"The boss wants to talk to you."
A buffed-up man in a suit approached David the moment he reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Alright," David replied.
The man led him back up the stairs—but this time, they kept going. Another flight, then another, until they reached the third floor. Through a long hallway and several turns, they finally stopped in front of a door. Two imposing bouncers stood guard, both dressed in dark suits that strained against their muscular frames.
"The boss asked to see him," David's escort said.
The bouncers moved aside without a word, pushing both doors open.
Inside, at the far end of the room, sat a somewhat heavyset middle-aged man working through a stack of documents. He didn't look up immediately.
"You asked to see me, sir," David said, stepping inside.
The man finally raised his head. "Yes. I received a complaint from a VIP client of ours about your rude behavior toward him and his partner."
He interlaced his fingers and leaned forward.
"What do you have to say to that?"
David let out a breath. "It wasn't what happened. I—"
"I don't care about what caused it," the man cut him off sharply. "The customer is always right. That's my number one policy. If you're told to dance, you dance. If you're told to sing, you sing. If you're told to crawl and bark like a dog, you do it. That's what I pay you for."
"My apologies," David said.
"I'm sorry, young man, but that won't cut it this time. You're fired." The boss waved a dismissive hand. "Now get out of my office."
But David didn't move.
"I'm sorry, but I can't."
The man blinked. "What?"
"You haven't paid me three months' worth of salary. I'm sorry, but I can't leave without my paycheck."
The boss stared at him, clearly shocked by the young man's audacity.
"You want your paycheck?" he echoed slowly.
"I do."
The man's jaw tightened. "Bruno. Tyson. Get in here."
The doors swung open, and the two muscular bouncers from outside stepped in, their footsteps heavy on the floor.
"Boss, you called?"
"This young man wants his paycheck," the boss said with a cold smile. "Hand him a red one."
Both bouncers turned to look at David, cracking their knuckles.
"You might not want to do that," David said calmly.
"What?" The boss's eyes widened slightly at David's continued composure.
David walked casually to a chair and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. He looked directly at the man behind the desk.
"Polen Avenue and Red District. Does that ring a bell?"
The man's eyes widened—just for a fraction of a second—but he was good at hiding it. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You don't know?" David picked up a random object from the desk—a glass paperweight—and turned it slowly in his hand, watching the light refract through it. "Well, it's just a couple of the warehouses where you keep the goods."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Young man," the boss said carefully, "I advise you to leave right now. You don't know what you're about to get yourself into."
David didn't even blink. "Oh, I know very well. That's why I want to make you a deal. If you pay me the sum of twenty thousand dollars right now, right here, I won't even remember I ever knew you."
"You're treading on dangerous ground."
"And so are you."
The boss leaned back in his chair, studying David with new eyes. "I could always just erase you right here. No one would ever know."
"Oh, I know," David said with a slight smile. "I'm not a fool, after all. You see, before coming here, I made a recording detailing what exactly you do—the locations of most of your warehouses, what this club really hides, and what goes on at the underground floor."
The boss's face went pale.
"If I don't make it out of here alive," David continued, "that audio automatically gets sent to some really nasty agencies you won't want on your tail."
"How do you know about that place?" the man demanded, his composure finally cracking.
"Hmm. You didn't think I spent all these months working for free, did you? I could have just quit since you found it so hard to pay your workers. But then I noticed something odd. A little more attentiveness, a little digging, and it all made sense."
David set the paperweight down gently.
"So what will it be?"
"Twenty thousand dollars?" The boss's voice was tight.
"Yes. That much would barely scratch your pocket." David paused. "And also, I want it transferred."
The man's hands clenched into fists on the desk. "You better watch your back, kid. You might not know what hit you."
"Oh, you better pray nothing hits me," David said with that same calm smile. "I might have told a friend or two about this whole thing. So who knows—if I die mysteriously, they might just help me out with that audio."
"Bastard," the boss hissed through clenched teeth.
David stood up smoothly, straightening his waistcoat.
"What will it be, boss? Do we part in peace, or does this have to spiral into something that could have been avoided with just a meager twenty grand?"
The room fell silent except for the distant thump of music from the club below.
The boss stared at David for a long moment, weighing his options. Then, slowly, he reached for his desk drawer.