Click the audible noise of a recording starting.
Standing atop the old courthouse looking over Richmond, the city that once was my home. Even recording this while perched up here posed like some superhero surveying his city, the pain gnawing at my dead heart. I am not here for some altruistic motive to safeguard the weak or any other such ideological nonsense. I am here hunting, seeking them with vengeance fueling my every step. Who are they? A logical question, but if I just tell you out right you would throw this away and never bother to consider it. Perhaps telling my story from the beginning you might, just might believe me. Of course, if you’re one of them, here is your warning. Hide, run, dig a hole deep and bury yourself, you are my prey. My target, you are that which I seek to destroy above all else.
For those of you still listening this my tale. You must decide if it is true or merely a fanciful tale left to entertain. Perhaps I am just some writer seeking fame? You’ll have to decide. Am I a mad man? Yes very likely, though not in the sense that should cause you to stop listening. Maybe, just maybe there is truth here? A truth you have noticed but never been able to see clearly. It doesn’t matter, you’ll have to decide but know this my dear audience, if you do listen? If some little part of you believes my tale? The way you see the world will change, you might become hunted or hunter. That is my warning, this is my story.
Many, many years ago I was just an accountant, struggling to get my footing in a world of numbers and rules. Such a simple thing now, soothing with its boundaries. At the time I had just lost my father, my mother had died when I was 4, he was the last of my family. My mother's death made her family discarded my father and I; in hindsight I think it was because I reminded them of what they had lost, my father they had never cared for. He was a hard man, but it made sense if you knew him. His parents had died when he was young leaving him to grow up orphaned. Stealing and doing everything a young child does to survive on the streets of a young country alone. Getting lucky enough to get a job on a dock and eventually work his was up to manager. The money from that was invested quickly, his business grew from that. His death left me distraught, alone for the first time.
I was not a popular person, too tall for most people’s comfort and not particularly well built. The term scarecrow was used numerous times during my childhood. You might think this was an advantage with athletics, alas not in my case. Not only did I have no the interest in them, but completely lacked talent in all things physical. Saying I was a clumsy child would be a gracious understatement. This did not lead to an active social calendar throughout my youth. In college that changed slightly, discovering I had a knack for fencing. A bit late for my self-confidence but it became a passion none the less. Most of my time was spent alone, mostly by my own choice if we are being honest. My ease with mathematics and numbers combined with a good memory led me to accounting. For graduation my father loaned me the money to start a small firm rather than having to work for someone else. It was successful in its way and growing. The solitude of my profession fit well, my only social activity was the fencing club. Even within that I wouldn’t say I had friends. I had respect for my talent and it helped build my client list, but not my social calendar. Most who knew me would describe me as cold or analytical.
Struggling with emotional issues was obviously not my strong suit, thankfully my father's rather questionable business ethics were keeping me busy. Trying to extract his assets from some rather untidy places kept my mind occupied. My subconscious was constantly playing in the background though. A fear of death growing to a phobia without me ever noticing. Yes, most people are afraid of death, but this was becoming paralyzingly. Taking my mind off the work for a few minutes to eat would make me freeze up for hours. Literally locking up, my mind trying to understand the purpose of it all while fearing the alternative. There are no words to describe how this haunted me. Rationally I understood death, or at least thought so, but for some reason....Maybe it was losing my mother at such an early age, now losing my father, the fear gripped me.
I was not physically alone in the world, a newlywed as a matter of fact. Mary entered my life just after college. Introverted like me, so much so that if I had not literally fallen on her one day in the hall (clumsy remember?) we would never have met. Thankfully I did fall on her, we did speak in those conversations we grew together. At the time calling it love might not have been accurate. I have often wondered if it was love or two people who lacked the ability to communicate clinging to each other out of desperation. Over time it became love, and we had married not long before father died. She tried to help me, talking to me but I never really let her see my fear. Hiding it behind the wall of masculine pride. Refusing to confide in her, feeling like as the man it was my job to stoically weather the storm. Outdated concept now but in those days things were different, men didn’t have feelings. So, while not physically alone, isolated by my own pride would be accurate. Maybe all of what occurred could have been avoided if not for that foolishness, that thought still haunts me. The idea that all of this was caused by my pride is my punishment.
