by R. R. Banks
There are nods all around and quiet, murmured agreement.
“Trust me, guys, we're not in any trouble. We haven't done anything wrong. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to give you all a wonderful Christmas present – I'm going to head down to the conference room and end that son of a bitch.”
My words don't seem to reassure anyone. All they know is that when Mason starts poking around, people wind up in jail or lose their jobs. I understand the fear, but they don't know what I do. They don't know that I have Mason dead to rights.
I give everybody a smile before walking briskly down the hallway to the conference room, a spring in my step. Through the glass wall, I see Mason sitting there, his face dark with anger and annoyance. When I step through the door, he pointedly looks at his watch and sighs.
“Nice of you to finally stop by,” he says.
“Least I could do,” I reply, smiling wide at him.
“You asked me to be here half an hour ago.”
I nod. “Yeah, but I never said I'd be here at the same time.”
“You're playing with fire right now, Carter,” he says. “If I were you, I'd be very careful about where you step.”
I drop down into the chair across the table from him and give him a long, level look. I can see his jaw clenching, and he's flexing his hands – clenching and unclenching them, as if he's tense and having trouble controlling his temper. Good. If he's this off balance already, my job will be that much easier.
He's already teetering on the edge, and all I need to do is give him a wee little push. Which is something I'm more than happy to do.
“What do you want, Carter?” he snaps. “Why did you call this meeting?”
“Just to chat,” I say. “Now, that I've had some time to cool down, I wanted to talk.”
“Just to talk?” he asks, incredulous. “What is there to talk about? You either wave the white flag and surrender, or I'm going to take you down. There will be no quarter given. I will fucking destroy you, Carter.”
I give him a smirk. “I've been doing a lot of thinking lately,” I say. “I underestimated just how low you were willing to stoop. How big of a piece of shit you really are. Hiring a stripper to ambush me in my place like that? Seriously, what the fuck? I mean, strategically, it was a solid move. Made your sister really doubt me, and pissed her off to the nth degree. So, kudos for that, I guess. But, you're a huge piece of shit for doing that – not to me, but to her.”
Mason shrugs. “Sometimes, there is unfortunate collateral damage,” he explains. “When you're fighting a war against somebody like you, sometimes you need to roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty. Victory must be achieved at all cost.”
“You seem to thrive down in the shit,” I say. “I don't think you’ve ever came out of it.”
“I get results, don't I?” he says. “I always win, Carter. That's what I've been trying to tell you for a decade now. I always fucking win, and trash like you always loses. And that's because I'm willing to make the tough calls. I'm willing to do what needs to be done to achieve victory.”
“What about Darby?” I ask. “What about what she wants? She and I are happy together. Why can't you just let it be? Doesn't her happiness factor into your bullshit at all?”
He shrugs again. “Not really,” he says. “My career and my ambitions come first – they always have. I've never been ashamed of that. She knows where I stand.”
“Mason is all about Mason, huh?”
“My star is on the rise,” he says. “I can’t and won't have Darby running around with somebody like – well – you.”
“And what is it about me that's so fucking objectionable, man?” I ask. “I run a clean shop, I pay my taxes, I give to charity. What the fuck is your problem with me?”
A reptilian smirk touches his lips. “I don't like you. Never have.”
“So, that's what this is all about? You're trying to destroy two lives, simply for the fact that you don't like me?” I say. “Fuck Darby's happiness because you don't like me, right?”
“Well – yeah,” he says. “Pretty much. I mean, I want her to be happy, of course. She can settle for somebody else. Somebody I approve of.”
“Wow,” I say. “You really are a piece of shit. You're an even bigger piece of shit than I gave you credit for.”
“Speaking of shit,” he says. “I figure I'll do you a solid by giving you a heads up. One of your employees – excuse me – former employees, is a whistleblower. Has all kinds of good shit on you. Shit that if it gets out, is gonna land you in prison for a long, long time.”
“That so?”
He nods. “That's so.”
“And what does this former employee supposedly have on me?”
“Insider trading. Wire fraud. Bank fraud,” he says. “I could go on and on. Let's just say that if I really press, you will probably never see the world outside a prison ever again.”
Mason holds up a thumb drive for me to see. “Turned this over to me this morning,” he says. “Haven't had a chance to look at it yet because you've kept me on ice here for a while, but I can't wait to open it up. I'm sure it’ll make for some fascinating reading.”
“I'm sure it does,” I say, suppressing a grin.
“Let this be a lesson to you,” he says. “Don't mistreat and manhandle your employees. It’ll bite you in the ass.”
“Fascinating,” I say, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.
A shadow of uncertainty crosses Mason's face as he looks at me. Clearly, he'd expected me to fall to my knees, and beg for mercy or something. Yeah, not gonna happen. Even if he had me staring down the barrel of an actual gun, I wouldn't ask him for mercy. I wouldn't ask him for shit.
“Anyway,” Mason says, clearing his throat and working back up to his former bravado. “I'm willing to overlook this and not pursue charges. But, you have to stop seeing Darby. Immediately. Second, you must close your firm. You also need to give up your licenses, and you will be barred from trading ever again. Period. These terms are non-negotiable.”
