Happy ... Day of Quarantine! I've already lost count lol.
Hope everyone affected is safe and keeping sane!
Enjoy!
"Sir?"
Julian Maxfield was a busy man.
He had meetings of plenty to attend, paperwork to fill out, and very important people to appease with charts and figures and increasing profit.
All revenue of business required his attention, and very few aspects could be delegated, so he was often left pulling late hours in his office, just to keep up.
However, the harsh demands placed on him gave fair turnabout, as the numbers in his accounts, both legal and otherwise, swelled with ever growing wealth.
The man had grown up near impoverished, and would go to hell and back before ever letting his own daughter, or himself for that matter, return to such conditions of living.
They were both quite fond of the life he had built for them, no matter the means of acquisition.
But admittedly, some days he couldn't help but wish that his fortune had been earned through more moral avenues.
Perhaps then, he would not be facing the situation he now found himself in.
"Sir, would you like me to let him in?"
His secretary repeated her original question over the speaker of his office phone, and Julain cleared his throat a few times, "Yeah...uh, yes. Yes, send him up."
There was a beep as the call ended and Julain grabbed the glass of water from his desk and took a long sip.
He had a considerable lack of information where Damon Salvatore was concerned, but the fact that the man had come here, to his very public office, on an unplanned weekend day, did not bode well.
Pulling out his cell, he sent a short message to his security team to be on standby, and to place a man outside of his office, once Salvatore had stepped inside of it.
Then he pushed away from his desk and walked over to the cart of more expensive beverages, and poured two glasses of scotch.
He had just restoppered the bottle when a knock sounded.
"Come in," he forced through a tight throat, though the door was already opening.
Three men stepped in, the middle of which was his awaited visitor, looking very laissez faire, despite the suit he adorned.
"Damon," Julian greeted with a semi-formal nod, "I was under the impression you were requesting a private audience."
He glanced pointedly at the other two men, and his visitor smirked, "They'll be leaving as soon as the room is secured."
Sure enough, the two men started scoping the space around them, checking under the table across the room, his desk, the chairs, and even inside the potted plant by the window.
Damon walked slowly around them, and took a seat.
In Julian's desk chair.
He tilted back and propped his feet uptop the solid oak, "Just a security measure, I'm sure you understand."
Julian nodded, not saying anything as the two henchmen finished and gave an "all clear" to their boss, who made a dismissal gesture in return.
Then they were gone and Julian was alone with Damon.
The man straightened in the chair, dropping his feet in favor of placing his clasped palms on the glass top and leaned forward, "We need to talk, Maxfield."
"Per your last email, I assumed we would be conversing on Thursday. Change of plans?"
He grabbed the two glasses and walked over to his desk.
He offered one to Damon, who waved a hand, "No, thank you. I am more of a whiskey man, personally. But feel free to take a seat."
How generous.
Julian bit his tongue as he sat down in his guest chair, and slowly sipped his drink, "To what do I owe this visit, then? Are you unhappy with our arrangement?"
"The terms of our agreement are satisfactory," Salvatore said uninterestedly, "And our plans for Thursday are still in place."
"Then how may I help you?" Julian pressed, hoping to get to the point, so the man would stop staring at him as if he were trying to size him up for a body bag.
"Actually, today, I am here to help you," Damon said, his stare haunting.
Julian tried to keep a blank expression, "Really? And how's that?"
Damon reached into the pocket of his jacket and Julian stiffened, before realizing the man was only pulling out an envelope, "These were taken two nights ago, at a club I own downtown."
He tossed the envelope over to Julian, who proceeded to remove the stack of photos inside.
Caroline, his daughter, was in each and every one, dancing, drinking, and fawning all over the man who had obviously been her date for the night.
His eyes widened, and he through a glance to Damon, "Caroline...How did you know?"
"That is not important right now," he discarded the question.
Julian shuffled through a few more pictures before Salvatore reached over and took them from his hands.
"I'll stop you before you see something you wish you hadn't," the man remarked, and Julian's fist clenched, "Why would she do this?"
"She is young, bored, and has too much money on her hands, if the bills she was dropping on my bartender was any indication," Damon reasoned, leaning back in the chair, "But I have a strict age policy at my club and she was escorted out. Due to our shared interest," he motioned between the two of them, "I opted out of notifying the police, and just fired the bouncer who thought she was hot enough to let sneak in, instead."
Julian swallowed and nodded, "Well...I uh...I thank you, for that."
