Chapter 8 - The Terms
Grant swallowed hard, his throat dry. He set the trembling espresso cup down on a nearby stone wall. The arrogance that had defined him for years was gone, replaced by the sheer, cold panic of a man realizing his entire life was about to implode.
"What... what do you want?" Grant managed to squeak out, his voice a fraction of its former volume.
I pulled a small index card from my pocket. I hadn't brought a legal team; I didn't need one. I had listed my terms clearly in my own handwriting.
"First," I said, reading from the card. "You will instruct your legal team to drop the civil lawsuit against me immediately, citing a total lack of merit. I want a copy of the formal withdrawal filed with the court by noon today."
"Done," Grant said quickly, nodding his head frantically. "Done. What else?"
"Second," I continued, "You will resign as Vice President of the Homeowners Association today. You will inform the city building inspector and code enforcement offices that all complaints against my property were submitted under false pretenses and are completely withdrawn."
"Consider it done," Grant breathed.
"Third," I said, looking over at Logan, who looked like he wanted to sink into the pavement. "Your son will perform one hundred hours of uncompensated community service at the local veterans' center down in the valley. He will start this Saturday. He will clean the floors, pack food boxes, and learn what actual service looks like."
Logan looked up, his face reddening, but before he could protest, Grant turned on him violently.
"Shut up, Logan!" Grant snapped at his son. "You'll do it! You'll do every single hour!"
Logan bit his lip and nodded slowly, lowering his head.
"And finally," I said, putting the index card back in my pocket. "You will sell this house, Grant. You will pack up your trucks, put this property on the market, and leave Silver Creek within ninety days. You are a cancer on this community, and I am cutting you out."
Grant gasped. "Sell my house?! I built this place! It took me three years!"
"Then you have ninety days to enjoy it," I said, stepping closer until I was inches from his face. "If you are still living on this street on December 15th, or if you ever make a single threat toward my son, my property, or anyone else on this block, those files will be delivered to the Chief of the US Attorney's Office in Denver. Do you understand me?"
Grant looked into my eyes. He saw no room for negotiation, no mercy, and no hesitation. He was looking at a commander who had spent a lifetime making decisions that could destroy entire targets in a heartbeat.
"I understand," Grant whispered.
May you like
"Good," I said. "Have a nice afternoon, Grant."
I turned my back on them and walked slowly down the long driveway, leaving the billionaire and his black-belt son standing in the ruins of their pride.
