I am taking a HUGE risk by even attempting to take on this story. For some reason I feel that everything I've accomplished in the past 4 years is at stake the moment I post this story. But on the other hand, it was inspired by a full-length dream and it is demanding to be told or else! So, that said, I have to weigh my credibility against sleep.

I do not own "Person of Interest", but the characters will own this story if I succeed. On the other hand, if I fail, I own it…lock, stock, and barrel!

Song prompt: "I'd Come For You" by Nickleback.

I'd Come For You

You're being watched…

Tucked away in a high rise in the middle of downtown New York City, three well dressed men sat in a spacious office that was lit by a single lamp, but they were oblivious to the dimness. What should have been a friendly get together was shadowed by feelings of revenge and animosity. And they all had one mission: To find and destroy the man who had ruined their lives and fortunes.

"Quinn's going to pay for what he did to us," the first impeccably dressed man growled. Outfitted in an expensive suit, he looked more like a Wall Street executive than an underworld boss. But where there should have been some kind of understanding in his eyes, pure hatred burned instead.

"It was out of his control," the second well dressed man defended. Just as impeccably dressed as his colleague, his eyes held the same menacing look, but his eyes were also focused on the man in the chair across from him. "He did the best he could."

"The best he could?! He allowed himself to be captured, and then he struck a deal with the Feds that put him in WITSEC! Now he's hiding away under a false name with our money!" The first man stated menacingly, his jaw clenched in rage. Standing up, he paced the floor.

"I knew we should have taken him out when we had a chance. But no, you wanted him to live," he continued, pointing to his companion. "You wanted him to live so he could take us to the money. Instead, what does he do? He steals…from us!"

"He could still lead us to the money."

The first man spun around. Incredulity replaced the anger. "And how do you expect that to happen when we don't know where he is? He could be anywhere!"

"I have friends in the FBI…" The second man offered up his plan, but was abruptly cut off.

"Yeah," the first man snorted sarcastically. "You have friends. That doesn't help us find our money."

The clearing of a throat stopped the bickering. "Your first mistake was putting your trust in Quinn to begin with," the older man behind the desk stated in a tone that was both cultivated and no nonsense. His finger was pointed at the first man. "You knew he was corrupt and he couldn't be trusted – he did execute his own godson. Did you really think that he would treat his associates any differently?"

"He made us a promise!"

"Promises were made to be broken," the older man replied evenly. "You made your bed by allowing him to get the best of you, and now the money is gone. You have two options, as far as I can tell. The first one is: you can admit that you made a mistake and lay in the bed you made." He templed his fingers under his chin and surveyed the two men before him.

"The second one is: you find a way to get our money back. Or I will find a way to get it back from you."

The first man stood stock still. His eyes bounced from the man behind the desk to the man on the couch. Fear of the unspoken threat was enough to chill his blood, but he didn't let it show. He would only accept his fate after he ran out of options.

"How do you propose for me to do that?" he returned with false bravado. It didn't slip past his sharp ears as a pistol was cocked. He had no doubt in his mind that the barrel was aimed at him.

The older man gave an indifferent shrug. What did he care about feelings now that his money was gone? "You're a smart man, figure it out. But if you want a suggestion, I would say you start with his family."

"Most of his family is dead or relocated," the first man protested. "That doesn't give me many options to locating the money. And if he put it in Swiss bank accounts, we are going to need him, not his family."

"Then you flush him out of hiding," came the short reply tinged with exasperation.

The first man snorted. "He won't come out for a bank account."

"No," the man behind the desk nodded in agreement, "he won't. But he will if you use his daughter as bait."

Silent understanding filled the tense room as the mood changed immediately from betrayal to revenge. "And you think that will make him break his cover and come out?"

"Men in WITSEC have done so for less. He holds his family in high esteem. He'll do the same."

"Like he held his godson? Cal Beecher wasn't feeling the love when he was ventilated. What makes you think that Quinn's loyalties lie stronger with his blood?" First man scoffed with disgust.

"Every father holds his daughter in high esteem. And I can't see Quinn being any different. When he hears his little girl's life is in danger, he'll either come out, or he will surrender the account. And then, you know what to do."

"Are you sure?" The second man spoke up. He had done his share of killing, and he had no regrets. But when it came to women…he had to draw the line somewhere. "She may not have anything to do with it."

"She's Quinn's blood, and that makes her as guilty. Though it is not the son's sin to take on when his father does wrong, a father should know better than to lay his sin upon his children." The boss looked at his men. "You're not going to have a problem with this, are you?"

"I'm afraid of drawing in unwanted attention. He has a marshal side-kick who follows him everywhere. They aren't going to just let him out of their sight. And they are sure to smell a set-up from a mile away."

"Then I suggest that you find a way around that small obstacle. I don't need to remind you both that millions of dollars are on the line." He gave a dramatic pause. "Along with your lives." It was not a threat that was made lightly, nor in jest, and the sound in the room was deafening.

The two men looked at one another. Some lines were meant to be crossed when honour and integrity were at stake. And this was one of it.

"Blood is thicker than money, gentlemen. That's why there is no room for error. I want my money back."