After meeting with Eliza, Zed goes home to his office. The room sits on the second floor or the house, tucked between his and his sister's old play room and a guest bathroom. Like everything else Zed currently owns and operates, the office used to belong to his father, though it's only been in Zed's care for three weeks.
Despite Zed inheriting basically everything, he can't actually bring himself to sort through his father's remaining things. He can't even sit at his dad's desk, the large oak wood still covered in papers Zed really should sort through and destroy as necessary, the large, leather chair cold and untouched. The dark, worn leather remains the exact same as when his dad had last sat in it. Zed lays on the floor next to the desk, feet kicked up on the edge, a glass of what's probably the most expensive bottle of scotch in the country sitting next to him.
Mysterious disappearance. That's what they call it, what they tell everyone. As if Zevon Necrodopolis would miraculously bounce back from a bullet to the brain.
He takes a sip of his scotch, wincing at the burn as it slides down his throat. Drinking laying down doesn't help either. But both activities take him back to a better time. Better place, better time, where he studied under his dad, working closely with him whenever he could, even sharing the occasional drink.
The heavy set doors of the office slowly creak open. Zed doesn't bother to look over or even move, already knowing who's coming in. Bonzo, who's downstairs, wreaking havoc on the kitchen or whatever it is he actually does when he's not actively working as a bodyguard, would only ever let one person in without checking with Zed first.
"Yo Zed. You in here?"
Zed lifts an arm in response. His younger sister's boots fall heavy on the hardwood as she crosses the room, quickly being silenced by the faux rug adorning the middle of the office. He looks up at his sister, her hands on her hips, a frown on her face.
"This is not very becoming of you, Zed."
He sniffs in response.
Zoey waves her hand out above him. "No one's gonna take you seriously like this."
Zed swings his legs from the desk, sitting up and facing his twenty-year old sister. She stands over him, leather heeled boots rapping anxiously on the floor. Zoey stands out in the lavish office, her ripped black skinny jeans and her red leather jacket, covering a ratty band tee-shirt that was once Zed's.
"No one's gonna take you seriously dressed like that, Princess," Zed quips. "Besides, Bonzo wouldn't let anyone in to catch me like this anyway."
"He let me in," she says smartly.
"I wonder why."
Zoey rolls her eyes. She steps forward, picking up his glass and taking a generous drink. She winces. "Ugh, gross. How do you drink this shit?"
He holds out his hand and she passes him back his drink. "It's for adults only, Peanut."
She hums in response, sitting next to him on the ground. "I heard you called a family dinner. Didn't invite me, big bro?"
Zed's face twists in disgust. "Don't call me that." Zoey chuckles lightly, bumping her shoulder against his. " I knew you'd show up if I invited you or not. You've still got your key."
"You're so nice to me."
Zed grins, nudging her shoulder. "I hope you plan on changing. This is a business dinner after all."
Zoey raises an eyebrow. "Business? Is this about…"
Zed nods. Zoey frowns at the thought of their former friend, and Zed understands why. They were basically family, but it seems now they were keen on destroying Zed and his family. "They're really getting under my fucking skin," he grumbles. "Someone needs to teach that bitch a lesson."
"What're you thinking?" Zoey asks.
Zed swirls his glass, watching the dark liquor circle his glass. "Something stupid, mostly."
"You're gonna need help."
Zed knows that, but he also knows he can't make her help him. They need at least one family member to be seemingly free of all the mob nonsense. "Aren't you supposed to be at school?"
"And miss out on some well served justice? Not a chance, beanpole."
Zed chuckles, shaking his head. "Dad would kill me —"
"Dad's not here. You are. And you need me, Zed."
"What I need, is for you to stay alive. And finish school."
"And you need Aspen gone. At least let me help for the weekend. Then I'll be back in Chicago, out of your hair 'til the holidays."
Zed sighs, raising an eyebrow at her. There's no way she's giving this up, but she is right about one thing — he has absolutely no idea what he needs to do, and two mob heirs are better than one. He relents, muttering a "Fine" as he stands. "Want a drink?"
"Of course. And make it whiskey, I'm not a psycho."
Zed remembers his first family dinner. Fresh off the Damien and Jessica Mann Auditorium stage, still a little hungover from his graduation party the night before — honestly his worst hangover in his life, which is saying a lot. Despite the headache and nausea, he dressed in his nicest suit, which happened to be a graduation present from his father, and sat at the end of the dining table, opposite his father.
