Chapter 3: Brothers and Betrayal

When Tony Daniels called, I was driving, taking a client up into the hills. Tony was clearly drunk, slurring his words.

His voice came through Bluetooth, thick and mean, full of old grudges. “Charlie, don’t act like I never helped you. I’m your damn brother, remember?”

“Screw you,” I said, hanging up and immediately blocking his number.

The cold silence afterward hit hard, broken only by the sound of the tires humming over cracked asphalt. In the rearview mirror, the mother and daughter in the back seat looked nervous. I could only nod apologetically. It wasn’t their fault for being scared—I’m an intimidating guy, way taller and bigger than most people. Ever since I was young, folks said I looked like a linebacker or some outlaw from an old Western. Lately, I haven’t kept up my appearance, my face covered in stubble, making the resemblance even stronger.

I caught my own eyes in the mirror—tired, guarded. People think big guys are walls, but we crack too.