Pinnacle Of Power

Chapter 13: No payment, no special holding

Bradley's POV

I turned toward the direction of the voice. A man who looked to be in his late forties stood behind me. He was short, round, and plump with a fat mustache over his lip. His belly protruded like he hadn't seen a treadmill in decades. His short black hair lay back in a slick way—it glistened. He had glasses on and a fat unlit cigar was between his lips.

I hadn't seen him before, but from the way he was dressed, in a dark brown suit and polished black Italian leather shoes, he looked like someone important.

His grim expression shifted from contempt to a scowl.

He reached for his inner pocket and brought out a fancy golden lighter. He lit his cigar with it and slowly puffed smoke in the air which made different curling patterns.

"Your right to remain in special holding has now expired", he said flatly.

"What do you mean by expired?"

He arched one of his thick eyebrows up and signaled to one of the guards. They spoke in low whispers so I couldn't catch on to what they were saying.

Then he turned to me. "Take a walk with me".

I readily obliged. I wanted answers and it was going to be today.

We walked out of the dining hall and into a corridor I hadn't been in before. When we entered, I saw it was his office. The picture of the President was hanging on one side of the wall, while his was on the other side.

He first took his seat and got comfortable before he motioned for me to take a seat opposite him.

"So," he cleared his throat, "aren't you aware of the requirements expected of you to be kept in special holding?"

"Requirement?" I questioned.

So many things were going through my mind.

"What requirements are you talking about?"

He frowned. "Your parents must have told you. Why are you pretending like you know nothing?" He pressed the butt of his cigar on the ashtray in front of him and added, "I hate pretenders the most, so let's get on with it. No payment, no special holding. Short and simple."

"Wait...what? Payment? What are you.? I was told a favor was called in on my behalf. There was no mention of any payment."

He gave a long hearty laughter—loud, deep, and mocking.

"Oh, I see where the confusion is coming from," he said, still trying to recover from his laughter. "Well, you see...the payment validates that 'favor'. It did not come this month, so you had to be moved".

He opened a bottle of whiskey on his table and poured some into a glass. "It's nothing personal, just business," he said, taking a sip.

The knot in my stomach tightened.

Why wasn't I informed of this?

I felt like a complete fool. Unaware of something this important.

I straightened myself up. "Who made the payments?"

He looked at me like I'd just asked the dumbest question ever.

"Who else if not your parents? And now?" he scoffed, "They can't pay up anymore because they're broke. Wretched. Like rats without a nest."

I snapped. And without thinking, I grabbed him by the collar as those vile words left his mouth. "Don't you dare speak about my parents that way!"

He yelped and screamed for the guards outside.

Not so sharp-tongued anymore, huh?

Two of them rushed in and pulled my hands away from him. They hit me with their baton and pushed me down with force onto my knees, restraining me.

He straightened his tie and rearranged his collar, looking at me fiercely. "If I didn't know your father personally, I would not have let this slide and go easy on you."

His voice was sharp this time. Like he didn't just scream for help helplessly a minute ago.

I glared at him from my kneeling position as the guards held me in place. "You talk about knowing my father?" I barked, "But you disrespected him and spit on his name behind his back. You have no honor...you're a disgrace!" I spat.

Slap!

He hit me hard across my face and the rings on his fingers cut my lower lip.

A metallic taste hit my tongue.

"How dare you speak to me in such a way, you brazen punk?" he roared. "You're in a world that I rule now, and I call the shots here. If you do not choose your next words carefully, I'll make you regret your very existence!"

His face reddened with anger. "You dare speak to me about honor? How honorable is that Father of yours?"

Then he leaned in closer. "If he indeed had any...you wouldn't be in here. Would you?" he sneered.

I narrowed my gaze at him and clenched my jaw, "Even in two lifetimes...you could never be half the man that he is".

He balled his fists and struck me again, harder. The impact turned my head to the other side. I spat out blood.

I chuckled lightly. "Did I hit a nerve?"

His nostrils flared up, and he jabbed a finger at me. "I'll make you swallow your words."

He turned to the guards. "Take this wretched thing out of my sight and make him work!" He gave a knowing smirk and added, "You know what I mean."

"Yes, sir," one of the guards replied with a crooked smile.

They dragged me out of his office and took me to one of the inspection halls. It was a large hall measuring over 200 feet across.

They dropped a bucket containing water, some detergent, and...a toothbrush in front of me.

"Here...get to work."

"What's the toothbrush for?" I asked.

He laughed and chewed on his gum. "To scrub my balls."

The other guard standing nearby looked detached and Stoic. "Get to scrubbing golden boy. I don't have time for this".

"If I'm to scrub this floor, this brush won't do. I'll need a bigger one".

"You don't get to make such requests here," one of them snapped. "Now start scrubbing!"

I stood still.

He walked closer to me, gripping his baton tightly, and repeated.

"Go on your knees, and scrub the damn floor!"

I picked up the materials and was about to start scrubbing when the one who was chewing on gum kicked the bucket of water, spilling all its contents on the floor—soaking my pants in the process.

He pointed a finger at me. "You'll have to go get your water by yourself."

I wanted to punch his face. But I looked around. Too many guards. I was outnumbered, so I restrained myself.

"What did you do that for, Bobby? Was that necessary?" The one who had called me a golden boy asked.

"What? I'm not his staff. I got the water myself, so I felt like throwing it away. He should go get his own by himself".

He looked me squarely in the eye. "Well...go on and fetch yours."

I picked up the bucket and went to fetch some water. I returned and started scrubbing.

"Good," he sneered. "I'll be watching from over there. And you better make sure the floor shines."

I gritted my teeth and scrubbed, each stroke fueling my silent rage.

As I worked, the gates to the prison yard were opened—carrying a new batch of inmates.

No sooner had they arrived when I heard the cry of a man coming from that same direction.

What was going on?