Damon smiled coldly, reminding him of a shark circling in on its prey, "Of course. This is a partnership I look forward to maintaining for many years to come. We must look out for one another, no? Respect each other?"
Julain forced a nod and Salvatore's tone changed.
"For instance," the accented voice dropped, "If one of us were to place extreme value on privacy, it seems only fair that the other acknowledge the boundaries set, and adhere to them. Do you agree, Mr. Maxfield?"
"Yes," Julian gaged his expression, "Of course."
"Good," Damon placed his palms on the desk and stood, shifting his weight to his hands so that he appeared to tower over Julian, "Then I will not bother going into detail about what might happen if that privacy is breached upon, by you, or anyone you employ, and will assume you understand that it would be quite unpleasant."
He dragged one hand over to the pictures of Caroline laying on the desk, "And I would so hate for anything unpleasant to have to happen."
Julian's expression flattened and he stood as well, "I don't appreciate having veiled threats casted at me in my own office, Salvatore."
"Oh there is nothing veiled about it," Damon grinned, "I am threatening you."
He walked around the desk, getting closer to Julian than he was comfortable with, but pride made him hold his ground.
"You and I have what is called a symbiotic relationship, Maxfield," Damon said, "That means we benefit from one another. But don't ever think that I need you, or that I will not eradicate anyone that crosses me," those blue eyes darkened, "The Whitmores can attest to that."
The name struck a chord and Julian doubled back, "That was you?"
When Salvatore neither confirmed or denied, Julian's mouth parted in shock, "I had heard you had a...contention with the family, but...you were responsible for the deaths of Nathan Whitmore and his wife?"
Damon's head crooked and a single dark brow arched, "As I said, I do not like it when people cross me. So I expect you and I will no longer have any contentions, moving forward."
When Julian could only swallow, Damon flashed his teeth in a cold smile, "I am glad we understand each other."
He inclined toward the desk before stepping away, "Keep the pictures. I can always get more if I have need of them."
The library downtown had many modern amenities, Elena could admit, but unfortunately, their computers weren't one of them.
Public files, such as city records, were kept on the old software system, which meant she was hunkered down in front of this dinosaur of a monitor, begging what was practically a dial-up connection to load the pages she needed.
She tapped her fingers on the file room desk as she waited.
The noise was somewhat comforting.
The waiting, however, was not.
Everything that had gone down at SINC the other night had put her on edge, but after a shower and some sleep, she was feeling a lot more settled, and was determined to find another avenue of intel.
Working with her limited knowledge, she had decided that the club would be the safest route for information.
Salvatore owned the building and seemed to run some of his business from it, and she highly doubted he would be expecting her to make another appearance there.
Plus the crowds made it a little easier to hide; she would just have to be sure to use another alias and stay out of the camera's views.
Or, if the damn webpage would ever load, maybe there was another way in that she could use to her advantage.
Like a roof access or a ventilation system.
Salvatore had to run his security from somewhere in the building, and if she could just find out where-
A loud Bing rang from the cellphone she had just replaced, at the same time the file on the monitor finished loading.
She opened the link.
Blueprints for the club's building filled the page.
They were slightly outdated, but as long as there hadn't been too many renovations in the past few years, she imagined the structure should be roughly the same.
With a few quick movements, Elena had the pages printing and shut down everything else before pulling out her cell.
It was a text from Katherine.
Just got this message on the work phone.
"One hour. My office. Urgent. -JM"
From Julian. Not sure what it's about. I'll wait for you to call before responding.
-Kat
Elena frowned, but grabbed her things and hurried from the building, before calling her sister to try and figure out what the man might want.
"It's handled?" Alaric's question was one of worry, as he approached Damon in his office at the Estate.
"I do not believe Mr. Maxfield is going to be a problem for us, if that is what you are inquiring about," he answered without glancing up from the monitor he was focused on.
He had managed to hack into the phone left behind by his little intruder and had accessed the photos and call log, but was having a harder time unencrypting some of the bigger files on it.
His head of security let out a heavy sigh, and dropped down into the chair next to Damon's desk, "You're sure?"
"You doubt me?" Damon pressed, working over yet another firewall, and Ric scoffed, "Of course not. But it is my job to be thorough."
Damon met the man's hazel eyes then and sat up straight in his chair, "Julian Maxfield will not be a problem. Not if he values his daughter's life."
Alaric's jawbone flexed beneath his skin as he read into Damon's implication.
"The teenager?"
Damon huffed, "Barely."
"You threatened her?"
