My uncle told me I was being shipped off to New Jersey to serve a mandatory alliance contract with a veteran syndicate partner named Gabe DeLuca.
Frank stared at the receipt, then at me, then back at the receipt, as if expecting the numbers to change. His thumb traced the printed zero balance.
“This… this ain’t real,” he stammered, his voice losing some of its earlier bluster. “Vic just put this through. Three hundred grand doesn’t just vanish.”
“It does when the original loan holder pays it in full,” I replied calmly. “Every cent.”
Julian stepped closer, his brow furrowed. “How did you do that, Leo? We don’t have that kind of money.”
“Not ‘we’,” I corrected. “I did. From an account Vic didn’t know I still had access to.”
Before Julian could press for details, Frank slammed his hand on a nearby metal drum, making a loud *clang* that echoed through the warehouse. The sudden noise made both Julian and me flinch.
“This changes nothing!” Frank yelled, his face flushing crimson. He rummaged inside his jacket pocket and pulled out another sheet of paper, this one folded and slightly creased. He practically threw it at Julian.
“Vic knew you’d pull some slick move,” Frank spat. “He’s always a step ahead.”
Julian caught the paper. His eyes scanned the document quickly, and I saw his knuckles whiten as he gripped it.
“What is it?” I asked, my gaze fixed on the paper.
Julian handed it to me. It was an official-looking appraisal report, stamped with the seal of a company called “Devlin Associates” and signed by a Marcus Devlin. The current value of Julian’s warehouse was listed as a staggering $180,000, a massive drop from its previous $1.2 million valuation.
Below the new valuation, a line highlighted in yellow read: *Due to severe environmental contamination, requiring extensive and immediate remediation.*
“Environmental contamination?” I read aloud, my voice flat. I looked around the large, empty warehouse. It was dusty, sure, but there were no signs of anything remotely toxic. Just bare concrete and steel.
“This is a joke,” Julian growled. “This place is clean. I had it inspected last month.”
“Doesn’t matter what you had,” Frank said, a sneer returning to his lips. “Under mob debt terms, a devaluation of this magnitude on an active loan triggers an instant default call. The new valuation means the original loan balance of $300,000 is still due, immediately, in physical cash.”
He pointed to a clause at the bottom of Devlin’s report, clearly stating the accelerated payment terms.
“Two hours,” Frank announced. “You got two hours to come up with three hundred grand in cash, or Vic seizes the property outright. No more loans. No more receipts.”
Just then, Frank’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, looking at the caller ID, and a smug grin spread across his face.
“Speak of the devil,” he said, holding the phone to his ear and putting it on speaker.
“Frank? Report,” Vic’s voice boomed from the tiny speaker, laced with a venomous calm.
“The kid paid off the first loan, boss,” Frank said, a hint of grudging respect in his tone. “But I got him with Devlin’s report. Environmental contamination. Two hours on the $300K.”
A low chuckle, cold and cutting, came through the phone. “Oh, Leo,” Vic’s voice purred, dripping with false sympathy. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Playing with numbers.”
I remained silent, watching Frank’s triumphant face.
“Don’t worry, nephew,” Vic continued, his voice hardening. “This little rebellion ends tonight. You’ll be in a state home by morning, cleaning toilets for free. And Julian? He’ll be back where he belongs. Six feet under.”
The line clicked dead. Frank lowered the phone, his grin back in place.
“You heard the man,” Frank said, then nodded to his two silent enforcers. “Two hours. Don’t disappoint us.”
He turned and walked towards the warehouse door, his men following close behind. The heavy door clanged shut, leaving Julian and me in the echoing silence.
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