Counterfeit Love

"It did. And it didn't."

"You're an open book, huh?" I teased.

"Growing up, I had this best friend. Ryan. A year younger than me, but the only kid close to my age in the neighborhood. Had a fucked up family life too. We used to slip out after school to avoid our parents, raising as much hell as we could. Rough and tumble kids became pain in the ass teenagers. Ryan figured out I had a knack for faking shit. I signed all our detention slips, our bad report cards, made fake notes to get us out of class."

"Oh, geez. What did you two hatch up?"

"This was a while back. Checks were still used all the time. We did a little research and hatched up a small check fraud operation. Not a lot. We were two broke-ass kids who just wanted a little pocket change. Everything was fine."

"Until?" I prompted.

"Until his brother found out. He was a couple years older than us. Hungry to get out of the shitty neighborhood we were all raised in, wanting to move up in the world."

I had a feeling I knew exactly where he was going.

"Ewan O'neal."

"That would be him," he agreed, sighing.

I really had no idea where this story was going, but I suddenly felt terrible for using a sore spot from his past against him. Even if I had only done it as an empty threat, and had no real desire to call some guy to come and get him because he wasn't cooperating.

"He forced you and his brother into something bigger," I guessed.

"He was how I started the money thing. Small shit at first. Couldn't even pass an eye test. The design was fine. But the ink and paper? Christ," he said, shaking his head at himself, reaching up to rake a hand through his messy hair. "We used fucking printer paper back then. Printer paper."

"You were a kid."

"I was old enough to do a little research. But yeah, lots of trial and error. And I figured out you improve a lot under pressure."

"I don't know how to ask this question without it sounding like I am somehow... victim-blaming," I admitted, shaking my head.

"You want to know why I did it. Why Ryan and I both did it. If we didn't want to."

"Yeah."

"At first, because he was convincing, was promising the world. And at that point, I'd lost my grandparents, so all I had left was my dad who was always chasing the bottom of a bottle. Bills weren't getting paid. Food wasn't getting bought. I saw a chance to make something of my own. I wasn't great at school. I didn't see any other chances to make something out of my life at that point. And Ewan made it sound all so easy."

"Sure," I agreed, nodding. "Because you were the one doing all the work, not him."

"Yeah. Took me a long fucking time to see that."

"Where did it all go wrong?"

"The night me and Ryan got locked up," he told me.

"What happened?"

"We got jumped by someone who found out what we'd been up to, wanting the cash they knew we carried on us all the time. Shit got crazy. One guy ended up dead. Cops found us.

We got hauled in. I kept my mouth shut. But Ryan confessed. He got twenty. I got eight. Ewan thought I pointed the finger for the lighter sentence. Didn't give a fuck about the truth."

"So Ryan is still serving time?"

"Ryan got killed six months in."

"Oh, Finch," I said, my heart breaking for him. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. It didn't get to me for a long time. But that was rough. Didn't give a fuck about Ewan. But Ryan was like a brother to me. Somewhere along my stretch, Ewan found another artist. And since he didn't need me anymore, he got a message to me that he was going to make me pay for what I did to his brother."

"That's why he's after you?"

"It's part of it. The rest came from after I got out. A lot of rivalry that ended up with a fire at my place, a drive-by, and finally, a fight that ended up with his counterfeiter dead and a bullet wedged in Ewan's heart. He ended up living. And, as you can imagine, he's ready to even shit out."

"You've led a wild life," I concluded.

Objectively, I led a somewhat crazy life since coming to Navesink Bank.

I got adopted by an MC vice president and the leader of a paramilitary camp that I lived and worked at and would take over one day. I dealt on a daily basis with men and women who carried out covert missions, did insane jobs.

That said, I only ever organized them. I oversaw them. Right there from my safe little bubble.

"It's why I plan to retire young. Drink on the beach somewhere."