The concern in Ric's voice was almost humorous, considering the number of assaults Damon had witnessed the man perform firsthand, "Does that bother you?"
Alaric took a moment to respond, "...she's just a kid…"
"She is leverage," Damon corrected, "And would hardly be the first child to pay for the sins of their father. If you can not stomach that possibility, I suggest you find a new line of work."
Leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, Ric frowned, "This is personal for you."
He didn't not frame it as a question; more of a factual statement.
One coated in truths that Damon did not often bother lingering on.
"The girl means nothing to me-"
"Not the girl," Alaric cut him off, "This...empire. Your father's business. Making sure all of these pieces are in place so that this works."
"It is working," he pointed out, "I am simply helping things along."
"And avoiding the question," Ric smirked lightly, "Come on, Damon. We've known each other for the better part of a decade. My loyalty has always been to your family; so don't front with me. I know you aren't the coldhearted bastard you pretend to be. This matters to you."
Damon closed down his screen and stood slowly, with neither a denial or confirmation to Alaric's observation, and walked across the room.
There was an antique liquor cabinet along the far wall, and he wasted little time pouring himself a glass of bourbon from it.
He made a second drink for Ric, which the man accepted gratefully when he offered it.
"It used to matter," he stated simply, leaning back on the edge of his desk, instead of returning to his chair, "You know my father was Cosa Nostra. Family was everything to him. He raised me to believe the same."
Alaric nodded and took a drink; Damon just stared down at his.
"Then my mother was killed," he swirled the amber liquor around the tumbler; "And for all that he became, Father might as well have died with her. I am sure you can agree. It was then that he taught me vengeance...and now that is all that matters."
Ric's expression tightened, "You mean that business with the Whitmores. I thought you settled that?"
Damon brought the bourbon to his lips and drained the glass, before saying, "Did you know my family owns a vineyard?"
"I…what does that have to do with-"
"My father used to walk me down the rows when I was a boy," Damon continued as though he hadn't spoken, "I was not much for botany or wine making back then, but I recall him showing me the way a rotting vine produces soiled fruit. He prefered to cut the entire plant out, rather than treat the ailment. I never understood why, until I met Nathan Whitmore."
He glanced over at Alaric, "He may be the one who killed my father, but he was merely soiled fruit. The vine is rotted, and I plan to cut it out."
Ric studied him, lips pressed together as his thoughts turned in his mind, until he finally murmured, "You sound like him, you know? When he was focused on avenging your mother's death. But you know how that ends, Damon. He was never satisfied with the lives he took. How many will be enough for you?"
Damon stood, his face hardening, "Maybe you've forgotten how this works, Alaric, but a blood feud does not end until the offending bloodline is eradicated."
"So you'll kill them all?"
Damon considered the question, "I am young, so there is time...perhaps I will leave one alive. Let him grow older, comfortable; wait until he marries and pops out a few more Whitmore children before I polish them off for good. That will give me something to anticipate."
Alaric shook his head, standing himself now, "That isn't retribution, Damon, it's pettiness."
"It's deserved."
He moved to make another drink as Alaric sighed, "You think Giuseppe would have wanted you wasting your life hunting down the likes of that family? It's not going to bring you the closure you want."
Damon grit his teeth at the comment and was grateful his back was to the other man, "I do not desire closure, Ric. I simply want payment. With interest. They should expect no less from a Salvatore."
He picked up the drink and turned slowly, facing Alaric straight on as he did.
"Now, I appreciate all you have done as my employee, and there is no one I trust more to oversee the securities of my business," Damon assured him, "But my dealings with the Whitmore Family are mine alone, and I am suggesting that you keep your opinions on the matter to yourself from this point forward. Do I make myself clear?"
Alaric held his gaze for a moment, wearing an expression that was dangerously close to pity.
Then it was gone, and the man nodded, "Whatever you say, Boss. I'm in this with you."
"Good," Damon smiled and took the glass from Ric's hand, "Then no more talking. Let me get you a refill."
Alaric accepted, letting the conversation drop, proving once again that he was a wise man.
Damon had no desire to be psychoanalyzed.
He knew what things were, and what they were not and in the end, none of it was going to matter.
What he had said was true; he wasn't after closure or some equalizing justice.
He had no expectation for either to bring him a sudden rush of completeness or satisfaction.
This venture of drugs and money and revenge and smoke mirrors had never been some yellow brick road to a happier ending.