Sidetracking is a bad habit but you must know who I was to truly see what I have become. Standing outside my little office one night, most of father’s "associates" kept evening hours. Not as criminal as it sounds, more dance halls and exotic entertainment less crime lord, Dad wasn't that foolish. So I had taken the habit of working late to be able to contact them about his death and settle his affairs. Most of them had been fairly simple, just getting them to buy out his interest, either outright or financed over time. They went along readily, they didn't know me and wanted nothing to do with an unknown partner. It helped being willing to work with them to make the whole thing look legit on paper. Standing outside for a bit of air, was somewhat of habit getting up to move every hours or so. If you don’t want the back issues my father had, sitting hunched over a desk for long hours was not a good idea. An odd orange glowing dot in the distance moved almost causally toward me. Like a firefly flaring bright then dimming as the approaching smoker ceased drawing on his cigarette.
"Good evening." A disembodied voice spoke beside the smoker, only then realizing I was gaping rudely at the smoker, not noticing the man next to him.
"Oh, and to you sir, sorry I didn't see you at first." Trying to sound casual, but I was unnerved by both these men.
"Ahhh yes it happens often when I am with Gallowshound, he is rather noticeable." He laughed, there was almost something magical about the sound. “Sadly, for a Carnifex, he is lacking in subtlety."
The man beside him, dressed in a flat grey suit, black shirt, impossibly red tie, and a very nice bowler merely glared at the other. It wasn't just his manner of dress, odd though it was, but his way of looking through you. It was unnerving, even the cigarette felt like it had its own force of will. He took a long hard pull on it than flicked it, spiraling off impossibly far into the night.
"Ahhh um yes, I see.” Having no clue what the man was on about, what the hell was a Carnifex? Some old long forgotten Latin knowledge filled the gap it meant butcher. It had also been used for executioners in scientific Rome. After that bit of trivia I took in the man speaking to me. Dressed in a suit that likely cost more than my house, perfectly tailored. When they say a "bespoke suit" this is the image that shows up in your head, so perfectly fit it seems capable of cutting you. A deep charcoal grey pant and jacket matched the tie, the crisp white shirt almost glowed in the night.
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"Forgive my rudeness, I am the Justicar, though that is a bit formal for our meeting. Please call me John." The smoothness of his voice was just as unnerving as his friend's stare, making me hesitate awkwardly for a moment when he stuck out his hand. Something primal in my brain, buried under all civilized reason, was screaming for me to run. Flee, depart post haste, and I should have listened.
"Please to meet you John, I am Robert James, please call me Robert." He took my hand in his, a solid firm grip but something about it made the hair on my arms stand up. Struggling to politely pull my hand back instead of yanking it back and running madly down the street screaming. Another old word, Justicar or the modern judge. This knowledge did not ease my fears.
"And this is Mike Gallowshound, or the Carnifex if we are using titles." He almost had to elbow the man to get him to react.
"Pleased." He croaked before sticking out his hand. His eyes fixing on me for what felt like the first time, if John made the hair on my arm stand up, this man’s gaze made my entire body tense, my fight or flight response was so strong it made my head spin.
"My pleasure." Mentally forcing my hand forward into his cold strong grip. The knowledge that he could rip my arm off with ease was screaming in my head. Focusing on John to avoid, excuse my language please, shitting my pants. "Out for a stroll this evening?"
"Oh no sir, in fact we are seeking your services." His smile was almost painfully bright in the dark of night.
"My services?" I managed to stammer out.
"Why yes, we have inquired around town about competent accountants to handle affairs for us, your name came up." His smile, smooth like silk on a cool august night, almost chilly but somehow the way it drew you in was unnatural.
"Me? Are you sure sir? I am just starting out."
"Oh quite sure, we not only prefer to deal with small independent businesses but we also need someone who works odd hours."
"Oh, sorry I am only working the odd hours for the short term. Ironing out my late father's affairs, most of them operate in the evening," Time for some tact here "I am trying to return to normal business hours. Not that I judge those businesses but it’s not my preference.”
"I was hoping you would give up one night a week just to see us sir. You will be compensated very well, I assure you." That silky smooth voice reassuring any concerns I had.
"Ummm I am trying to be tactful sir; may I speak bluntly without offense?"
“Please do it would make this much faster."
"Once I am done with my father’s affairs, I don't really want to be involved with businesses that require evening hours. A personal preference sir, no disrespect intended"
"None taken! I am afraid I have not explained well enough, might we go to your office and discuss it? I will of course pay you for your time, even if you decide this isn't for you."
