Chapter 7: Old Friends and Heavy Debts
The second stop brought Marcus to an upscale downtown loft overlooking the glittering skyline of the financial district. Arthur King’s apartment was a minimalist masterpiece of glass, chrome, and exposed brick, smelling faintly of expensive scotch and cedarwood. Arthur sat casually on a leather barstool, swirling a glass of amber liquid, wearing a crisp dress shirt with French cuffs completely intact. He looked up lazily as Marcus strode uninvited into the living room, though a subtle flicker of panic crossed his eyes when he saw the dark, menacing look on his old friend’s face. Marcus didn’t waste time with pleasantries; he grabbed Arthur by the collar of his shirt, hauling him off the stool with terrifying ease and slamming him hard against the exposed brick wall.
“You’ve been gambling away my investment capital, Arthur, and now you’re playing sick games in my home?” Marcus snarled, his face inches from Arthur’s wide, terrified eyes. Arthur’s scotch glass slipped from his fingers, shattering loudly against the hardwood floor and sending amber shards flying in all directions. “Marcus—wait—let me explain! It’s not what you think!” Arthur gasped, his hands clawing uselessly at Marcus’s powerful forearms. The tattoos on Marcus’s skin seemed to shift and tighten under the strain as he applied just enough pressure to make breathing a desperate chore for the cornered man. “You were at the party, Arthur. You had access to the kitchen corridor during the exact window the security feed was wiped. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't break every bone in your body right now.”
Arthur choked out a desperate laugh, coughing as Marcus loosened his grip by a fraction. “It wasn't me, man! Check my phone—check my offshore accounts! Someone else is setting us up! A third party reached out to me last week, offering to wipe my debts if I just walked through your front doors and distracted you during the party. I didn't touch the cake, Marcus, I swear to God! I backed out at the last second!” Marcus stared deep into Arthur’s eyes, searching for the telltale micro-expressions of a practiced liar. Arthur was terrified, but his fear wasn’t the panic of a caught saboteur; it was the terror of a pawn who realized he was playing a game far above his pay grade. Marcus shoved Arthur back against the brick wall one last time before releasing him, wiping his hands as if touching something unclean. The circle of suspects was narrowing, leaving only one man who had been trusted enough to slip past every emotional and physical defense they possessed.