It was just giving a semblance of meaning to the motions he lived through each day, knowing it would never be enough to break the numbness that had encased him.
Maybe it was all a means and no end.
Maybe the motions were all there was for him.
The burn of the whiskey seemed to push him into a deeper acceptance of that fact, as Damon returned to his desk and screen.
There was something freeing about having so little to live for.
Nerves twisted in Elena's stomach as Julian's assistant let her upstairs and she entered his office.
She and Katherine had drawn blanks on the reason behind Julian's urgency, but a bad feeling told Elena that it had something to do with the fiasco at the club.
Confirmation came when Julian, who was on the phone over by the office's wide window, ended the call shortly and motioned for her to sit down.
Elena complied and he jumped right to the point of the meeting.
"I'm glad you could come, Katalena, I need to implement a change in regards to our contract," he leaned on the edge of the desk in front of her, "I will no longer require your services."
Elena blinked in surprise, "You...you're terminating the contract?"
Julian nodded and Elena frowned, "Why?"
"Damon Salvatore paid me a visit yesterday," he explained, "And heavily hinted that he knew he was being vetted...is there a chance you were compromised?"
Elena swallowed as her brain went into overdrive, "I scouted his house, then his club, and had a moment of interaction with him, but I am still capable of retrieving the information you-"
Julian waved her off, "No, no. Don't bother. Damon is already a suspicious man, and I fear any further inquiry to his affairs will not be worth the retaliation."
Elena couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"You're afraid of him?" she arched a brow, "I realize he is up and coming competition, but isn't that all the more reason to know what he is capable of."
Julian reached for something on his desk and tossed it to her.
"Trust me," he said, "Damon has already made clear what he is capable of."
It was a photo of Julian's daughter, Caroline, and forcing the pit in her stomach to deepen, Elena realized that it was a picture that she herself had taken that night at the club.
Which meant Damon had found the phone she had dropped.
Internally cursing as she put together Julian's meaning, she gave back the picture, "He gave you that?"
"And threatened my daughter, should I invade upon him any further."
Elena exhaled in a rush, "So...what does that mean for me?"
"Nothing," Julian placed the picture back on his desk and wiped his hands across his knees, "I will call you when I am in need of another service, but for now, as far as we're concerned, the Salvatore job never existed."
Panic gripped Elena now, dragging her to her feet, "But it did, and I was counting on the payout, Mr. Maxfield."
"Next time," Julian assured her, and annoyance flared in her blood at his flipancy.
"I was doing my part of the agreement," she argued, "I staked out Damon's house, I scouted his club and gathered information about his business. I've got the blueprints to his building and can get even more intel without him ever realizing it. Just give me a chance to-"
"No," he cut her off firmly, "Katalena, I am sorry, but this is done. At this point, I will monitor my partnership with Salvatore, but until I have further leverage on the man, I can not risk angering him. For Caroline's sake."
Elena closed her eyes and screamed in her head.
This was not happening. They needed the money, damn it!
Nadia's very life could depend on it, and they were already risking their finances with these unplanned doctor visits.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
"Of course, I will comp you for the work you have done," Julian said with a hand on her shoulder that lingered too long.
She brushed him off, unwilling to play nice with this turmoil rolling in her brain.
Sensing her sour mood, Julian stepped away from her and walked around the desk, drawing a manila envelope from the safe he kept near his feet.
He offered it to her, and Elena did a quick check inside.
A few hundred dollar bills, maybe a grand.
Nowhere near what she needed.
"Thank you," she grit out, using all of her self control to keep her expression neutral, "Call me if something changes?"
"Of course," Julian seemed relieved that she was accepting what he had offered, and she tried not to slam his office door on her way out.
She called Katherine on the way out to deliver the bad news, and the same disappointment and fear she felt was echoed back in her twin's voice.
"What are we going to do, Elena? We needed that money."
"I know," Elena banged her head back against the driver's seat, "We'll just have to figure something else out."
A moment of silence then, "Are you on your way back home?"
"Yeah. I'll be there in about twenty minutes or so," she confirmed.
Katherine let out a slow breath, "Okay. We'll regroup after dinner tonight and come up with a plan. This isn't the first time we've had something unexpected sprung on us...we'll get through this. Just like we always do."
Elena admired her sister; even though Kat had never shied away from her wild streak, there were moments when her "firstborn" syndrome kicked in and she took control of the situation with a confidence Elena could not quite muster.
This apparently, was going to be one of those times.
"Okay," she agreed, "I'll see you soon."
Until next time!