“Wow. The death penalty,” I say and feign a shudder. “How scary.”
Mason looks at me, his face etched with uncertainty. He obviously can't understand how I can be so flippant when he thinks he has me staring down the financial equivalent of the death penalty.
He doesn't realize it yet, but I'm the one holding the trump card. He doesn't know it yet, but he will soon enough. And I can't wait to see his fucking face when I finally pull the trigger.
“You should take this seriously, Carter,” he says.
“Thanks for the advice,” I say. “And the heads up.”
“You're lucky I'm not going after your assets too,” he replies. “I'm sure you've already made more than enough money to last a lifetime. So, get out of the game and go enjoy it.”
“How magnanimous of you.”
“Yeah, I thought so too,” he says. “Do we have a deal?”
I laugh in his face. “Fuck no,” I reply.
His mouth falls open and he looks at me like I've just lost my mind. Mason gathers himself, clenches his jaw, and narrows his eyes at me, the hatred emanating from him in waves.
“I'm giving you a chance to get out of this with your home and some money,” he says. “A chance to avoid prison and lose everything.”
“And I'm telling you to shove it up your ass,” I look up toward where the hidden camera is located, and smile. “It's time.”
Mason follows my gaze and then turns back to me. “What the hell is going on. Who are you talking to?”
A moment later, Rupert and Darby step into the conference room – Rupert with a smug smile on his face and Darby with tears rolling down her cheeks. I hate that she had to see and hear that. Hate that I had to do that to her. But, she knew what might happen when she agreed to be here, and she still wanted to be here anyway.
I guess she just needed to see and hear it herself for it to truly sink in.
“What the fuck is this?” M
ason asks, his voice filled with rage.
“You're a son of a bitch, Mason,” Darby hisses.
She lunges toward him, and although I'm tempted to let her rip his eyes out, I physically hold her back. I've never seen this kind of fury from Darby before.
I hold her close for a moment, letting her cry into my chest. I stroke her hair and murmur a few words into her ear. Eventually, she nods and takes a seat next to me. She stares daggers at Mason and for the first time in my life, he looks scared. Rupert takes a seat next to me.
“To answer your question, this,” I say, “is me fulfilling the promise I made to you. I told you I was going to set your life on fire. Ready?”
Slipping the small remote out of my pocket, I point it at the big flat screen TV and turn it on, then hit play. There's a moment of static, before the picture resolves itself into a crystal clear, HD image of Rupert and Mason sitting on a park bench.
“What the fuck is this?” Mason hisses.
The audio comes across as clear as the picture on the screen.
“You have my money?” Rupert asks.
“One hundred thousand,” Mason answers. “As requested.”
“I can't wait to see you bring him down,” Rupert says. “Smug son of a bitch. Thinks he can fire me? Thinks he can put hands on me? I'm going to fuck Carter seven ways to Sunday.”
“You're going to have to testify,” Mason says.
“I'll say whatever you want me to say in court,” Rupert says. “Just give me some prepared answers and a day to memorize them. I'll put on the best fuckin' show you've ever seen.”
“Good. I'm going to need you to be convincing.”
“I can lie just as well as you can, Mason,” he says. “Maybe better.”
“Yeah, well make sure you do,” Mason says. “I'm going to be counting on it. You're going to be my star witness. When I'm done with Carter Bishop, he's not going to have a pot to piss in. He'll be on the street corner begging for spare change.”
“Can't wait to see it,” Rupert says.
Mason hands Rupert an envelope and he opens it, taking out the bundle of cash – making sure the camera gets a good look at it. Mason quickly slaps his hands down and stuffs the cash back into the envelope.
“Count it later,” he growls. “Fucking amateur. You don't flash that shit in public.”
Rupert shrugs. “Sorry. First time.”
“Yeah well, you better get your shit straight,” he says. “Now, wait for my call.”
Mason stands up and walks away, leaving Rupert with the envelope full of cash.
“I think we got him,” he says to the camera, a goofy grin on his face. “Crooked motherfucker.”
The video ends and the screen goes dark. I drop the remote on the table and look at Mason, smiling at him smugly. Mason is sitting there, his mouth opening and closing, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. He looks up at me, a stricken look upon his face.
“You son of a bitch,” he seethes at Rupert. “You set me up.”
Rupert chuckles. “Yeah, looks that way, huh?” he says. “Granted, it's not as cool as you setting up that woman in Carter’s house – which, if you would give me her number, I'd appreciate it.”
“I can explain this,” he says, trying to go into spin mode. “It's not what it looks like –”
Mason, maybe for the first time in his life, doesn't have an answer. We blindsided him so perfectly, he doesn't know what to do. It's a beautiful sight.
“Maybe it isn't what it looks like. I'm no legal expert,” I say. “Maybe it's best if we let someone higher up the DOJ food chain decide that. I have a close friend with personal connections to the Attorney General and I'm quite sure they'd be interested in seeing what one of their –”
“What do you want?” he asks quickly. “To make this go away. What do you want?”
I smile and give Rupert a nod. We have him right where we want him. It's over. We've won.
