Chapter 6 - The Debt of the Reaper
Three weeks later, Damian Vescari was denied bail.
Victor Hale accepted a cooperation agreement.
The conspiracy collapsed quickly.
Men who had spent years claiming loyalty suddenly discovered a passionate respect for subpoenas.
Gabriel stood in my Manhattan office holding a folder.
"Damian's attorneys are asking for negotiations."
"No."
"Victor wants protection."
"Give him enough to stay alive."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow.
"Merciful."
"Don't spread rumors."
He dropped another folder onto my desk.
"Walter Bennett."
I opened it.
Mortgage.
Medical debt.
Property taxes.
I looked up.
"What is this?"
"You told me to make sure they were protected."
"Protected. Not investigated."
"Same department."
I closed the folder.
"Pay the mortgage anonymously."
Gabriel shook his head.
"Bad idea."
"Why?"
"Because Walter will know."
"How?"
"Because nobody anonymously pays off a man's mortgage three weeks after his grandson saves a mafia boss."
Fair.
"Then don't."
Gabriel smiled.
"You're learning."
My phone rang.
Walter.
I answered.
"Everything okay?"
"Depends."
"On?"
"Eli has something to ask you."
The phone changed hands.
"Mister Roman?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you busy?"
"Very."
"Oh."
"What do you need?"
"Our school has Career Day."
Silence.
Gabriel began laughing before I could answer.
I covered the phone.
"Leave."
He walked out, still laughing.
I returned to Eli.
"You want the Reaper at Career Day?"
"Grandpa says I can't call you that at school."
"Your grandfather is wise."
"So will you come?"
"What exactly would I tell nine-year-olds I do?"
Eli thought about it.
"Security?"
"That's technically true."
"And shipping."
"Also true."
"And you own restaurants."
"Unfortunately."
"So?"
I stared out over Manhattan.
Hundreds of people were waiting for decisions from me.
Millions of dollars were moving because of conversations happening downstairs.
None of it seemed as terrifying as entering an elementary-school classroom.
"What time?"
"Ten."
"I'll be there."
Eli shouted away from the phone.
"HE SAID YES!"
Walter took the phone.
"You realize he's been asking me every day?"
"I suspected."
"You don't owe him your entire life."
I looked at the silver ring missing from my hand.
"No."
I smiled.
"Just the part he gave back to me."
---
Career Day was a disaster.
One kid asked if I'd ever fought a shark.
Another asked whether I owned a helicopter.
A third wanted to know why I had tattoos across my hands and up my neck.
"Bad decisions," I answered.
Eli raised his hand.
"You said tattoos tell stories."
I stared at him.
"Some do."
"What do yours say?"
I looked at the dark ink across my fingers.
"They remind me where I came from."
The teacher smiled nervously.
"And what do you do now, Mr. Vescari?"
I looked around the classroom.
"Security."
A little girl frowned.
"Like a police officer?"
"Not exactly."
Eli interrupted.
"He helps people."
I looked at him.
That wasn't how anyone had ever described me.
The strange thing was—
May you like
I wanted it to become true.
---
