Another sneeze catches me off guard and leaves a burning pain in my chest and throat. I pause with a hand over my chest. The pain settles after a minute but leaves a lingering ache of exhaustion all through my body.

I move back a little and my foot catches on an uneven floorboard. "Whoa!" My legs buckle and I go down hard on my bottom. The rag I was holding lands with a wet smack next to me. I roll over slightly, moving off the uneven section of the floor. I lean closer to look at the uneven wood and then groan. This place is starting to feel cursed. 

If someone falls in here, they could sue me. I'm sure it's the landlord's responsibility to fix the floors but how long will that take? And if I have to wait for the floors to be redone then all the furniture that's just been delivered will have to be moved.

I sway as a strong wave of dizziness comes over me. The floor spins beneath my feet as I sit back down and rest my head on my knees. The pain in my chest is back and it's starting to feel like my throat is burning.

I'll just wait until this passes, I think. But I must have inhaled more of those cleaning fumes than I thought because as soon as I close my eyes, I feel myself falling.

Chapter eight

GABE

“Gabriel. I wasn't expecting you today."

It's something of a shock to see my father answering the door of his own suite. He's using a cane and looking pretty proud of himself. I know he hates to use his wheelchair but the sight of him without it makes me nervous. As conflicted as my feelings are toward Max, I don't want anything to happen to him.

"I called. I know I usually come on Wednesdays but something came up. I need to talk to you."

"Of course. Come in. I was just catching up on some correspondence." He steps back so I can enter the suite. It's quiet today. Usually he has Carol or any number of other attendants hovering over him.

"Where is everyone?"

Max grunts. "I fired them all. A man can't even walk on his own two feet without everyone causing a ruckus."

Suddenly I understand. Carol must have tried to tell him to use the wheelchair again. "You know, you can't just keep firing your staff. One day they're going to believe you and not come back."

Max sinks down into the couch and then rests the cane next to him. There are a few pages of stationery and a pen on the table next to him. He picks them up.

"Somehow I don't think you came here to talk about the way I treat my staff."

"No, I didn't."

He waits patiently for me to get my thoughts together, writing something on the paper while I'm trying to figure out how to approach him.

In all the time I've been coming to visit, I've never asked him directly why he did what he did. Maybe because I didn't think he'd tell me or maybe because I didn't really want to know. Tank and Finn have both said that he refuses to discuss it anyway. But it's time for me to put my personal feelings aside. The guy following me is clearly connected to my father somehow since he's only shown up since Max came to town.

“Someone followed me today. A man I've seen hanging around here before. Is it one of your guys?”

Max suddenly looks more alert. “Followed? Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure." That's the most frustrating part. I can't be sure if I'm taking this out of context or assuming the guy must be following me just because I've seen him multiple times. "But I've seen this guy more than once. He has a scar that's hard to miss.”

Max’s hand jerks and the pen leaves a dark trail across the paper. “Scarred? On his face?”

“Yeah. It's on his cheek.” I put my finger at my cheekbone.

He’s positively white now and his hand is shaking so hard that I reach over and remove the pen and paper he’s holding. At my touch, he seems to come back to himself. “I apologize, I need to cut this short.”

I look down at my watch in surprise. The terms of Max’s financial agreement with each of us requires that we participate in hour-long visits each week. For whatever reason, he’s determined to spend time with us and always seems genuinely happy when I show up. He’s never cut a meeting short before or missed one except for when he was hospitalized.

He knows something. One mention of the scarred guy and suddenly he looks like he's seen a ghost?

"Whatever you've gotten into, maybe we could help if we knew what was going on."

Max shakes his head. "No one can help. But I'll take care of this. Don't worry about that man. He won't bother you again."

"You don't know that. Clearly he wants something or he wouldn't have been trailing me today. I asked around about him. A guy like that sticks out in a small town. He’s been seen coming out of the old meat packing plant on South Trade Street. Maybe I should go ask him what this is about.”

When I stand, Max turns pale and shakes his head violently. “Stay away from Blade.”

This is the first bit of information he’s let slip. It doesn’t escape my notice that he must be pretty rattled to make that kind of mistake.

“Who’s Blade?”

“Someone I’d hoped you’d never meet.”

Max looks pained. It's the first time he's looked guilty and it doesn't make me feel any better. His hand lands on the head of his cane, rubbing over the smooth metal surface as if to calm himself down.

“I’ll take care of this, Gabriel. In the meantime, stay away from him. His business is with me but there are people in this world who will hurt those closest to you just to make a point."