Joshua
I sit in my office and send my fifteenth email of the morning. After not thinking about work for so long, it’s now time for me to step up. We are going through some serious damage control and I’m scrambling to please the board. My mind keeps wandering to my father and the conversation I had with him yesterday about James Brennan. Dad aborted the hit while I was in prison, not wanting to put anyone through any more pain. A cop out if you ask me. He also bought James’ share of the company from him. They have severed ties completely and he has left it up to my mother if she wants to have him charged by the police or not. Regret fills me. I know this means for certain that he has given up on their relationship, that he just wants to be done with it and walk away.
A knock on the door brings me back from my thoughts. It’s Brock.
“Hey,” he calls out. “You wanted to see me.”
“Hi. Take a seat.” I gesture to the chair at my desk and he frowns as he sits. “What’s up?”
I inhale deeply. This conversation is going to go one of two ways. He will either lose his shit or he will be with me one hundred percent.
I hesitate.
“Spit it out,” he sighs, annoyed at my procrastination.
“Are you still enjoying the special forces?” I lean back and swivel my chair as I hold my pen in my hand.
He shrugs. “Its what I do.”
“And the constant deployments?”
“They get to you after a while. It fucks up my personal life pretty bad.” He shrugs again. “But I’m used to it.”
“I have a business proposal.”
He shakes his head and holds up his hands. “No, thanks. I am not working for you.”
I run my tongue over my top teeth. Brock still has the ability to piss me off easily. No doubt he always will.
“I don’t want you to work for me,” I respond.
His eyes hold mine.
“How would you like to own your own private investigation company?”
He looks at me, his face serious. “I’m listening.”
“One that worked for people like me to…” I hesitate, how do I word this? “… seek out the scum.”
I stand and walk over to the window.
Brock screws up his face. “Oh, fuck off. You have been watching too much damn television. Private investigation company? What is this, CSI? Give me a break.”
I turn to face him. “These businesses are flourishing, Brock. It’s where I got Ben in the first place. An agency just like this.”
He folds his arms in front of him and, despite his protests, I know I have piqued his interest.
“So, it works like this: you have security personal working for you. Ex special forces… Ex-police, Marines, Army, Navy – Men and women who know what they are doing. Clients can hire bodyguards from you or you can take personal jobs on for a fee. I will fully bankroll the business and it will be yours to do with as you please.”
He sits back in his chair. “Not interested,” he replies flatly.
“You will hear me out, at least,” I snap.
He rolls his eyes and blows out a deep breath. “Whatever. Go on.”
“I will bankroll it.”
“How much is bankroll?”
“All expenses, plus your current salary… quadrupled.”
“Oh, please. You would really do all of this to keep your wife’s brother in the states? This is ludicrous.”
I lift my chin in annoyance. Are we going to fight about this? “It’s not in the states. I want it run out of Australia.”