Gus is quiet for a moment. “Enough,” he says finally. “The number makes me want to put my fist through a wall, and I’m not a wall-punching kind of guy.” A flicker of something crosses his face—shame, maybe, or fury held on a very tight leash. “It was significant. And I want it back.”
I nod. I don’t push.
“I’m going to work out the syndicate behind this,” Gus continues. “Using my own tools. Running the patterns.”
“And then?”
His blue eyes meet mine. That familiar, unsettling focus.
“I’m going to track them down,” he says. “I’m going to get my money back. And I’m going to make them regret what they did to me.”
He says it in a quiet, deliberate, controlled voice that sends a small chill through me. Not because I think Gus would do anything violent. But because I recognize the tone. It’s the same tone Andrew used when he talked about Justin.
The tone of someone who’s turned their pain into a plan.
“Gus,” I say. “Can I give you some advice?”
“That is what I’m paying you for.”
“This one’s free.” I lean forward. “Be careful with revenge.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I’m serious. I spent eight years wanting to get even with someone who wronged me. And when I finally got the chance, the only thing that came out of it was—” I stop.
The only thing that came out of it was Archie.
And then I had to let him go, which broke my heart.
“The only thing that came out of it was a mess,” I finish. “Revenge has a way of creating consequences you don’t see coming. You go in thinking you’re the one in control, and you end up somewhere you never planned to be.”
Gus studies me for a long moment. “Speaking from experience?”
“Speaking from very recent experience.”
He nods slowly, processing. But I’m fairly sure my words have landed somewhere near his resolve without actually denting it. Gus has already decided. He’s not asking for permission. He’s checking for blind spots.
“Noted,” he says. “I’ll be careful.”
It appears some lessons always need to be learned the hard way.
“If you need help,” I add, “call me. Before you do anything. Not after.”
“Agreed.”
We finish the meeting with twenty minutes of actual business, discussing his company’s expansion plans and a potential contract with a European bank. But underneath the numbers and projections, I can feel the other conversation still humming. The one about deception and trust and the things people do when they’ve been made to feel stupid.
After Gus leaves, I sit in the restaurant and check Instagram one more time.
Archie’s posted a story. It’s a blurry photo of a mini golf scorecard, covered in aggressive annotations and what appears to be a disputed tally. The caption reads:Vaughn accused me of creative scorekeeping. I accused Vaughn of not understanding how windmills work. We have agreed to a rematch under UN supervision.
I stare at it for a few minutes. Then I close the app and put my phone in my pocket.
He’s happy. He’s healing. Vaughn is showing up.
That’s all I can hope for.
My phone buzzes as I’m paying the bill.
