Man in the Mirror

CHAPTER 3: THE OFFER

The diner was half-empty when Stephen walked in the next morning. Grease on glass. Coffee steam. The kind of place where nobody asked questions because nobody cared enough to.

Damian Cross sat in a corner booth, sunglasses on despite the cloudy morning. A gold watch glimmered on his wrist, same one that had flashed in Stephen’s face last night.

Same grin too, only softer now, painted with sympathy. “Stephen Brooke,” Damian said, rising halfway as if greeting an old friend. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

Stephen slid into the booth opposite him. “You said you could help.”

“I can.” Damian signaled to the waitress. “Two coffees. Black.”

He turned back with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Rough night?”

Stephen said nothing. “Look,” Damian continued, leaning in. “What happened at the party, that was ugly. Alina shouldn’t have done that. She’s... emotional.”

“She’s a liar,” Stephen said flatly.

“Maybe.” Damian shrugged. “But she’s also scared. Her family’s been bleeding money. Patrick’s overextended. Their business? Crumbling. They just don’t know it yet.”

Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “What does that have to do with me?”

Damian smiled wider. “Everything.”

The waitress dropped their coffees off and vanished. Damian stirred his like it mattered. “You were a mechanic once, right? Hands-on guy. Honest work.”

“Still am.”

“Yeah,” Damian said softly. “And honest men don’t last long in this city. You want to change your life? Stop trying to fix things that were built to break.”

Stephen leaned forward. “What are you offering?”

Damian’s grin turned businesslike. “A seat at the table.”

He pulled a folded document from his jacket, crisp, thick paper with embossed lettering. Titan Automotive Logistics.

“Partnership,” Damian said. “Small stake. You help me run a fleet maintenance arm. I handle investors. You handle operations. You’ll double your income in six months.”

Stephen hesitated. “Why me?”

“Because,” Damian said, sipping his coffee, “you still believe in people. And I need someone people trust.”

“Or someone you can use.”

“Same thing,” Damian replied easily. “Look, you’re smart, but you’ve been playing too small. Alina might’ve laughed at you, but she was right about one thing, you’ve got more heart than sense.”

Stephen’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need your charity.”

“This isn’t charity. It’s revenge disguised as opportunity.”

Stephen frowned. “Revenge on who?”

“The system,” Damian said, smirking. “On the people who think we’re beneath them.”

He slid the papers closer. “You sign this, and in three months you’ll be making more money than Patrick Moore ever dreamed of.”

Stephen stared at the bold letters, the neat legalese that smelled like temptation. “Why now?”

Damian’s voice lowered. “Because I like you, Brooke. You’ve got loyalty written all over you, the kind that makes you dangerous in the right hands.”

Stephen pushed the paper back. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too long,” Damian warned. “Opportunities have expiration dates. Especially the kind that can rewrite your story.”

Stephen stood to leave. “Hey,” Damian called after him, “whatever you decide… don’t let pride starve you.”

Stephen turned slightly. “You should worry more about choking on yours.”

Damian chuckled. “Touché.”

Outside, the city was waking up, horns, chatter, and the low hum of struggle. Stephen walked until the diner faded behind him. His hands shook; his thoughts louder than the noise.

A seat at the table. Partnership. Money. Control. But behind Damian’s charm, he’d seen something slick, the kind of smile that hid sharp teeth.

Still, the word revenge lingered. Not against the system. Against them. He needed a win. Just one. By the time night fell, he was sitting at his desk in the small apartment, the contract open in front of him.

Rain tapped the window again, always rain. Always reminders. His phone buzzed.

Patrick: Heard you met Damian today. Told you the man knows how to make things happen. Don’t overthink it, little bro. Just say yes.

He stared at the message, reread it, and something cold crept up his spine. Patrick knew. They were all in this circle, whispering while he drowned.

He closed his eyes. Alina’s laughter echoed again, cruel and careless. When he opened them, his expression was carved in stone. He picked up a pen. And signed.

Three weeks later, the partnership launched. Stephen found himself in a warehouse office, papers, engines, shipments, and a constant churn of invoices.

He worked day and night, every cent earned feeling like a piece of redemption. Damian praised him constantly. “You’re the reason this thing’s running so smooth, Brooke.”

“You’ve got instincts. Real grit.”

“You keep this up, I’ll make you partner for real.”

Stephen believed him. Because he wanted to. But then, little things started to crack. Invoices that didn’t match deliveries. Checks delayed. Calls unanswered.

One morning, he opened the account statement, his name on the company letterhead, but not on the deposits. His section had been moved under a different ownership entity. Damian’s.

He called immediately. “It’s a restructuring,” Damian said smoothly over the phone. “Standard stuff. Don’t worry, your profits are rolling into a new fund.”

“Without my signature?”

“Paperwork lag. You’ll see it all soon.”

Stephen didn’t sleep that night. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

A week later, Patrick showed up at the warehouse with his usual grin. “Heard you’re moving up in the world, Stevie. Big boss now, huh?”

Stephen eyed him. “What are you doing here?”

“Meeting Damian. We got some new investors sniffing around. You’ll love this one, it’s your wife’s uncle. Small world, huh?”

Stephen’s stomach turned. “Since when are you working with Damian?”

Patrick smirked. “Since before you signed that contract. I told him you’d be perfect. Reliable. Easy to guide.”

The air thickened. “You set me up,” Stephen said quietly.

“Nah, I set you up,” Patrick said with a wink. “See the difference?”

Stephen’s fist tightened, veins pulsing. Patrick leaned closer. “Don’t take it personal, bro. You were never built for this level. You’re a tool, and tools don’t complain when they’re used.”

He tapped Stephen’s shoulder twice and walked off laughing. That night, Stephen went back to the office alone. The books didn’t lie, money had been siphoned, accounts rerouted, and every document he’d signed gave Damian full control.

And his name? Listed as the only authorized liability guarantor. If the company fell, he took the fall.

He scrolled through the last email Damian had sent. A short message, no greeting, no signature, just a line of text. “Good men make the best cover stories.”

His chest tightened. Betrayal layered over betrayal until it felt suffocating. Then his phone rang again, Alina’s name flashing on screen.

He stared at it for a long time before answering. “Stephen,” her voice cracked through static. “They’re saying the company’s under investigation. What did you do?”

“What did I do?” he said, voice cold. “Ask your brother.”

“Patrick? He said you”

“Don’t,” Stephen cut her off. “Don’t defend him again.”

“Stephen, you have to get out before”

The call cut. A dead line. Static. He tried calling back, no signal. Then, from outside, headlights swept across the warehouse windows. Two black sedans. Unmarked. Slow.

Men stepped out, dark suits, moving with purpose. Stephen froze.

His computer screen blinked — a new email notification:

SUBJECT: TERMINATION OF CONTRACT

FROM: Titan Holdings Legal Affairs

BODY: Effective immediately. You are hereby released from your position. Pending investigation for fraud and embezzlement.

His name was there, stamped and bold. Every document. Every signature. And below it, a single attachment, a video file labeled EVIDENCE.

He clicked it open. The screen lit up with grainy footage, him handing off a briefcase to someone in an alley. Only it wasn’t him. The face had been altered. The date forged. A perfect setup.

Outside, the men started knocking, heavy, official, final. Stephen’s reflection stared back at him from the dark screen, rain on glass, panic in his eyes, and the faint echo of Damian’s laughter in his head.

“Honest men don’t last long in this city…”

The knocking grew louder. He looked once more at the contract, the ring box still on the desk beside it, and whispered: “Then it’s time they meet what’s left of one.”

The door burst open.