“You do have a point there,” I stall. I’m supposed to keep him talking and get him to admit to extortion. The amount he’s thrown out there is astronomical and he’s already hinting at hurting my business if I don’t pay, but he needs to be more direct with his threat. “I think I’ll have a drink. Bourbon?”
“Sure. Neat, please,” he replies with a smirk I’d like to bitch slap off his face.
As I’m walking to the bar at the other end of my office, I turn to him and say, “What makes you think that my sex life, outside of work, would hurt my business?”
Cortez stands and moves toward me. “Mr. Powers, if your bedroom antics were cast in such a light that showed your desire to harm and demean women, it would definitely hurt your business.”
“I don’t harm or demean women.”
“But that’s what the world will see when this gets leaked to the press. They’ll see videos of you abusing women, belittling them, calling them awful, dirty names,” he replies in a chastising manner.
“There are no such videos of me doing any of that.”
“Maybe not of you, per se, but it’ll look and sound like you. It’ll do enough damage and cause enough suspicion. I’d even be willing to be that more sexual harassment lawsuits against you would spring up.”
“With you as the attorney, no doubt,” I say as I pin him with my glare.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I would be the attorney representing them,” he smiles widely at me, thinking he’s won this game of chess. What he doesn’t realize is he just admitted to practicing law without a license to the FBI on top of the extortion.
Cortez walks past me and straight to the liquor cabinet. “You seem to have forgotten my drink,” he maintains eye contact,tsksat me as he opens the cabinet door, and retrieves a glass.
The whole scene unfolds in slow motion before my eyes. My thoughts are running rampant through my mind and my blood is beginning to boil as the only logical conclusion becomes clear. He knew where the glasses were kept without asking, without seeing me open the cabinet, and without even looking.
He’s been in here before now. He is the one who broke into my office.
“You don’t think I know who you are, do you?” My voice is low and threatening. The anger inside me has been replaced with pure, unadulterated rage, and I’m about to unleash it all on him. “Sebastian Montoya. Ramon Nunez.Detective Ramon Cortez.”
His arm stops in midair as he’s retrieving the tumbler. His back is as straight as a rod and just as stiff as one, too. He wasn’t expecting this–he didn’t expect me to remember him from a few years back. Even though he had a different name and a different look back then, it’s not nearly enough to throw me off. All the time spent protected by his cartel boss father has made him too cocky and careless.
“How do you know those names?” he finally asks.
“Surely you don’t think I would forget the detective who investigated my girlfriend’s death.”
His head whirls around to face me. “That was you? I never even really knew your name,” he says nonchalantly, his face holds a mixture of surprise and amusement. “You see, I was only there to help Harrison. I couldn’t let my friend go to prison for murdering his whore sister.
“And now, I’m afraid you must also die. If you’d just signed the papers without running your mouth, I wouldn’t have to do this. But since you obviously know who I am, I’m afraid I have no other choice. Not to worry, I will still have your money since I’m very good at what I do. Your death won’t be questioned.”
“You mean you’ll just forge my signature and make my death look like a suicide. Like you’ve done before.”
He laughs, an evil, maniacal laugh, “Exactly like I’ve done before!”
When his hand reaches inside his jacket, I know he’s reaching for his gun so I rush at him and body slam him on the floor. He is no match for my muscular build and he’s instantly lying flat on his back with the breath knocked out of him. Jutting my hand out, I grope for his gun but he quickly blocks my hand with his arm and tries to knee me in the groin.
This only serves to piss me off more and I punch him repeatedly in the face. While he’s disoriented, I grab the gun from his holster and move to stand. As I do, the FBI team rushes into my office, with Tucker and Shadow bringing up the rear. Their guns are drawn and they’re all yelling instructions at both Montoya and me. The scene is utter chaos as the team, minus Tucker and Shadow, begins to surround us.
“Hands up in the air where we can see them!” one agent yells.
“Put the gun down, sir!” another yells at me.
With my hands held up, I slowly lower the gun to the counter in front of me.
“Now step away!”
I take two steps away from the gun just as Tucker and Shadow reach my side. Tucker is more pissed off than I’ve ever seen him. “He’s not the one you should be focused on right now, dumbass!” he yells at the agent while pointing at me. “The fucker on the floor is the one you should have your guns trained on!”
“Standard safety protocol, Tucker,” the agent retorts. “Anyone can be a threat at any time.”
Two agents are picking a dazed and bloodied Montoya up off the floor while Tucker and Shadow walk away to help the other agent secure the cameras and other evidence from my office. In a flash, Montoya jerks free from the agents, grabs the gun from the counter, and begins to lower his arm toward me. Bending at my waist, I rush to grab him around the waist, tackle him like I’m a linebacker, and we both fall back to the floor.
