CHAPTER EIGHT
1869 Words
Wes strutted into the office like he owned the place, tossing the signed contract onto Mr. Luciano’s desk with a cocky grin.
“I’m surprised you managed to let him sign,” the boss said, picking up the envelope and inspecting it like he half-expected it to burst into flames.
Wes smirked, dropping into the chair across from him. “I’m surprised that you’re surprised. Didn’t you believe in me?”
Mr. Luciano just stared at him, deadpan.
Wes let the silence hang for a second before bursting into laughter. “I’m just messing with you, boss. No need to look at me like you’re debating whether or not to have me whacked.”
Luciano exhaled through his nose—his version of a laugh, apparently—and set the envelope down. “I don’t have time to debate.”
Wes cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “Right. Moving on.”
Luciano leaned back, lacing his fingers together. “Before you go, I’m reminding you to report to your probation officer.”
Wes groaned dramatically. “Ugh, boss, why’d you have to ruin my mood?”
“I didn’t spend thousands on your attorney just to get you back into the slums,” he said flatly.
Wes placed a hand over his chest like he was genuinely touched. “You spent thousands on me? Damn, boss, I didn’t know you cared.”
Luciano rubbed his temples. “I don’t. I just don’t like wasting money.”
“Sure, sure, keep telling yourself that.” Wes stood, stretching. “Alright, I’ll go visit my PO. But if I disappear for a few hours, it’s not my fault. You ever been to one of those offices? It’s like stepping into a time loop where everyone’s either mad, asleep, or both.”
Luciano waved him off. “Get out of my office, Wes.”
“Gladly.” Wes was halfway to the door when he paused, glancing back. “Oh, and just so you know—I was very professional during that meeting.”
Luciano gave him an unimpressed look.
“Okay, mostly professional.”
More staring.
“…Fine, I might’ve called him an asshole once. Or twice.”
Luciano just sighed, and Wes took that as his cue to leave.
He glanced at the time on his watch and cursed under his breath.
Shit. He had less than fifteen minutes.
He shot up from his seat so fast that the chair nearly tipped over. He grabbed his jacket, slung it over his shoulder, and hurried toward the exit.
“Hey.”
Wes nearly jumped out of his skin. Carter had appeared out of nowhere, standing there like he hadn’t just scared the hell out of him.
“Jesus! Where have you been?” Wes snapped, clutching his chest.
“I waited for you. Where the hell do you think?” Carter looked him up and down. “What’s with you? You look like you’re about to commit a crime.”
“I have to visit my PO.”
Carter blinked. “Your PO?”
“My probation officer. Good God, keep up.”
“Right, right.” Carter nodded like he totally understood, which he absolutely did not.
They rushed outside and hailed a cab, with Wes practically shoving Carter inside before sliding in himself. The second they sat down, he was already restless. His knee bounced, fingers tapping against the door, eyes glued to the time on his phone like it was counting down to his execution.
“What time does the office close?” Carter asked.
“Five.”
Carter glanced at the screen. “Dude, it’s four fifty-two.”
“Yeah. No shit.” Wes ran a hand down his face. “Why the hell do you think I’m freaking out?”
The cab hit a red light, and Wes let out the most exasperated groan of his life. “Come on, come on, come on!”
“You could’ve checked in earlier, y’know,” Carter pointed out. “Like, at any time today.”
Wes turned to him, deadpan. “Oh, wow. Thank you for that brilliant idea, Carter. I totally didn’t think of that.”
“I’m just saying, man.”
“Yeah, well, stop saying.”
By the time the cab finally pulled up in front of the probation office, the gates had just started to close.
Wes didn’t even wait for the car to fully stop. “No, wait!” He flung the door open and bolted toward the entrance like a man being chased by the cops—which, ironically, he was trying not to be.
The security guard, an old guy who looked like he had seen way too much bullshit in his life, gave him a slow, unimpressed blink. He was holding a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other, looking completely unbothered by Wes’s desperation.
“Office closed at five,” the guard said, taking a bite of his sandwich.
Wes checked his watch. “It’s four fifty-nine!”
The guard sipped his coffee, then smacked his lips. “Huh. Looks like it’s five now.”
Wes groaned and leaned against the metal gate. “Come on, man, give me a break.”
“Should’ve gotten here earlier.”
“I tried, but some rich prick in a wheelchair was giving me a hard time, and then my boss started lecturing me like I was on some damn self-improvement podcast, and then this guy—” he gestured wildly at Carter, “—wouldn’t stop asking questions, and now here I am, begging you to let me in!”
