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“What. Exchange?”

“You – or more accurately – your club commandeered property from my clients.”

“The Berkleys.”

“Correct.” He folds his hands politely in his lap. “And in turn, we – the organization I work for – have been hired to commandeer yours.”

It’s impossible to ignore the lump that springs into my throat.

“However, an exchange is ultimately what I am here to facilitate.”

Responding to his comment is interrupted by a noticeable ding from my pocket.

“You’re going to want to get that.”

My gun stays fixated while the other hand maneuvers the device out of my pocket.

One swipe reveals a bile spewing worthy photo of Emmerz, blindfolded, duct taped, and in the fetal position in what appears to be the back of a van.

Keeping my composure as my glare returns to his is damn near impossible. “Where is she?”

“Alive,” answers the unnamed adversary at the same time I tuck my phone back into my pocket. “For now.” Indifference remains in his expression despite fear piercing mine. “And if you’d like to keep it that way, I suggest you lower your weapon-”

“No.”

“I’m not comfortable talking terms with a gun in my face.”

“And I’m not gonna fucking talk them without it.”

“Keep it,” he insists, “but lower it.”

Against my own volition, I do.

Just to his chest.

Still can be a fatal shot.

“Fair enough,” he brushes off, clearly unconcerned about making it out of this situation still breathing. “The Berkleys would prefer no unnecessary blood continue to be shed – something about it being a bad look to buyers or investors or parliament? I don’t really know nor do I really care. What I do care about,” is emphasized on a small lean forward, “is completing this assignment as quickly and uncomplicatedly as possible. I’ve got a late tee time I don’t really wanna cancel.”

My eyebrows lift to indicate I’m listening.

“The Berkleys are aware you’ve…redistributed their belongings in various ways and now expect compensation with interest to be paid back.” He uses two fingers to remove a piece of paper from his suit jacket pocket. “It’s a very big number and you have very little time to acquire it, so how about instead of doing the whole song and dance where you say you won’t pay, and I have to have my second hurt the woman to prove that you will, we skip over all that, and get straight to the rules?”

I motion my weapon for him to proceed.

“You kill me? She dies.”

That’s twice he’s said that.

Hate it even more this time around.

“You show up without me to collect her? She dies.”

I continue to silently stare.

“You show up without the money? She dies.”

See the theme.