Chapter Eight
Ace
The numbers on the invoice stopped making sense somewhere around the third line item.Shapes blurred across the page as my focus drifted back to black sedans, threats delivered in a calm voice, and the way Mercer spoke Marci’s name like ownership.The office around me felt smaller than usual.Framed photographs, filing cabinets crammed full of records, and the faint buzz of the overhead light pressed down on my patience.
The phone rang, cutting through the quiet.I answered without thinking, expecting a routine delivery question.
“Broken Spoke, this is Ace.”
“Hey, Ace.Bill fromPremium Distributors.”His voice sounded… wrong.Careful in a way I had never heard from him.Formal.Bill never started a call like this.Three years of business usually kicked off with a joke or a rant about traffic.
“What can I do for you?”I kept my tone neutral, though tension had already coiled in my stomach.
“Man, I’m really sorry about this.You’ve been a great account.Always pay on time.Never any problems.”He paused long enough for me to hear his breathing.“We have to cancel your account.Effective immediately.”
The words hit like steel.I straightened in my chair.
“What?Why?”
“Corporate decision.Nothing personal.”
“Bill, drop that line.You and I have worked together too long for meaningless excuses.Tell me what’s going on.”
Another long pause.When he spoke again, his voice dropped.
“A detective visited our main office yesterday.Oakridge PD.Said he’s investigating possible connections between our delivery routes and organized crime.Suggested continued business withThe Broken Spokewould bring extra scrutiny.Audits.License reviews.”
Mercer.Of course.
“He threatened you,” I said.
“He never used that word.Didn’t need to.Message came through loud and clear.I have employees and a business to protect, Ace.I can’t risk everything for one account.I really am sorry.”
I understood.I hated it, but I understood.Mercer had found a pressure point and pushed.Quiet intimidation, no paperwork, no visible fingerprints.This was how institutional power destroyed people: silent conversations, not dramatic raids.
“Yeah,” I forced out.“I get it.”
“Good luck, man.I hope you nail that bastard.”
The line went dead.I stayed there holding the receiver, frozen in place, listening to the dial tone.The photographs on the wall stared back, reminders of brothers who’d built this bar from nothing.Mercer was tearing every achievement to pieces one phone call at a time.
I slammed down the receiver.The desk rattled.Satisfaction lasted three heartbeats before reality returned.No distributor meant no stock.No stock meant no operational bar.Any future distributor would face the same pressure.
This attack focused on more than me.Mercer aimed at Marci by crushing everything she cared about.
Footsteps approached the office.The door opened and Marci walked in carrying the mail.She paused when she saw my face.
“What happened?”
I pointed at the phone.Words stuck behind adrenaline and rage.
She placed the mail on the desk, movements steady and cautious.She had learned to read my temper, even though I had pretty good control over it most days.
“Ace.Talk to me.”
“Bill fromPremium Distributorscanceled our account.Mercer visited their office and made sure doing business with us would trigger investigations.”
Color drained from her face.She gripped the desk for support.