Now, five years later, he sits in his father's chair, smiling at his little sister at the opposite end of the table, in the same place he had been years ago. Instead of his dad's friends and associates and personal security, the table is filled with Zed's friends, all of whom he hopes will take him up on his offer to officially join his inner circle. The only person missing is Bonzo's girlfriend, who needed to pick up an extra shift at the hospital.
Still, Zed is surrounded by his four closest friends, not including his sister. He smiles softly as Zoey finishes saying grace, before telling them all to dig into the feast set before them.
"This food is delicious," Wyatt practically moans.
"Thank goodness for rich friends," Willa chimes, making everyone laugh.
"I'd tell you to thank the chefs, but they've already gone home," Zed says. He would have to remember to send the chefs, Elenor and Darcy, a gift for putting dinner together on such short notice. After all, they were some of the few people still willing to work for him.
Willa clears her throat, putting her fork and knife down on the edge of her plate. "Not that I'm not loving the free fancy food, but why did you call us here?" she asks. "Wasn't it enough to scare the shit out of us at work?"
Zed snorts, earning a stink eye from Eliza. Freaking them out a little bit was fun. What wasn't so fun, and got him a lot of shit and the current stink eye, was freaking out Addison, the cashier at the diner. Which he honestly hadn't meant to do, but Eliza nearly slapped him because of the hundred dollar tip he'd left her.
He just wanted her attention, as silly as it sounds. Is he good at flirting? Clearly not.
He puts his own utensils down. He's barely started eating, but clearly everyone is waiting anxiously to find out why they've all been gathered together. "Although I would rather wait until a little further in the meal, there is some...business we need to attend to," he says.
The table quiets down. Although a few of them continue eating, they all have their attention on him. It's suffocating, to say the least. All eyes on him, waiting for the bad news he brings. The only comfort he finds is his sister across from him, her soft smile gently urging him onward.
"Frankly, since the…" he pauses, knowing the truth but knowing no one else should know it either, not yet, "disappearance, um, of my father, a few weeks ago, things around town have been shaky, to say the least. People in this business seem to think I'm 'in over my head.' Some have gone so far as to try and steal from me."
"Some have been successful," Zoey mutters at the other end of the table.
Zed shoots her a glare. She shrugs innocently. What a pain in the ass. "Yes," he says through gritted teeth. He clears his throat, then says louder, "Which is the problem. You all remember Aspen? From high school?" His dinner guests nod along. "Well, my father took a special liking to them, and now, they feel entitled to my city."
"And what are we supposed to do about it?" Eliza asks. "You want us to keep score for your game of tug-of-war?"
Zed ignores her sarcasm. He knows what he wants to do — what he needs to do. He's known for a long time what he's wanted to do about his problematic former friend. His dad never let him before, he never thought they were a problem. Oh how wrong he was.
He hums, looking around the table at each of them. People he knows he can trust, no matter what. More importantly, people he needs. If he wants to preserve his family legacy, the business, everything, he'll need them all. "I'm going to destroy them. And,I'll need your help."
His computer screen stares at him, a list of names courtesy of Bonzo blinding him at the late hour. Three names, all belonging to people he thought he could trust. Maybe they weren't his friends, hell they were barely his colleagues. But he never thought they'd be the first to turn once his dad was gone.
Their betrayal hurt, but Zed would get over it soon enough. More importantly, he needs to deal with them, and quickly. If they get away with it, more people would see Zed as weak and unfit to lead. More people would turn against him. In a few short weeks, Seabrook would be a crime filled slosh pile with countless gangs fighting over territory. Not the harmonious city Zed grew up in, that his father worked so long to create.
His phone rings before he can start thinking. Not his personal phone, exclusively for his sister and close friends, where absolutely no business messages could occur for safety reasons. No, his work phone from his dad, registered under some shell LLC from a few years ago.
He answers the call immediately. Bonzo's voice rings loudly in his ear. "Boss, you're never going to believe this."
"What?"
"Andre and Justin caught these punks who work for Aspen mugging some chick on seventh ave. they're here now, they wanna see you."
