The Capitol hallway buzzed with the usual afternoon chatter of aides rushing between meetings, but the tension between Julian Baines and Richard Kincaid cut through the noise like a blade. Julian, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, looked visibly agitated.
“What is this administrative snag, Richard?” Julian demanded, his voice low but sharp enough to carry. “My construction teams are on standby. We’re losing hundreds of thousands a day just waiting on this title.”
Kincaid leaned against the polished marble wall, a practiced calm on his face. He smoothed the lapel of his expensive jacket.
“Relax, Julian,” Kincaid said, a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s nothing. Just Arthur Holloway, making a nuisance of himself. An elderly retired staffer with too much time on his hands.”
Julian scoffed. “An elderly staffer holding up a hundred-million-dollar deal? That’s ridiculous.”
“Arthur has no leverage,” Kincaid assured him, his voice dripping with condescension. “A few procedural questions, a few emotional pleas. It will all be swept aside. The city council is already briefed.”
Julian still looked unconvinced. He glanced around, as if expecting someone else to confirm Kincaid’s words.
Meanwhile, Arthur was at home, sorting through old files in his den. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room. The doorbell rang, a jarring sound in the quiet house.
He opened it to find a city courier, holding a sealed envelope.
“Mr. Holloway? Official city correspondence.”
Arthur took the envelope, his fingers brushing against the heavy cardstock. He recognized the city seal, but the return address was from the Municipal Benefits Office.
He opened it carefully. The letter inside was concise, almost clinical. It stated that his city health benefits, including his prescription coverage, had been “abruptly terminated due to an administrative error requiring immediate review.” It cited a processing issue, effective immediately.
A jolt went through Arthur. This wasn’t an error. This was Kincaid.
He thought of the insulin he needed, the regular check-ups. This wasn’t just an inconvenience; it was a direct, personal attack, designed to put pressure on him. Kincaid wasn’t just dismissing him; he was trying to break him, aiming for his most vulnerable points.
Arthur crumpled the letter in his hand, his knuckles white. The casual cruelty of it, the cold calculation, made his jaw clench. Kincaid wasn’t playing fair; he was playing dirty. And this wasn’t just about money anymore.
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