Eye of a Needle

After a moment’s hesitation, John pulled out a chair for himself and sat in it. It was incredibly comfortable, unlike the rest of his environment. Every corner was filled to the brim with bright white and silver detailing that seemed purposefully designed to cause some degree of blindness with how strongly it reflected light. It almost made it feel as though the sun was out, even though he knew that wouldn’t be the case for a couple more hours. What made this worse was the chandelier above and table in front of him, which were both filled with a series of fine crystals that reflected light directly into his eyes no matter how much he shifted his seat. Evidently, Lee Adams enjoyed having his guests alert and awake.

Adams himself didn’t seem particularly disturbed by his presence nor did any of the contours of his face give away any hint of emotion. Despite how all of their lives had been made into something utterly terrifying, before him sat a man without any fear.

“Thank you for letting me in,” John began, wanting to be careful that he didn’t forget his manners.

“It’s not a problem in the slightest, especially given the predicament we find ourselves in,” Adams replied. He picked up a wineglass off of the table and took a sip. “Can I get you some food, by any chance?”

John, realizing that he was hungry, answered, “That sounds lovely, thank you.” After he’d spoken his answer, it hit him just how exhausted he was as he sat in chair. In spite of himself, he could almost see him falling asleep if he weren’t here on business.

Adams snapped his fingers, spoke to a servant, and then returned his attention to his guest. “To what, might I ask, do I owe the pleasure?”

He was thankful for the distraction from his exhaustion and took the journal out from his pocket. “I thought you might be able to give me some answers.” He slid it across the table to his host.

Adams briefly examined both covers of the journal before opening it. As he began to read, John tried his best to scan Adams’ face for any sort of reaction. Either the man was as emotive as a computer or his fatigue was getting in the way of his ability to read others beyond the surface level. As Adams turned page after page, the most John understood was that he was mildly interested in the words he was reading.

When he had finished reading, Adams closed the journal, returned it to John, and said, “Well, that was certainly interesting.”

With a nod, John replied, “That’s about what I thought when I read it.” When Adams didn’t say anything, he asked, “Was there anything else?”

“Well, I think the one responsible for our undesired fashion accessories is the author of the journal and that it’s likely a truthful account, but there’s very little else I could glean from it.” He took another sip of wine. “I take it, however, that the mention of my name is why you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, that’s exactly why. I don’t see why else he’d mention you unless you happened to know something about him.”

“If you think that I’m affiliated with this imbecilic game of his, I encourage you to cease that line of thinking immediately,” Adams said while setting down his glass with a degree of force which said the rest of his message for him.

John picked up the journal briefly and contemplated his next move, trying his best to fight the exhaustion creeping into his mind. “Well, at the very least, since I’m a writer at heart, I’ll want to write about this whole situation once it’s over.”

“I’d assume so.”

“Because of that, I’d want to write about the man behind this game, who still remains an enigma to us all.”

“Yes, yes, get to the point.”

John cleared his throat. His interest in the journal made little sense to him – perhaps it was the result of his increasing tiredness – but he felt like he still had to get to the bottom of this particular mystery. “Do you mind telling me about your relationship with Gallagher? It might at least help me understand why he would mention you in a journal like this.”

With a sigh, Adams spoke. “Very well. I met him around the same time most people did, when his company was first taking off. He wanted to purchase a large plot of land several miles away from any major city centers. He ended up purchasing one not too far from the one you’re standing in now. I thought nothing of it, particularly since it wasn’t very highly valued. I assumed that his company, like many other start-ups that become highly successful in a short amount of time, would go under quickly and he’d be selling it back to me all too soon. This, of course, didn’t happen, but hindsight is… well, you know.

“After that, Gallagher and I maintained a rather close business relationship. I was able to sell him a new building for his company headquarters as it expanded and assisted in any needs he had when it came to construction. He, in turn, let me invest in a few smaller departments of his company which he viewed as both profitable and in alignment with my company’s interests. He was both young and business savvy, something which is increasingly rare in the modern age. I grew to respect him, both as a business partner and a fellow man in the world of commerce.

“But there was always something off about him.” Adams said those final words with a harsher, more grave tone than the rest.

“Off?” John asked. He had been taking notes in spare pages of the journal and stopped briefly.

“Yes, ever so slightly. There was always this… undercurrent of anger, almost hatred, within him, at all times. It didn’t matter how genuine his smile seemed, he always appeared to have a particular sort of anger which I knew was directed at me. I never knew why, but I could assume it’s for the same reason I have this infernal machine on my wrist.” He let out another sigh. “Our relationship was still cordial, but no amount of prodding or investigation via any means would get me an answer.”

“How did you know that he was angry at you, though?” John inquired.

“I’m incredibly good at reading people,” Adams answered with an unnaturally long grin. “You don’t spend this long in the world of real estate without learning how people operate. I can tell a fake smile from a mile away, but his always had something about them that was almost otherworldly.”

“Fascinating,” John mumbled. “What about his childhood or family? Did you ever learn anything about that?”

“Of course not,” Adams said, shaking his head. “I didn’t know a thing until you allowed me to read that journal of his.”

There was something about this that bothered John. In fact, there was something about every single piece of it that bothered him. The further he looked, the more questions he had, but at the very least, he knew that Gallagher had some personal reason for enlisting Adams as a player. It was everyone else in this grand scheme of his that made a lot less sense. The more he thought about it, it was actually the scheme itself that didn’t make sense. Gallagher was the American Dream come true; the sort of rags to riches story countless films and novels are made out of. Why would he keep it a secret? Above all else, what purpose did this game serve? A game where all of a person’s assets were up for grabs so long as they were killed or arrested sounded like-

When it finally clicked, John abruptly stood up from his seat. He might not have been good at reading the man’s face, but he could tell that he’d startled Adams more than a little bit.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“No, not at all,” John replied. “There’s just something I remembered. Thanks for your time and hospitality, though.”

Adams gestured for him to stop as John began to walk out of the dining room. “Oh, please stay, my chef makes the most wonderful steak! We’ll be having dessert later!”

John stopped at the entryway between the dining room and one of the adjacent rooms, making sure that him and Adams’ gazes were locked. With all of the conviction he held in his soul, he said, “'It is a truly sad thing to say, that we live in such a world that love cannot usually be given without an asterisk attached at the end.' I intend on making sure the people I love know I value them. I hope that you can do the same.”

Without another word, he continued to make his way towards the exit.