Andrew’s smile stretched from ear to ear.

He was still fucking invincible! On top of the world! Power was addictive and he had it in spades. Things always went his way, never had to stay more than twenty hours in jail because his name always collected favours, new ones being added inside desk drawers or palms during handshakes. Monetary settlements kept people’s mouths sewn shut with a lock and throwing the key away. His father, Charles Tabler, made things go away and he had always looked after Andrew’s interests.

Except for that time that bitch’s parents reported him to the police. The head teacher of Wood Park High, a close family friend, couldn’t eradicate the whispers. A scandal broke, further fanned by statements of other parents of pathetic low life students. What the fuck. He was just having fun! It wasn’t his fault someone suddenly tripped or a girl’s ass got flicked as she passed by. They should be more careful.

Bloody stupid Brooke family. Because of them, he made the six-o’clock news. They didn’t mention his name but mentioned the school. By the time Andrew arrived in school the next day, a multitude of cars hogged the street in front of the school and angry low income parents not worth his salt pitched their sorry asses in the school hall. They threatened to remove their children from the school. They shouldn’t even have their kids there in the first place!

Dumb fucks.

The head teacher gave in.

Fucking twat.

He shouldn’t have returned from the States. He was already doing well there, for fuck’s sake! While he had ears close to the ground in England to let him know what was happening, his father refused to let him come home. But that never stopped him. He flew in once in secret, checking on his contacts, watching and waiting for his father to croak so he could take over.

His arrival, though, was leaked to the press, his face plastered on television screens and newspapers. The moment Charles Tabler found out, he had people hauling Andrew off to a waiting plane and back to America.

Then, he heard about Drake Rosen.

He re-lived the rage that ate at him. A man like Rosen who didn’t have any pedigree shouldn’t make it in the world. The world was only for men like him, not some dumb schmuck who fought his way from expulsion.

No one had the same entitlement as he had. No one deserved to find happiness when they were poor. They were supposed to just keep their faces rubbed in the muck and keep their heads down. Not aspire to be greater than his family or any other family of his social station. They didn’t deserve it and never would.

Andrew had his people find the weak link. Caius Harvey. A man so deep in debt, shit in the sewer paled in amount. He arranged a meeting with Caius, paid all his debts and took Caius’ shares as collateral. Andrew nearly crowed in triumph when Caius handed over Drake’s shares. He didn’t give a fuck if the transaction was illegal. He had a team of lawyers who’d make sure it stuck, making his illegal transactions as pure and clean as a baby’s butt. After all, they made his gun smuggling activities disappear on paper. Money laundering was good for business. Andrew craved more of the opulence it gave him.

His cell door opened. He stood, taking his coat that lay on the foot of the hard bunk. He winced when he flexed his shoulders and saw red when phantom sensations tweaked his junk. Bethany had become feisty, not the mousy type he had played with in the past. That made her sexy and he had developed a hard on even after she kneed him.

He smirked at the memory of terror in Bethany’s beautiful eyes when she realised who had cornered her. Who would have thought the bar he had decided to eat in would produce the girl who was the highlight of his high school life?

“Sign here,” the desk officer grunted and pointed to the ‘x’ in the release form.

“Told you boys I wasn’t staying.”

“Good to know,” the desk officer said, like he heard that line every day. “You’re free to go.”

He sauntered casually out of the station. Dawn was on the horizon. Andrew hooted with laughter. He looked around. Normally, one of his father’s minions or solicitor would meet him. No one was around. Bemused, he strolled to the parking lot and saw his father leaning against his BMW. Beside his father’s car was a Range Rover Velar he didn’t recognise. Maybe it was his ride. He was definitely going to ask his father to gift him one.

“Are you now in the habit of bringing bodyguards, Father?” He grinned. “Thanks for the bailout. I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

Charles Tabler straightened. His dark hair greying at the temples. The coming daylight lit his father’s pinched features. Teal eyes weathered with age filled with disappointment. Anger. Despair.

Andrew halted when he noticed the last emotion.

“What have you done?” Charles’ whisper sounded like the air around them.

Andrew stiffened. “What? I got assaulted by a slut and I end up in jail.”