Zed frowns, but tells Bonzo to bring them up. He ends the call and stands. Most nights, he can't bring himself to work in his dad's office — his office. Though everything in it still belongs to his dad. But, he can't have people who work for him in his bedroom, where he prefers to work.
He goes into the office, but stops just short of the desk. It's empty now, Zoey having gone on a cleaning spree after dinner to make way for the work they needed to do to clean up the whole Aspen-fiasco. It's almost like his dad was never there…
A knock startles him out of his haze. He puts his computer down in the center of his desk and turns, calling for them to enter.
Bonzo holds the door open for Andre and Justin. They're both maybe fifteen years older than Zed, who used to hang around his dad enough that Zed was convinced for most of his life they were his cool older cousins.
"Hey Zed," Andre greets. "Brought you this." He holds up a baby blue purse, probably big enough to hold an iPad or something, though it's clearly light and empty in Andre's hand.
Zed nods for him to drop the purse on the chair between them, which he does. "What exactly happened?" Zed asks.
Justin huffs. "These idiot bangers mugged this blonde lady getting off the bus," he explains. "Pistol whipped and all. Looked like they were 'bout to go for more before we caught them."
Bonzo winces. Zed manages to keep his face neutral, despite the anger raging in his gut. He's not a particularly moral person, but he can't stand idiots who do stupid crimes like mugging. If someone did that to Zoey, or Eliza, he doesn't know what he'd do. Nothing sane, that's for sure. They would definitely be rotting at the bottom of the lake.
"They tried to run, but the stupid kids tripped on their own feet. Then." Justin shrugs. Zed knows what happened next, if the blood on his shirt and his haphazardly bandaged hands are any indication.
"Why is the bag here?" Zed asks.
Andre sighs, crossing his arms. "The lady disappeared before we could find her. Poor thing, probably scared out of her mind. Figured she wouldn't take kindly to the likes of us showing up at her front door, so."
Zed nods. He leans back against the desk, staring at the purse. "Alright, thanks, guys. Call me if you need anything."
He looks up and catches their nods, before the two of them exit the office, closing the door behind them. Bonzo raises an eyebrow at Zed. "You need me to take that to the girl?" he asks, pointing a thumb at the bag.
Zed shakes his head before Bonzo even finishes. Something about it rings familiar, draws him in in an odd way. "I'll handle it in the morning," he says, waving Bonzo off. "You should head home. I'm sure Bree misses you."
"Nah, she's staying with her old roommate tonight."
Zed raises his eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise?"
Bonzo shakes his head, then pauses, his face falling. "Wait, did I forget something? What day is it? Shit!" He pulls out his phone and hightails it out of the office, leaving Zed laughing.
The doors close slowly, and Zed goes and picks up the purse, walking it back to the desk. He ruffles through it until he finds a small white wallet, haphazardly splayed open, most likely by the guys who mugged the woman. He drops the bag on the desk on top of his laptop, turning the wallet to read the driver's license behind the plastic.
A familiar face stares back at him, a small, tense smile on her face, framed by choppy blonde locks. He spots a pair of familiar blue eyes, his own eyes going wide as he reads over the name.
JACOBS, ADDISON CATHERINE
Holy shit. He knows that face, the girl.
Holy shit.
He plops down in the desk chair, stunned.
Her license, seven years old as of August, stares up at him.
He picks up the wallet again, holding it with such care like it might combust in his fingers. Tentatively, he pulls out her license, bringing it closer for examination. There's just no way the girl he met earlier that day, who he was kind of into, who his friends all seem oddly protective of, was the same girl who got mugged tonight, right in front of his two best 'employees.'
But, the name doesn't change. The face, although slightly younger, thinner, paler, is the same face he'd seen earlier that day. He could never forget a face like hers.
According to her license, she's twenty-six years old, as of July twenty fifth. Five-foot-three. No restrictions. Lives at 5756 9th Avenue, Apt 27.
In her picture, she's tiny. Tiny and pale, barely even smiling. The picture is grainy, but he knows a look of sorrow when he sees one. He runs the numbers in his head. She couldn't have been older than twenty here.
Zed tosses the ID onto his desk, straightening up. What a twisted, cruel world they live in, for them to cross paths twice in one day, especially like this.
