For the first week, things went well. Too well, in fact. We were expanding. My three employees—The Tank, The Face, and The Breaker—were bringing in revenue faster than Tommy "The Gut" could count it. But success breeds arrogance. And arrogance is a liability that the market always, always corrects.
Incident Report #1: The Failed Tank Location: 5th Street Alley, near the barber shops.
Daniel stopped in front of a shop window. He wasn't looking at the merchandise; he was looking at the most important thing in the world: himself. He smoothed back his gelled hair and adjusted the collar of his new Off-White jacket—a purchase made with his very first paycheck (plus a small loan from a payday lender because he lacks impulse control).
"Perfection," Daniel whispered to his reflection. "I was born for this life. Look at that aura. I’m not just a mobster; I’m a brand ambassador for violence."
He pulled out his phone to check the lighting. It was terrible. He frowned, making a mental note to threaten the barber later for having "unflattering signage." He felt like a lion patrolling the savanna. He had spent the morning bullying small-time pushers—teenagers mostly—using his size to scare them off our turf. It was easy work. It fed his ego. It made him feel invincible.
He didn't realize that while he was strutting like a peacock, he had wandered into the territory of the "Iron Spiders."
"Hey! Big guy!" A voice shouted from the end of the alley.
Daniel turned slowly, practicing his "menacing glare" in his head. "Do you know who I am?" Daniel puffed out his chest, looming over the biker who had spoken. "I am The Bulldozer! I am the new King of—"
He stopped. Behind the first biker, nineteen others stepped out from the shadows. They weren't teenagers. They were grown men with beards, tattoos, and very heavy-looking baseball bats.
"Oh," Daniel’s voice squeaked. It was a very un-kingly sound.
"Get him!" the leader shouted.
The mob rushed forward. A real street fighter—or even a competent bouncer—would have put his back to the wall, raised his guard, and swung. Daniel did neither. As the first bat swung towards him, Daniel didn't think about defense. He thought about his receipt.
THWACK.
The bat connected with his ribs. "OW!" Daniel shrieked, stumbling back. "Watch the jacket! It’s dry-clean only! Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of Egyptian cotton?!"
The bikers paused for a second, confused by this priority. Then they resumed the beating. "Not the face!" Daniel curled into a fetal ball on the dirty asphalt, covering his head with his manicured hands. "Please! I have a facial appointment tomorrow! My nose cost five thousand dollars! Don't touch the merchandise! Aaaaah!"
He was being kicked like a soccer ball. The "Bulldozer" was nothing but a pile of expensive laundry whimpering on the ground. He wasn't defeated by pain; he was defeated by the fear of depreciation.
Then, a shadow fell over the alley. Tiger Benny walked in. He was holding a family-sized bag of potato chips.
Benny didn't say a word. He didn't drop his chips. He simply walked up to the biker leader, who was winding up for a home run swing at Daniel’s head. Benny caught the bat mid-swing with his free hand.
CRACK.
He kicked the leader’s knee backward. The sound was sickening, like a dry branch snapping in winter. The other nineteen bikers froze. The alley went silent, save for the crunching sound of Benny chewing a chip. He looked at them with dead, sleepy eyes, crumbs on his chin.
He took a step forward. The bikers looked at their screaming leader, then at the monster who was more interested in sodium than violence.
They ran. They dropped their bats and ran.
Daniel peeked out from between his arms, sobbing, mascara running down his cheeks. "Benny... sniff... look at my sleeve... there’s a smudge..."
Benny looked down at the giant sobbing baby. "Weak," Benny mumbled, offering Daniel a chip.
Incident Report #2: The Corrupt Auditor Location: Wang’s Grocery Store.
While Daniel was crying over his fashion tragedy, Gara was busy destroying our reputation in a different way. He leaned on the counter of Mr. Wang’s small grocery store, spinning his wrench like a fidget spinner. He looked solemn, grave, like a doctor delivering bad news.
"I don't make the rules, Mr. Wang," Gara shook his head sadly. "It’s macroeconomics. Global inflation. Supply chain issues."
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
"Supply chain?" Mr. Wang trembled, clutching a can of tuna. "But... the agreement with Mr. Gats was $500 a month! You are asking for $800!"
"That was the 'Basic Package'," Gara lied smoothly, tapping the glass counter. "But haven't you seen the news? There’s a geopolitical conflict... uh... somewhere. It’s driving up the price of baseball bats and gasoline. The 'Police Bribe Index' has risen by 12% this quarter alone!"
Gara leaned in, pointing out the window at the beat-up Cadillac parked outside. "See that vehicle? That is a Tactical Command Unit. It gets four miles to the gallon. To protect you from the Iron Spiders, we need to upgrade you to the 'Premium Security Tier'. That includes rapid response, 24/7 surveillance, and... emotional support."
He dropped his voice to a whisper. "If you stick with the Basic Package... I can't guarantee that a brick won't accidentally fly through this window. Glass is very expensive these days, Mr. Wang. Tariffs, you know?"
It was a shake-down. Plain and simple. Gara was pocketing the $300 difference.
