

  “Like I would,” I said with my eyes rolled. “You’re the one that has to be careful, golden son.”

  “Whatever,” Morgan said, a bit more defeated than I expected. “Let’s just go. You know the drill with dad.”

  That I do. I know it all too well.

  I got in and shook hands with Mr. Hunt, wearing a nice black suit and black tie. I had to say, even though I had seen him just a couple of weeks ago, he looked worse for the wear. Age was beginning to be a factor for him, and it wouldn’t be surprising to see in just a few short years him get so bad he’d have to retire or worse.

  In that sense, the pressure on Morgan to be ready to take over the company had probably intensified to an even higher degree. That probably explained why he looked as worn out as he did. He wasn’t in the mood for jokes. He wasn’t in the mood for brotherly play fighting. He was just in the mood to get shit done.

  Seeing him like this and seeing Edwin Hunt made me wonder for how long Edwin had been as... questionably ethical and brutal as he was. Was he always like this? Did the pressure of business get to him? Was he once a cheerful and happy person like Morgan and I? Or was he just always a manipulative asshole?

  “Chance,” Edwin Hunt said, not bothering to rise and shake my hand—because why should behavior of the last fifteen years or so suddenly magically change? “Good to see you, boy.”

  “Likewise, sir,” I said, giving a half wave as I took my seat. Already, a glass of wine and some appetizers had been placed on the table. “I hope I’m not—”

  “Late? Nonsense. I like for my guests to arrive to a table full of bountiful gifts.”

  What is going on? This is not at all like Edwin Hunt. I looked to Morgan for any kind of a clue, but he kept his eyes on his plate, deliberately avoiding eye contact with me.

  “Well, thank you,” I said, trying to keep my words curt.

  “You are welcome. I take it you’ve been following our boys in the Bronx?”

  I knew he was referring to the Yankees, but the casual conversation—with me, no less—struck me as so unlike Mr. Hunt that I seriously began to wonder if he had suffered a stroke or something else that had impaired his judgment. This was nothing like the Edwin Hunt I had grown up with or even interacted with in the last couple of weeks.

  That, or he was “fattening me up” for an offer of some kind. Fortunately, I knew the devil always did deals in his favor.

  We talked casually about the Yankees for a few minutes. I noticed Morgan continued to stay out of the conversation, keeping his eyes on his plate or around the surroundings. I suspected that this was one of the few times Morgan could escape his father’s presence, even with him physically no more than four feet away, and he wanted to take full advantage of the opportunity.

  Mr. Hunt kept the charm up, suggesting I go to games with him in his press box and promising the world. Our steaks came without us even ordering, and somehow, Mr. Hunt had ordered my favorite—medium-rare ribeye. I chomped into my steak, savoring the juiciness and the fat that came with it. I couldn’t remember when, if ever, I had had ribeye this fucking delicious, but for how good it was, it almost made this whole encounter with Edwin Hunt worthwhile.

  Finally, as the waiter acknowledged it was time for dessert—something which, again, I had no say in but suspected Edwin Hunt had somehow found out—we got to what seemed to be the point of the dinner.

  “Now, Chance, I understand you had an unfortunate incident at Burnson In
vestments.”

  Something you had a part in, you prick. I wouldn’t have gotten fired if you and Craig or whoever hadn’t fucked me over.

  “I understand that at your age, things can get a little out of control, and you can have difficulty handling your emotions.”

  You motherfucker. Just get to the point.

  “Truth be told, when John told me what had happened, I just laughed. Too many of our associates don’t have the balls to say what they are really thinking—they’d rather kiss my ass than give it the kick that it needs. That you did that to John made me a happy man.”

  I refused to believe almost everything that Mr. Hunt had just said. Pretty much the only thing I believed was that almost all of his associates brown-nosed instead of speaking the truth. But the idea that he laughed... OK, maybe he did laugh. But he wasn’t laughing at John so much as he was laughing at the ridiculousness of his adopted son. And he certainly wasn’t made a happy man by that.

