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Good, I decide as I cross my arms, let him be scared. Then I shift my gaze out the window of Tom’s Upper West Side office. My brother took one corner office on the 37th floor and I took the opposite one. We joked that we should string up some tin cans outside our windows so we can have private conversations, like when we were kids. Sometimes, I miss those days.
I glance at my watch. Is it really only Thursday? Wow, this week has really been dragging.
“So, Jensen,” Tom’s icy voice – harsh and deadly – interrupts my thoughts. “I take it you know why my brother Gabriel and I called you in to this particular meeting?” I turn around and lean against the edge of the desk, curious to watch Jensen’s reaction.
“I don’t sir, please, elaborate.” Jensen wipes a shaking hand across his sweaty forehead.
“Well, it seems you’ve screwed up.” Tom’s voice is calm, tinged with only a hint of threat. “And we want to know how you’re going to fix it.”
“I don’t understand, Mr. Costas, please explain. What did I do?” Jensen’s small, feral eyes dart from my brother to me, back and forth, like a cornered animal. Tom gets up from his chair behind the desk and crosses so that we’re standing on either side of Jensen’s seat.
Jensen Draper is a crook, and it’s time he paid for his mistakes. And since Tom is the calmer brother between the two of us, we decided he should talk first, to see if he could convince Jensen to confess without too much pressure. Apparently, I get to be the menacing one, but between my brother and me, it’s hard to tell which one of us is more ominous looking.
We’re both well over six feet tall, and we each follow an intense daily fitness regime. We’ve wrestled competitively, played rugby, completed decathlons, climbed multiple mountains, and skirmished with death on more than one occasion. We wear our scars proudly, but they can’t be seen due to the thousand dollar Italian suits on our athletic physiques.
Tom is just a few years old than I am, but aside from the fact that he has a few extra scars, we could pass for twins. We both have blue eyes, tanned skin, and smiles that make women swoon.
Right now though, my brother’s smile gleams dangerously, so white it almost blinds. Watching him loom over Jensen Draper like a cat cornering a mouse, I’m pleased to see a little of my mean streak manifesting itself in my older brother’s usually composed tone.
“You do know you don’t screw over a Costas, right Jensen?” Tom leans into the little man even more, his voice almost conversational.
“Of course, everyone knows that.” Jensen wipes his sweaty brow again. “I wouldn’t dream of screwing you, sir.”
“So I ask you again: do you know why you’re here?”
Jensen mutters something under his breath.
“What was that?” Tom leans in closer.
“I don’t know why you both are standing so close to me!” the jumpy man shouts. “I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”
My brother and I exchange knowing looks. Clearly, the man is losing his shit.
“Fine, enough games. Gabriel? Your turn.” Tom turns his attention to me as he leans back against the desk, the very image of indifference and power.
I cross the room so that I’m only a foot from where Jensen is sitting, my tall figure looming over him. “We know you stole money from us, when we gave you that check to handle our latest settlement,” I rasp harshly. The small man’s beady eyes jump to look at me. “You didn’t take too much at once, because you’re clever.”
“But not that clever,” Tom inserts lazily, lounging against his desk.
“You skimmed a few thousand here, another few thousand there.” I shake my head at the vile man’s tactics. “Truly, you’re brilliant.” The sarcasm drips from my mouth, thicker than syrup. Piece of scum, I think to myself, fighting the urge to punch Jensen in his oily face.
“Very smart. Because, let’s face it, most billionaires wouldn’t notice,” Tom offers, his own tone menacing. “Most billionaires don’t review their own books.”
I lean in close until my face is mere inches from Jensen’s sweaty one. “But see, my brother and I, we’re not your typical mongrels.” I lean back again, unable to stand the stench of Jensen’s sweat. “We actually review every transaction that involves us, down to the very last penny.”
“And with respect to a settlement, well,” Tom throws up his arms, “we’re especially careful with those.”
“So I guess, Mr. Draper, that’s why you’re here.”
Tom goes back around his desk and sits in his wingback chair. I cross to the window and once again let my gaze wander across the Manhattan skyline. It’s gorgeous, as usual. The spire of the Empire State Building is visible, and I idly think back to the days when they wanted to tie dirigibles to it. How quaint. That would never be possible, given the high winds in Manhattan.