He's not above snooping, picking up her wallet and pulling out the few cards she had inside. There's no money in it, which he chalks up to the muggers. She has a few gift cards to the local grocery store, a debit card with her name on it, and a credit card for Dale Wells.
Seabrook chief of police, Dale Wells.
Huh.
He doesn't peg Addison as the kind of girl to steal credit cards, which must mean she knows him. Knows him well enough to be an authorized user on his credit card. An uncle, or godfather, maybe.
Getting mixed up with the chief of police isn't high on his to-do list, when he really thinks about it. A small part of his brain reminds him that catching feelings for Addison wasn't either, though that's something he could handle. He thinks.
Zed picks up his work phone, dialing '2'. The line rings once, then, "What's up, boss?"
"I need a full runup on an 'Addison Catherine Jacobs.' Sooner rather than later"
Zed hears him already typing furiously. "Anything in particular? Or just everything I can find?"
Zed sits up, picking up her license again. He knows what he wants, which is everything. But he also doesn't. He may not be above snooping, but this felt too much like an invasion of her privacy. Like when he found out his dad did one for Wyatt and Willa, that he knew things about them they might not even know. It's weird, and creepy, not particularly his style.
"I need her to come up clean. All I want to know is she's clean. You feel me?"
"Understood, boss."
Zed eyes the cards spread out on the desk. "And see if the name Dale Wells shows up anywhere in there."
"Will do."
"First thing in the morning, J. Understand?"
"Yes sir."
Zed hangs up the phone.
Besides her wallet, there isn't anything interesting in her purse. Some envelopes filled with past due bills along with a note scrawled on a napkin reminding her to call her dad about her car, a tube of lipstick, chapstick, some travel sunscreen, two granola bars, and some tampons. Typical girl stuff. He assumes, at least.
It shouldn't be hard getting her purse back to her. He's got her address, he knows where she works, and he knows three people she trusts. When his dad was in charge and someone found a missing bag, the protocol would be to box it up, add in a few 'gifts' as a courtesy, and send it back. No harm, no foul.
He could sneak in a sweet note, or maybe some flowers, like a secret admirer. He shakes his head before the thought can manifest too much. That's a little much, and honestly a little weird. His sister would tell him to calm down. Just box it up, send it off to her apartment, and move on.
He needs a box. And a bottle of champagne. And maybe some spare hundreds.
(Don't judge him, his dad has gifted people more.)
Box. Champagne. Money. And purse of course.
Going to her job would be creepy, and sending Wyatt or Eliza with it arouses suspicion. He'll need to find someone to drop it off at her apartment, preferably tonight so she'll have it by morning. And if it comes down to it, he could bring it to her door.
Getting her bag back to her has to happen tonight. From the looks of it, she's been having a pretty shitty day — or week. A pile of overdue bills that even make him nervous, a broken down car, hell, her entire wallet missing? Plus getting mugged and pistol whipped.
Returning her purse just became priority number one. Not like he'd rather be dealing with the whole Aspen issue. Plus, he likes doing something purely good every once in a while. It keeps him sane.
He puts her wallet back together, slipping a few fifties from his wallet and putting them in hers. He puts it in her purse and gets up, leaving for a box and the wine cellar.
He comes back with a plain cardboard box filled with some white frilly paper used for Christmas presents, a bottle of '95 Krug Clos d'Ambonnay and a bottle of '05 Château Pétrus, placing them on the desk. Carefully, he places the two bottles in the box, then moves to her purse.
It's contents — the bills, the granola bars, the bills, the tampons and lipstick and bills and chapstick and bills — he keeps going back to the bills, ignoring the miniature devil on his shoulder whispering ideas no one, especially Eliza and Zoey, would approve of.
He could. It wouldn't hurt him, and he thinks it won't hurt her. Maybe it'll even give her peace of mind. One less thing to worry about. He can't even think of a downside! Just that she can never know it was him, and that Eliza would heavily disapprove, which generally means it's a bad idea.
'Fuck it,' he thinks, grabbing the bills and his computer, moving to the chairs in front of the desk. He's going to do something really stupid. But he doesn't care. Something stupid is his specialty, after all.
A/N: Yes, I'm still alive! I rewrote this chapter like six times, it was terrible. But hopefully I can get through chapter four without screaming, crying, and throwing up (she says jokingly).
Reviews are greatly appreciated.