He didn't notice the large shadow looming behind the aisle of canned beans. Daniel, nursing a bruise on his cheek and looking vengeful, held up his iPhone 17 Pro Max. "Gotcha," Daniel whispered, recording in 4K resolution. "Let’s see what the Boss thinks about 'Premium Tiers'."
The Disciplinary Hearing Location: The Lucky Shot Pool Hall.
The atmosphere in the pool hall was colder than a morgue. Even the flies seemed to have stopped buzzing out of respect for the tension. I sat at the main table, slowly polishing my glasses with a microfiber cloth.
In front of me stood my two "star" employees. Daniel, looking disheveled and bruised. Gara, looking nervous and sweaty.
"He’s a thief!" Daniel shouted, pointing a finger at Gara. "I have video evidence! He’s stealing from the company! He told Mr. Wang about a 'Geopolitical Bat Shortage'!"
"Oh, shut up, you weeping willow!" Gara snapped back, baring his teeth. "At least I bring in extra revenue! You got beat up by a bunch of bikers! I heard you crying for your mommy! 'Not the face, not the face!'"
"It was twenty guys!" Daniel yelled, his face turning red. "And I have sensitive skin! My dermatologist says I bruise like a peach!"
"SILENCE."
I didn't shout. I simply spoke. The word hung in the air like a guillotine blade. I put my glasses back on. I looked at them.
In my head, a SWOT Analysis chart appeared.
- Daniel: Strength: Physique. Weakness: Fragile mental state. He views his body as an ornament, not a tool. He is a 'Depreciating Asset'.
- Gara: Strength: Cunning. Weakness: Greed. He prioritizes short-term scams over long-term client retention. He is an 'Embezzlement Risk'.
If I didn't correct these market failures now, my organization would be bankrupt within the quarter. A startup cannot carry dead weight.
"You act like children," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "And in the corporate world, children are liabilities."
I stood up and walked over to Gara. "Gara. You extorted a client with unauthorized fees. Do you know what happens when you overcharge a customer?"
Gara stammered. "Profit?"
"Churn," I corrected him coldly. "They leave. They go to the police. They hire a cheaper gang. You traded long-term stability for a quick $300. That is poor financial planning."
I held out my hand. "Give it to me."
Gara swallowed hard. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled bills. "It... it was just a tip, Boss."
"It is now a fine," I pocketed the money. "And for the next month, your commission is cut by 50%. The funds will go toward Mr. Wang’s store as a 'Loyalty Rebate'. If you lie to a client again, I will let Benny fix your car. While you are inside it."
Gara paled. "Understood, Boss."
I turned to Daniel. He smirked, thinking he had won. "And you." The smirk vanished.
"You have the body of a god and the fighting spirit of a hamster," I said. "You embarrassed the organization. You let yourself get hurt because you were worried about... clothes."
I pointed to the corner, where Benny was sleeping on a bench. "Benny."
Benny opened one eye. "Yeah?"
"Daniel is yours," I ordered. "Every morning. 5:00 AM. MMA and Karate conditioning. Full contact."
Daniel’s eyes widened in horror. "Boss! No! He breaks people! He’s an animal! Look at his hands! They’re made of stone!"
"He is your trainer," I said, turning my back on them to check my ledger. "If you can't take a punch, Daniel, you are useless to me as a Tank. You have two weeks to toughen up. Or you’re fired."
I paused, then added. "Benny."
"Yeah?"
"Don't break his bones permanently. We need him walking."
Benny sat up. He looked at Daniel and cracked his knuckles. A slow, terrifying smile appeared on his face. "Okay... Toy."
Daniel whimpered.
The Shadow
While my team was learning the hard lessons of corporate discipline, Tommy "The Gut" was in his back office, watching us through the blinds. He was sweating. The cheap cigar in his mouth had gone out minutes ago.
He saw how Benny listened to me. He saw how Gara feared me. And he saw how Daniel looked at me with newfound respect (and terror). He realized he wasn't the boss anymore. He was just a landlord waiting to be evicted.
"Too smart," Tommy muttered to himself, his hand shaking as he poured a drink. "The four-eyes is getting too comfortable. He thinks he runs this place."
He reached for his burner phone to call a hitman. His finger hovered over the dial button. But then, he stopped. He looked at the thick stack of cash Gats had brought in earlier that week. Why kill the goose that lays the golden eggs? Not yet. First, he would pluck it. He would break its spirit.
He put the phone down and opened his desk drawer. He pulled out a dusty, coffee-stained file labeled "The Black Apartment - Uncollectible Debts." It was a suicide mission. Three of his previous collectors had gone there. One came back without teeth. The other two didn't come back at all.
A nasty, greedy smile spread across Tommy's face. "You want to play businessman, Gats?" Tommy whispered. "Let’s see how you handle a hostile work environment."
He grabbed a red marker. He pulled out Gats' employment contract. With a cruel stroke, he crossed out the line that said "20% Commission." He wrote "5%" next to it.
"Time for a corporate restructuring," Tommy chuckled, raising his glass to the empty room. "Welcome to the real world, kid."
End of Chapter 4
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