  “I know what happened with the Taylors was a little rough, but I think that your failure can actually make you a better businessman.”

  Oh, you have no idea.

  “I know it’s embarrassing. But I had failures like that, too, and I got chewed out and reamed all the same. It’s not fun, oh no, but it makes you better. I believe, Chance, that you are better than when I got you the job at Burnson’s company.”

  Yeah, no shit, I’m the one that would have procured a great deal if not for my big mouth with Layla.

  If not for her...

  “So, this is why I have called you here, Chance. A few weeks ago, I gave you this opportunity and you declined, which, given what you were working on, is completely understandable.”

  I could hear the strain in Mr. Hunt’s voice. He didn’t actually believe that it was acceptable. It was almost funny if it wasn’t so serious to see Mr. Hunt fake it—and if I didn’t fear what lengths Mr. Hunt would go to to enact revenge or “right” something that was wrong.

  “However, now that your circumstances have shifted and it would only be right for a boy in your position to push to receive a job, I would like to present you with the same opportunity again.”

  I gulped. I should have known. I did my damn hardest not to look at Morgan, but I could see the nerves out of the corner of my eye.

  “Not only that, I would like to make you a director,” Mr. Hunt said. “Your time at Burnson Investments, for as unfortunate as it ended, prove that you listened to the lessons I gave you two when you were young.”

  You mean lessons you gave Morgan that I was allowed to eavesdrop on.

  “You would prove invaluable to our company. I trust that you will make the right decision.”

  “I very much appreciate it, sir,” I said, putting a facade of a smile on my face. “And when do you need a decision by?”

  “Oh, Chance, it’s almost like you don’t know me,” Mr. Hunt said. “Before you leave here.”

  The truth was, there was no debate.

  I was never going to work for Edwin Hunt as long as I lived. I had a better chance of never working again and going homeless than working for Edwin Hunt. I had sworn to not rely on the last name Hunt, and while that had shifted some to not relying on Edwin Hunt, the result of these thoughts was the same for this case.

  But I could not reveal why, at least not the real reason why. I had to keep Morgan out of this.

  “I appreciate the offer,” I said, and already, I could see Mr. Hunt’s eyes narrowing. “But I want to make a name for myself. You’ve done so much for me and I am forever grateful, but I want to prove I can accomplish things on my own. So thank you, but I decline.”

  “I see,” Mr. Hunt said, gritting his teeth. “Morgan, would you please tell your brother how silly he is being?”

  Morgan grimaced, cleared his throat, and looked at me. He didn’t wink, he didn’t kick me under the table, he didn’t drop any hints—but he didn’t need to. I knew from his eyes, from how he had greeted me before dinner, and how hard he worked on MCH that what he said was insincere.

  “Father will get you anything you need and everything you need, Morgan,” he said. “You would be foolish to pass up this great opportunity. I highly recommend you think about it.”

  “I know,” I said. “But when Mr. Hunt offered me the job back when, I didn’t decline it because of anything to do with the deal at the time or Mr. Burnson. I declined it because, in the end, I don’t want to be known as the second coming of Edwin Hunt. I want to be known as Chance Hunt, my own man.”

  “Enough,” Edwin said with a huff. “Chance, I will leave the offer for you for the next 24 hours. Perhaps some part of you will come to your senses and realize what a mistake you have made. You know what happens to people who choose not to associate themselves with me?”

  Is this... is this a threat? Edwin Hunt is threatening me?

  Is this really happening?

  “They wind up failing, that’s what,” Mr. Hunt said. “They end up begging to come back to me. They are losers. And I reject them laughing, because if they wanted to be with me, they would have gone with me in the first place.”

  “I’ve seen the meetings, I know.”

  I had not meant to speak so boldly and directly, but I didn’t regret that I had. Seeing Mr. Hunt’s wide eyes and stunned expression gave me everything I could have ever wanted.

