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Mr. Midnight ignores my stammering and look of extreme doubt and goes on. “I knew my father for the first half of my life. After he died, I hit the streets to escape the bloodbath that came with a changeover of power. Then, she found me, and she saved me. You don’t need to know who she is right now, but let’s just say that I was fourteen years old, running rough, and destined for the same kind of life. She taught me to hone those skills and use them for good against men like our fathers. Yes, I said our because, see—and I realize there are a lot of things to see—your father was also a bad man.”
I grimace even though this story is complete and total bullcrap. “So you say.” I try and appear bored, but my head is feeling funny, and there’s a tingle in my chest that feels all too real. I never knew either of my parents, but it’s clear this guy knows more about my life history than I do, so I don’t need to tell him that. That might be the weirdest part. Sitting here across from a man who knew my intimate secrets before I even knew I had them.
“Your father was a rival of my father. When we were born, they came together and decided on a truce. Unfortunately, your mother and father were killed in a mysterious accident shortly after. But really, it was their own men who did that. You were orphaned and ended up in the system, but you were adopted by kind, loving parents when you were just two years old.”
This can’t be real, can it? My head still feels foggy, and I’m absolutely certain that in a boring day-to-day life, librarians don’t get kidnapped and taken to dark basements, held prisoner by the anti-mafia mafia clan. So, it’s either a dream or a really, really bad day.
“Anyway, getting back to said package.” Mr. Midnight clears his throat roughly like he knows I’m going off on a tangent in my own mind, and he needs to bring me back to the present. “I knew nothing about this alliance, naturally. I didn’t know anything about your family because all this happened when I was two years old myself. We’re the same age if you can believe that. Leave it to our horrible fathers to come up with something totally devious to do to their children. Anyway, I’ve spent the last fourteen years of my life trying to forget the world before this one. But then, this package arrives. Am I boring you?”
I’m not bored, but all this talk is cutting through my pounding head like a serrated steak knife that needs to be sharpened and is covered in rust. “Uhhhh—no. I totally want to know what was in the package.” Better to be polite than sorry. That’s always been my motto.
“Boss, my feet really hurt….”
“I’m hungry.”
Mr. Midnight scowls at the men behind me. It would hurt too much to turn my head and look at them. They fall silent, but there’s another low rumble. I swear, if that’s a butt tuba, someone needs to get something looked at.
“Right. So, the package arrives, and in it is a will. It’s my father’s. It’s been safeguarded all these years by one faithful fucking lawyer who no doubt stood to get a big payout if said package was delivered when it should be. The will was made long before my father died. I’m sure he imagined a different world when he had it written out. He wanted to give me ten years after the year I became an adult, which was obviously on my eighteenth birthday. Ten years to find my way in the world and carve out my own empire before he handed me the keys to his kingdom. He had a fortune hidden away. Billions. Imagine that. All dirty, tainted money. The crazy part? After your parents were killed, he inherited all their assets, as per the truce they struck, but only ten years after the fact, if his innocence in their demise could be proven, to ensure no one met an untimely death. They really loved the ten-year stuff, huh?”
I clutch my hands together in my lap right overtop my stomach, which is suddenly sawing up and down like a nasty teeter-totter. It feels like I’ve gotten on board a pitching ship, and my whole world is rocking with every vicious wave. I’m so confused. My parents? My real parents? This guy can’t be saying they were gangsters or something—criminals. Part of some organized or unorganized crime. Apparently, that’s just hitting home and sinking in right now. This guy is confused. And if he’s got his story straight—and it’s a very strange story, so I seriously doubt it—then he’s nabbed the wrong person.
