What was the term? I scrolled through it. Ten years.
Augustine Montgomery had just offered me a contract that guaranteed a payment of one million two hundred thousand per year for ten years with an annual 7 percent increase and bonuses based on performance.
I could buy Rogan out. I could pay off our mortgage. I could guarantee my sisters’ education. I could . . .
What was the catch? There had to be a catch.
Noncompete Covenant. For good consideration and as an inducement for Company to employ Employee, if such employment is terminated for any reason during the Term, the employee shall not engage directly or indirectly, either personally or as employee, associate partner, partner, owner, manager, agent, or in any other capacity in any business within the Unites States and its protected Territories involving private investigation, security services, or personal interrogation for a period of ten years. Any private security or investigation businesses currently owned by the Employee must be dissolved prior to employment.
If I took this contract, Baylor Investigative Agency would cease to exist. And if I quit or was fired for any reason, I wouldn’t be able to support my family.
Augustine smiled at me. Funny; from this angle you couldn’t see his shark teeth at all.
If I took this deal, all of my years of hard work would be gone. The agency was my father’s legacy, but it was also so much more than that. It was a testament to our perseverance as a family.
As my dad’s health rolled downhill, the business had dwindled to nothing. He couldn’t work. My mother was focused on taking care of my father. When I thought back to that time, it was muted in my memories. Dark and oppressive, as if filmed through a blue filter by my brain. There was time before Dad got sick and then there was time after he died. Between that lay awful memories I was trying to forget in self-defense.
I couldn’t help Dad. I had made things worse. I had read a letter from his doctor, and he caught me and asked me to not tell anyone. I kept his secret for far too long. Had I spoken up sooner, he might have lived longer. When he was sick, I couldn’t reassure my sisters and cousins. Anything I could’ve said would have been a lie. We all knew the awful truth from the start. Dad was going to die. We fought for weeks, not years.
In that time, the only thing I could do was to step up and try to earn a little bit of extra money for us. I stepped onto the sinking ship that was Baylor Investigative Agency and plugged the holes one by one. I fought for every new client. I ferreted out every crumb of work we could get. And slowly the business started moving. It stumbled, lurching forward, but it was no longer standing still. Then, after Dad died, we all desperately needed something to hold on to. We were like runners who had run a long, grueling race, crossed the finished line, and didn’t know how to stop running. We needed a focus and the agency became that. It kept a roof over our heads and put food on our table. My sisters and cousins hadn’t asked for an allowance in the past three years because they earned it through the family business. If things ever went wrong for them in their adult life, the business would be there to provide some income. It would never make them rich, but it would pay the bills. It was there for all of us. It thrived now, living proof that we stood together as a family. We were all proud of it. My father had hoped it would take care of us and it did, in so many more ways than just money.
If I took Augustine’s offer, all of this would disappear. Yes, I would earn more money. Crazy money, the kind I would never see otherwise. But instead of earning their own money, the rest of the family would now depend on my handouts.
I wanted to get away from Rogan. I wanted it so badly. With this, I could.
What would I be doing for this money? Probably the exact thing my parents had fought so hard to keep me from doing: working for Augustine as a living lie detector. Making people curl into fetal positions on the floor as they wept after I violated their minds.
“That’s a very generous offer,” I said.
“No, it’s a fair offer. I’m a businessman, Nevada. I always watch my bottom line. This offer isn’t modest, but it isn’t generous either. It is, in my estimation, adequate and fair compensation for the valuable service you will provide to House Montgomery. Compensation which, I might add, will increase. There is so much I could do with your talent, Nevada. You have my word that I’ll never attempt to emotionally manipulate you. You have my word that I’ll never threaten your family or attempt to purchase all of your loans without your permission in some underhanded attempt to influence you.”
He had looked into my finances. Of course. He owned a private detective agency, after all. And he had looked into them so he could do the exact same thing that Rogan had done. Except Rogan had beat him to it.
“I offer a professional alliance, Nevada. A mutually beneficial partnership. If you scroll down, you will see a sign-on bonus. It will take care of your immediate debt obligations and permit you to put a down payment on a reasonable residence, should you choose to move out of the warehouse and begin a more independent lifestyle. Again, I’m not doing it as a charity. I’m doing it because I would like you to be professionally happy. In my experience, happy employees mean a stable, healthy business.”
He smiled again. “I understand that right now things are chaotic and this is a big decision. Take all the time you need. There is no expiration date on this offer.”
I smiled back at him, trying to show no emotion except light amusement. “You’re confident Rogan won’t offer me more?”
“He may offer you more. The question is, what will you be expected to do for that money?”
I raised my eyebrows at him.
“I didn’t mean a sexual engagement,” Augustine said. “Rogan may try to seduce you, but unless his personality has undergone a very drastic change, he’ll never pressure you into a sexual relationship against your will. Do you know what Rogan does for a living?”
“A great many things, from what I understand.”
“No, he owns many things. There is a difference. I also own a great many things, but I run MII. It’s my day-to-day business. Rogan is a warlord in a very real sense of the word. His people are mercenaries. He does have one of the best private armies in the world, I’ll give him that, and on the surface he does fun things with it like hostage rescue, security detail for aid workers, and stabilizing operations. However, we’re both adults. You know as well as I that the most profitable operations are rarely white knight affairs. Even more interesting is what he does in the city of Houston.”
“He owns a private security firm, from what I understand,” I said.
“He owns Castra. It’s an ancient Latin word for military fort. Every day Roman legionnaires would march twenty miles in full gear and then they would set up camp and build fortifications of dirt and timber around it before going to sleep. Castra is a shelter in an inhospitable land, a wall of protection impenetrable to outsiders. Rogan’s Castra provides security to Houses. Do you need to meet with your rival? Don’t trust him or your own people? Are you afraid of an ambush? Castra will secure the site for you. They are elite, expertly trained, and incorruptible. They are the reason why Rogan knows every major player in the Houston underworld and why he is well informed about most major feuds between the Houses. He takes time to cover his tracks really well. I know of it because I was involved in a complex transaction between two parties, secured by Castra, and I recognized one of his people.”