  Only by the grace of the arriving dessert did things get semi-comfortable. Now, it was Mr. Hunt’s turn to sit silently and stew while Morgan and I discussed sports. We didn’t even come close to spilling our secret, and why would we?

  As we headed out, Mr. Hunt placed a firm, unnecessarily strong grip on my shoulder.

  “Twenty four hours, Chance,” Mr. Hunt said. “I shouldn’t be allowing you to make a choice like this, but Melanie has persuaded me to. Don’t disappoint me.”

  Without another word, he got into a limo that pulled up. The limo drove off, and both Morgan and I stared until it had turned the corner.

  “You have to be careful now,” Morgan said.

  “No shit, ya think?” I said. “I would think that goes doubly for you, since you’re under his eye twenty-four seven.”

  “Yeah, but he thinks I’m the angel of the family.”

  It wasn’t even said sarcastically, more like bitterly matter of fact.

  “He’s going to be watching you closely to see what you’re doing,” Morgan said. “And don’t think he won’t do whatever it takes. Don’t do work on public networks or in public, period. He will have people following you.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you, Chance?” Morgan said. “I’m not trying to scare you. But my father doesn’t take no for an answer well. He will do whatever it takes. We cannot be found out until I resign. And even then, that is going to be a nightmare.”

  “I know.”

  “So, please, Chance, promise me you’ll be careful.”

  I almost dismissively waved him off, except I had already gone to a coffee shop to do work once already. I had gotten away with it then because Mr. Hunt had not had me on his “hit list” but he sure as hell would now. I didn’t even plan on calling him to reject the job a second time—partly out of ego, partly to piss him off, and partly just because I’d said enough.

  But that would only infuriate the old bear even more. I had to cover my tracks. I had to be careful.

  Otherwise, the name Hunt wouldn’t just be attached to me, it would stalk more forever.

  “Promise.”

  Chapter Five

  Edwin Hunt was a vicious, savage man who knew no bounds and would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

  But he was not omniscient, and I knew that as long as I wasn’t stupid about what I brought out in public, I wouldn’t get in trouble. I could still meet clients for drinks, I could still travel, and I could still put my face out for the world to see. I just couldn’t bring files or laptops with information about prospective deals outside.

  Even at my home, I had to be more careful. Over
the next week and a half, I doubled down on the security at my apartment, especially my Wi-fi. I strengthened it so much that I had to carry the password in my pocket to give to Morgan whenever he came over, it was so long. I caught a couple of hacking attempts from nearby areas, though most of the attempts were just Russian or Chinese hackers trying to get into my computer.

  I felt like I had the proper blend of healthy paranoia and a willingness to charge forward. I did my due diligence on Virtual Realty, and though I felt like they might have inflated their worth a bit, a negotiation was never something I feared, especially since I had learned just enough from Edwin Hunt to be good at it but not so much as to set myself up for future failure. They had potential, and it wasn’t hard to see why Morgan had interest.

  The real exciting part, I imagined, would come when we started to get people approaching us for investment opportunities instead of just relying on Morgan’s extensive (albeit useful) network. Sooner or later, we would age out of knowing the next crop of young entrepreneurs—and it wouldn’t take that long to happen—but when that happened, it would only mean we had to get even more creative with recruiting and getting prospective investors.

  Days went by where nothing happened, and I settled into a nice routine. In the morning, I would go for a workout. When I got back, I would treat myself to a healthy breakfast, watch TV, and then begin my work for the day. From there, I just grinded on my research and self-development skills until the evening hit. Then, to avoid settling into the fog of social isolation, I would go out to eat with one of my college friends or maybe even Morgan, although we made it a point to never discuss business when outside. We feared too much the reprisal of Edwin Hunt.

  This process even continued into the weekend. I didn’t have a choice about working on weekends, not if I wanted to obtain the kind of success I wanted without relying on the name Hunt. The only reason I didn’t go by Chance Givens instead of Chance Hunt was for the sake of selling the Hunt brothers as a thing—it was a lot harder to tell people we were brothers if he was named Morgan Hunt and I was Chance Givens.