"Of course sir, sorry to stand here on the street discussing business matters." Where was my head, no of course I didn't want their business but there is a still a right and wrong way of doing things. "Please do come in.”
"Thank you.” They both walked through the door I held open, some part of my brain noticed they made no sound as they moved.
Entering my small office smiling, it was neat, simple, clean and well organized. One must present in a certain way if you expect people to trust you with their money. It was sparsely decorated, a few landscape oils and solid good wood furniture, the kind you only have to buy once. It was all intentional, put together just so, to present the image of a clean, stable man. Someone you could trust with your taxes or estate, right down to the picture of Mary on the desk.
"Please take a seat. Coffee?" I offer, immediately moving into my chair behind the desk. It was slightly lower than the ones in the front, because a boss wants to sit above you, but you want your accountant to look up to you. Yes I may go too far with these things, but it’s all about making the client comfortable.
"Thank you but no, may I explain the need for evening hours?"
"Please do, I must admit some curiosity." Here in my office, I am confident, this is my house, my work I can own this.
"Good, good. We don't actually need you in the evenings during the week for our businesses. We expect to be in this area about 5yrs, what we prefer to do is hire an accountant with some business savvy who can handle all of it. Essentially we will transfer, hmmmshall we say 2 million to start? To the bank of your choice, all I ask is that you stick to low risk investments. We don't require a high return, preferring steady growth to the risks of quick money. Though that will up to you, we want to meet once a week to check in with you on our investments to start. Also we travel extensively, we will need to hand over receipts and what not for taxes. We just prefer night hours, but we pay for the consideration. May I make an offer?"
"If I may sir, before we get to that,” sipping my now lukewarm coffee. "I have a few questions if you don’t mind?"
"I would expect nothing less."
"Continuing with our bluntness, are you or he wanted, or in danger of becoming wanted for any criminal actions?"
"No, no we are not wanted. Our activities have nothing to do with mundane laws.” He laughed, but not because I asked a completely ridiculous question, it was scarier than that.
"And I am allowed to invest any way I see fit? You know that is not normally the role of an accountant?"
"True but before we contacted you we checked you out in-depth, so to speak. Your knowledge of business gained through your father's enterprises, shady or otherwise, is still a business knowledge. We also know your own personal investments are successful and well placed. As to the accountant part, obviously we prefer someone bound by ethics who can hold a power of attorney without being an attorney, I really dislike them. I am also aware that you took a business minor in college and have dabbled in the stock market for several years, never making it big, but never losing either. So we know you have the skills and we also know that you are small enough that our interests will get the attention we desire, without causing you to juggle between clients."
"Well," it was all I could say, I really didn't have another response. "You are thorough, I will give you that John."
"Please don't take it wrong, we also know that you are not a risk. You will, by our estimation, successfully build a solid reputation over the next 5 years with or without us, at least as far as we can see. You are in a unique position to be perfect for our needs."
"You're willing relinquish complete control of 2 million, and I meet with you once a week?"
"Normally once a week, occasionally we may be away longer but never meet more than once a week unless you need to see us. Again, it is our preference that we meet only in the evening no matter what."
"Let’s say I am interested; since you have researched me you know that I am just starting out and a solid client will help greatly. I would be interested to hear your offer."
"How does 20% of the return on investment with a closing bonus in 5 years to be determined on overall growth sound? I can assure you it will be enough after 5 years to grant your wish, the one you most want." That smile, there was something too clever in it, made that cat and mouse feeling creep up the back of my neck. But 20% was 5% higher than standard, the freedom money like that would grant me was tempting. Even if I just trended my investments with theirs playing it smart I would probably have my building paid off, which could make life far more comfortable. "Of course, the normal expense allowances we would pay, if they are needed for travel and etc."
"Well gentlemen, I am your man it seems." I couldn't help myself despite the animalistic part of my brain recognizing a predator, my greed over road it. "I will have the papers drawn up and ready next week, what night would suit you?"
"Thursday if that works?"
"Perfectly, you'll have all the accounts set up by then?
"They already are." he laughed "You just have to go sign the cards. We took a chance, call it an educated bet."
"Ahhh well I never claimed to be unpredictable." Yes, they knew their man.We all laughed, but that cold voice of fear in my head, that animal part wasn't laughing it was screaming at the top of his lungs.