The guard took another bite of his sandwich. “Sounds like a you problem.”
Wes turned to Carter, looking personally victimized. “Can you believe this?”
Carter shrugged. “I mean… you are kinda bad at time management.”
Wes shot him a glare. “Not. Helping.”
“Look, kid,” the guard sighed, finally setting his coffee down. “Even if I wanted to let you in—which, spoiler alert, I don’t—I’d get in trouble. You missed your check-in. That’s not on me.”
Wes groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “So what now?”
“Now?” The guard shrugged. “Now, you pray your PO isn’t the type to hold grudges.”
Wes sighed, already dreading the call he’d have to make tomorrow. “Great. Just great.”
When he got home that night after grabbing a few beers with Carter, he kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the couch without bothering to check his phone. It had been vibrating like crazy, but he figured it was just Carter sending him dumb memes or his boss telling him to do something annoying. Either way, it could wait. Right now, all he wanted was sleep.
The next morning, his phone was still going off like an alarm on steroids. He groaned, blindly reaching for it, but just as his fingers brushed the screen—
BANG BANG BANG!
The knocking on his door was so aggressive it nearly sent him rolling off the couch.
“Jesus,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Give a man some space.”
Dragging himself up, he shuffled to the door, still half-asleep. The moment he cracked it open, a man with a face redder than a stop sign lunged forward, fist raised. Wes slammed the door shut just in time.
What the hell was that about?
His phone buzzed again. Frowning, he finally checked the screen.
His stomach dropped.
Every notification, every missed call, every text message—it was all about one thing.
Hawthorne Industries.
Gone.
NeuroGeneX Medical Lab: A Multi-Billion Dollar Scam Uncovered
Investors Left Penniless Overnight—Authorities on High Alert
CEO Declares Bankruptcy Amidst Shocking Fraud Allegations
Wes’s breath hitched. His stocks. His money. Everything.
No. No, no, no. This isn’t happening.
Another bang on the door made him flinch.
“WES! OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR!”
Right. The guy outside.
Wes didn’t even need to check the peephole to know it was one of the other investors—some poor bastard just as screwed as he was.
He ran a hand down his face.
Yeah. He was so, so screwed.
Then his face grew even paler. He used his boss’s money and promised to pay it back before he even noticed it was gone.
How the hell is he gonna do that now?
He dropped on the floor, tugging on his hair.
His stomach twisted as the realization hit him like a truck.
It wasn’t just his money.
It was his boss’s money.
Joaquin freaking Luciano’s money.
Money that he had borrowed—no, stolen—with the full intention of sneaking it back before the old man even noticed it was gone.
But now?
Now it was gone gone.
Wes’s legs gave out, and he dropped onto the floor, gripping his hair like he could squeeze out a solution if he pulled hard enough. His breathing turned shallow. His mind raced.
How the hell was he gonna fix this?
The logical answer? He wasn’t.
The man outside was still shouting, but Wes barely heard him anymore. His ears were ringing, his vision tunneling.
Because if Joaquin found out—and he would find out because nothing gets past that man—Wes was dead.
And not just figuratively.
Joaquin Luciano didn’t do debts. He didn’t do second chances. If you crossed him, you didn’t get a stern talking-to—you got a one-way ticket to a shallow grave.
Wes could already picture the headlines:
Local Dumbass Found Six Feet Under After Betting Mob Boss’s Money on a Scam.
He let out a strangled laugh.
“s**t. I’m so dead.”
The pounding on the door got louder, snapping him out of his spiral.
“WES! I swear, open this damn door before I break it down!”
Carter.
Thank God.
Still on the floor, Wes crawled over and cracked the door open just enough to peek through. Carter stood there, face flushed, eyes wild.
“You better have a damn good explanation,” Carter hissed, shoving his way inside. “I wake up to find the entire city talking about some broke-ass medical company that scammed thousands—including your dumb ass. What the hell did you do?!”
Wes shut the door, dragging a hand down his face. “I… may have used some of the boss’s money to invest in a company that, uh… doesn’t exist anymore.”
Carter’s eye twitched. “Some?”
Wes swallowed.
Carter took a deep breath, then grabbed a chair and sat down. “Okay. First, we don’t panic—”
“I am panicking.”
“—I said we don’t panic,” Carter corrected, rubbing his temples. “We need to get that money back. Like, yesterday. Before Luciano realizes.”
Wes let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah? And how do you suggest we do that? You got a couple hundred grand lying around?”
Carter gave him a long look.
Wes paled.
“Oh, hell no.”
- Writer