“Well, for starters, you're going to stay the fuck out of our lives. I see you sniffing around, if I even hear of you speaking our names, I'll burn you down,” I say. “You got that? From now on, you leave me the fuck alone. If Darby wants to have a relationship with you, that's her call. But you will respect her. You will not try to control or manipulate her. Those days are over. Period.”
He sighs and runs a hand over his face. I don't know if he's even hearing what I'm saying, but I press on anyway.
“Next, you are going to resign as a U.S. Attorney. Immediately,” I say. “I don't give a fuck what reason you give them for quitting, but you're done. Somebody as corrupt and abusive as you doesn't deserve to be in any position of power or influence. You are a corrupt son of a bitch.”
Mason looks at me, his eyes filled with – something. I don't know what it feels like to have all your dreams and ambitions being stripped away from you one by one, so I can't really describe it. I imagine it must feel incredibly shitty though.
“Second,” I say, “You are never going to run for elected office. Ever. You do that, this video will be the fucking centerpiece of your opponent's campaign.”
Mason looks absolutely miserable. I can see him trying to find some way out of this, trying to find some spin or angle to work. After a few seconds, I can see the look of defeat in his eyes as he realizes he's trapped.
“Third,” I say. “You’re going to surrender your law license and never practice again. If I find out you are, this video goes public. I figure since you were on board with giving me the death penalty, the least I can do is return the favor. Don't you think?”
“You son of a bitch,” he hisses.
“You're lucky I'm not requiring you to forfeit all of your assets,” I say. “I'm sure you made a lot of money doing what you did. I'm giving you the chance to go enjoy it. Magnanimous of me, isn't it?”
Mason stares at me, hatred burning bright in his eyes. I glare back, unable to keep the grin off my face. I know it's a dick thing to do, but I can't stop myself from rubbing his face in it just a little more. Come on, the prick deserves it after all the shit he pulled.
“What was it you told me once?” I ask. “No victory is as sweet as a total and complete domination of your opponent? Damn. You were right. I mean, this is an awesome feeling.”
“Carter.”
It's the first thing Darby has said since she lunged at Mason, so I turn to her. “What is it?”
She sighs, and I can see the struggle on her face – she’s obviously conflicted. She knows Mason made his own bed and should now have to lie in it. But, being the compassionate woman she is, she hates seeing Mason being raked over the coals like this.
I guess no matter how big of a piece of shit he is, he's still her brother.
“Do you think you can loosen up on those demands a little?” she asks softly.
“Which one?” I ask.
“Maybe you can let him keep his law license,” she says. “It's all he knows. He's nothing without it.”
“He's nothing with it,” I say. “Just a petty, angry man with a need to control everyone around him.”
“You beat him,” she says. “You know it. I know it. He knows it. You don't have to take everything from him. You don't have to be like him. Show me you can be better than him.”
“Victory has to be total and complete when you play with somebody like this asshole,” I say. “You give them an inch, they'll come right back and take a mile.”
Darby turns to Mason. “This is over, Mason,” she says. “If Carter is generous enough to let you keep your law license, you will abide by each and every other condition he sets forth. If you don't, I'll go to the media and release that video myself. Do you understand?”
Mason looks at her for a long moment, and his face falls. He knows he's beaten, and that we have him in checkmate. Slowly, he nods and looks down at the tabletop, completely defeated. Darby turns back to me, waiting for my answer. Waiting to see if I can be a good man.
She's right. He's beaten. As much as I'd
love to pile it on – and I'd really, really love to just bury this fucker – I don't have to be like him. I shouldn't be like him. I should strive to be better than him.
Victory is enough in itself, and we've already claimed that. We don't need to burn the whole world down too. Because she's right, doing so would make me just like him.
“Deal,” I say. “Thank your sister, Mason.”
“Thank you,” he mutters.
I exchange looks with Rupert, who's smiling wide, and Darby, who's not. I understand why she's torn, but I can't keep the smile off my face. We beat Mason White. We got one over on Ahab. I love winning. Almost as much as I love making fat piles of money.
Though, both still pale in comparison to how much I love Darby. I pull her to me and kiss her. It's a warm, sweet kiss, and when I look into her eyes, she smiles.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“No, thank you,” I say. “For reminding me that being a good man is more important than dancing on the graves of your enemies.”
Mason is watching us, and I know he wants to say something cutting. Too bad he's lost any high ground he had. Sucks to be on the losing side of a fight.
“We're done here,” I say. “Get out of my office. Oh, and have a very Merry Christmas, Mason.”
“Look at you getting into the Christmas spirit all of the sudden,” Rupert says.
I jerk my thumb at Darby. “It's her. She might be rubbing off on me.”
“It's a good change,” she says.
“The world already has enough Ebenezer’s,” Rupert says. “Which reminds me, have a happy holiday, Mason.”
Mason rises and shuffles out, his head hung low, his entire persona – Ahab the terrible – stripped away completely. He's a former shell of himself as he passes through the doors and out of our offices.
It's gratifying as hell.
I shake Rupert's hand and pat him on the back. “Great work, man,” I say. “That was awesome.”
“Do I get to keep the hundred grand?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don't care,” I say. “I consider it found money.”