“What exactly are you asking me to do?”
“Nothing dramatic. Nothing that would attract attention. Simply manage your performance in certain games. Allow specific goals at specific times. Make it look natural.”
“You mean throw games.”
“I mean, manage outcomes in ways that benefit our other business interests.”
“That’s throwing games.”
“That’s consulting on game flow dynamics.” Petrov slides a pen across the table. “The contract outlines the specific terms and expectations.”
I look at the contract, at the photos of my family, at the man sitting across from me with his pleasant smile and his thinly veiled threats.
Zane was right. These people don’t just offer opportunities. They create traps.
He knew, and he was trying to protect me from all of this.
“If I do sign?”
“Then you fulfill your consulting obligations, receive compensation for your work, and your family continues their normal, safe routines.”
“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“Because we’re businessmen, Mr. Barnes. Harming your family serves no purpose once you’re cooperating. It’s bad for business.”
I pick up the pen, the Mont Blanc heavy in my hand. This is it, the moment where I choose between my integrity and my family’s safety. Between doing the right thing and protecting the people I love.
Just like Zane had to choose between protecting me and protecting his father.
No wonder he looked so wrecked when he told me the truth.
“One game,” I say. “I do one job for you, and then we’re done.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. The contract is for ongoing services.”
“How many games?”
“As needed. Could be five, could be fifty. Depends on our business requirements.”
“And if I want out?”
“Then you’ll need to buy out your contract. The current market rate is approximately five hundred thousand dollars.”
Half a million dollars to get free. Money I don’t have, money I’ll never have if I can’t keep my spot.
They’ve thought of everything.
I look at the photos of my family one more time. Mark laughing with Ethan at the barbecue. My parents in their front yard, working in the flower garden. Normal people living normal lives, completely unaware that their safety depends on my signature on a criminal contract.
I scribble my name at the bottom of the last page, my heart hammering hard against my ribcage.
Petrov smiles and slides the contract back into his portfolio. “Excellent. Welcome to our organization, Mr. Barnes.”
“When do you need me to... ” I grit my teeth. “…consult?”
“Saturday night against Vancouver. We’ll be in touch with specific instructions.” He stands, puts on his coat. “And Mr. Barnes? I trust you understand the confidential nature of our arrangement.”
“Meaning what?”