“I’m not taking about that.” Charles slashed the wind with his hand impatiently before pulling out a folder from the open window of his car. “I’m talking about this!”

He threw the contents at his son. Andrew flinched.

“What the fuck?”

“Don’t use that tone on me, boy.” Charles snapped before all fight left him. “I can’t help you with this.”

Dread made Andrew’s heart stutter. His pulse began to beat in the middle of his throat.

“Pick it up.” Charles ordered

Andrew didn’t comply.

“Pick it up,” Charles roared.

Andrew blinked. The humiliation of being screamed at hit him squarely in the face. Cheeks burning, he bent down and gathered the papers. Some of the words on the documents caught his attention. Wry amusement rumbled his chest.

“Money laundering? And what’s this?” He suppressed his laugh. He read the documents further. It was the agreement Caius Harvey signed. His grin fell. “Where did you get this?”

“It doesn’t matter where I got it,” his father’s voice was wintry. “Is this true?”

“No!”

“Then where did you get the money to buy those shares which even Altman says is illegal. No amount of grease money is going to make this go away.”

Hearing his father’s solicitor’s name, the noose slipped around Andrew’s head, slowly tightening around his neck. It felt so real it was hard to swallow.

“You’ve got friends in high places, Dad.” Andrew scrambled. “Use them.”

Charles huffed, shaking his head.

“My mistake, and one I’m going to regret for the rest of my life, was always saving your sorry arse.”

“Just this one last time, I swear.” Andrew approached his father then stopped at the unbanked fury in his father’s eyes. It made Charles more ominous. Deadlier than the persona he portrayed as a judge.  Andrew’s throat dried up. “Dad, I swear, this is all a mistake.”

“It’s no mistake.” Charles shook his head still in disbelief. “Whose money did you use?”

“Mine!”

“How did you get it?”

“What the hell are you on about?” Andrew shot back angrily. “I made it good on my own! Without your help in America.”

“With whom? Don’t lie to me, Andrew. I’ve been keeping tabs on your expenses since you left. You live, eat, breathe because of my money. So where did you get the money to bail out this Caius Harvey?”

Andrew widened his eyes. “You son of a bitch!”

Hurt flickered in his father’s eyes.

“Yes, I am a son of a bitch.” Charles agreed. “Which is why you’re going to know what kind of S.O.B. I am. No one, not even my friends will be willing to extend even a straw to save you. Tell me where the money came from.”

Andrew lost his ability to speak and was about to lose his bladder.

“That money came from gun smuggling.” Charles hissed through clenched teeth. Anguish warped his face. “Guns to equip home grown terrorists? Why Andrew? Why?”

For the first time, Andrew watched his father shed tears. His body, a representation of defeat.

Andrew’s eyes darted at the Range Rover. Three men came out. One looked like a heavy weight Russian mobster who sneered at him. One looked like his skin had been weathered and dried by the sun. The other looked unobtrusive. He looked Chinese. Andrew’s eyes widened at the sight of a huge knife, the length of a short sword, attached to the Asian man’s belt.

“That’s illegal.” He pointed to the knife. “Who are these men?”

Charles looked away. “They’re here to take you.”

“Take me where?”

His father didn’t answer.

“Take me to where, Dad?” he shouted. He was snivelling now. If his Dad wasn’t going to bail him out, he was going to die.

Charles opened the car’s door. “To answer for your crimes.”

He started the engine, closed the door with finality. His throat muscles moved, his jaw hard with strain.

“Goodbye, Andrew.”

“Dad!” Andrew bellowed as his father drove away. Terror like the one he experienced when speaking to representatives of fundamental jihadists immobilized him.

He stepped back as one of the men approached him. The weathered man was broad shouldered and carried a weapon underneath his jacket. Andrew almost heaved.

“Mr Tabler, please come quietly.” The Asian said with a trace of sincerity. “We wouldn’t want to have to run after you and slit your throat even before the law has a chance to protect you.”

The oldest of the men placed a phone to his ear.

“We have him, suh.” He paused listening to something Andrew couldn’t decipher. “Very good, suh.”

He ended the call.

“Well Mr Tabler. Welcome to the end of your life as you know it.”