Jack didn’t need to read the letter. He’d expected it, even prepared for it. He knew what it said. He’d delivered a lot of such letters himself. The gold-plated watch lay over the envelope.
Your time has come.
The Old Man had always been dramatic.
“Hello Jack,” a calm voice came from the dark corner.
He recognized the voice.
“Ryan,” he said quietly “I figured you’d be the one.”
“Our so-called friendship isn’t a secret,” Ryan walked towards him. “And you know how much The Old Man loves drama.”
Jack turned back to the envelope and pocket watch on his desk. “That I do.”
Jack knew Ryan had a gun trained onto him, a silenced one, and ofcourse, leveled at his chest probably for greater body mass…
“Why?” jack asked finally.
“The last job. The Millers. You let the wife and the kids go.”
“But they were innocent!” Jack complained. “They didn’t know anything.”
Ryan smiled a sad, understanding smile. But his face didn’t betray his cold intentions. He was calm. He was in control. He was…. Ryan.
“No hard feelings, Jack. I get orders, just as you. The only difference is I follow ‘em.”
Ryan removed his hand from his coat, revealing a loaded gun, with a silencer and pointed at Jack’s face.
“That’s it? Don’t I get a dying wish?”
“Then do me a favor… as a friend,” Jack argued.
“What do you want?” Ryan asked.
He nodded towards the glass window. “Let me jump.”
“A bullet will be faster, merciful… and you’ll be just as dead.”
“Yes, I’ll be just as dead,” Jack agreed. “So let me jump, let me take my chances… maybe, I’ll grab a ledge, break into one of the floors below.”
“There are guys in the lobby, as well as on the street.”
“I know… but sometimes a shot, even though a million to one is better than certain death.”
Ryan looked into his eyes and nodded once. He lowered his gun.
“Here’s your shot.”
Jack took a few steps back, and then ran towards the large glass window in his office on the 30th floor. Ryan looked sadly at his attempt. But something caught his eye. Jack was pulling his suit back as he ran, his hands grasping a metallic object at his belly.
It looked like a ripcord, one that held a parchute.
“Sh*t,” Ryan hissed as Jack flew out the window.
The tick tock of his own golden clock with an envelope felt a lot closer.