Chapter 62 (Dealing with a Bully [Part 19]) – Negotiations

I walk briskly through the halls of the Fairchild School of Excellence. Daichi follows two steps behind me, his presence a comforting constant.

We reach the administrative wing, and I'm immediately greeted by the receptionist. I recognize him, he’s a polite young man, always smiling, always cheerful. He stands up quickly when he sees me, his professional smile widening with recognition. And he opens the door to the inner office without needing to be asked.

The door opens into another reception area, smaller but no less pretentious. A young woman I don’t recognize sits behind an ornate desk.

She stands immediately, smoothing down her blouse with a practiced motion, and leads us to the principal's office door, opening it with a flourish.

Two men are already inside, sitting on plush leather sofas arranged around a low wooden coffee table. It's early morning, barely past eight, but they're drinking whisky together. The amber liquid fills two beautiful square crystal glasses.

The fat one is Principal Douglas. I've only met him once before, shortly after he was hired this year to replace the previous principal. I have no idea why they made that change. The last man was decent. He was competent, principled, someone I could actually respect. We'd shared meals together, discussed education philosophy, bonded over our daughters' futures.

This one, though? From our first meeting, I could tell he was corrupt. He’s greedy, slimy, the kind of man who would sell his allegiance to the highest bidder without a second thought. The kind of administrator who views his position not as a calling but as an opportunity for profit.

And sitting next to him on the adjacent sofa is Silas Richardson.

Jack's father.

He’s roughly my age, maybe a year or two older. And handsome, with the kind of chiseled features and confident bearing that probably served him well in business negotiations. I've seen him multiple times before at social gatherings and conferences, always surrounded by sycophants and admirers. Though we've never had the chance to work together.

He's the one who speaks first, which tells me everything I need to know about the power dynamic in this room.

"Well, well! Satoru Inoue himself," Daichi translates smoothly. "Principal Douglas mentioned you wanted a meeting. Hope you don't mind that I crashed the party."

Of course the principal told him. The bastard probably called the moment I scheduled the appointment, eager to curry favor with the Richardson family. It's exactly what I expected, which is why I'm not surprised. If anything, this makes things simpler.

I take a seat on the remaining sofa, settling into the leather. Daichi remains standing beside me, positioned perfectly to translate while also remaining vigilant to any potential threats.

I respond in Japanese, keeping my voice even. "Your presence simplifies matters."

Daichi translates my words to English.

Silas launches into another stream of English, gesturing with his whisky glass. I watch his body language: the casual lean, the easy smile, the performative relaxation that's meant to make me feel off-balance.

Daichi's translation comes calm and clear: "So look, I know why you're here. My dumbass son got his ass kicked yesterday by some kid. Adam or something?" A pause as Silas continues. "Jack was going on and on about this 'hot piece of ass named Luna' before I figured out who the hell she was." Daichi's voice remains perfectly level even translating that vulgarity. "Gotta say though, I looked her up. Your daughter's a goddamn knockout."

I feel a spark of anger, though my expression doesn't change.

I've negotiated with warlords and crime bosses, with corporate raiders and corrupt politicians. Silas Richardson's crude provocations barely register on the scale of offensive things I've heard about my daughter.

But I make a mental note. This comment. The casual objectification. The deliberate disrespect. He's testing me, trying to provoke an emotional reaction.

Silas continues speaking, and Daichi translates: "Anyway, imagine my surprise when I find out the girl he's chasing is Luna Inoue. I specifically told that little shit to stay away from your family." Another pause. "But hey, don't worry about it. I'll beat his ass myself, and he won't go near your daughter again. Problem solved, yeah?"

He takes a sip of whisky, clearly pleased with himself. This is his opening offer, meaningless platitudes about punishments and vague promises about future behavior. It's insulting in its inadequacy.

We look at each other silently for a long moment.

I speak, keeping my tone flat and unimpressed. "Was that your offer? That’s pathetic."

Silas laughs. "Not good enough, huh? Fair." Silas leans forward slightly. "Oh, and hey, Jack seems to have lost his phone somewhere. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

I simply stare at him blankly. The question doesn't even deserve the dignity of an answer. He knows I have the phone. It’s the only reason he bothered to show up at all.

Silas chuckles at my non-response, saying something else. Daichi translates: "Yeah, figured. So what do you actually want, Satoru?"

Finally. The actual negotiation begins.

I speak clearly. "The three boys. Your son. His two accomplices. I want them dead."

The silence that follows is different from before. This isn't a tactical pause, this is genuine shock. Even Principal Douglas, who's been sitting quietly this whole time, shifts uncomfortably. I watch Silas's face carefully, reading the micro-expressions that cross it: surprise, calculation, a flicker of respect.

Then Silas laughs again, the sound filling the office. He speaks rapidly in English, his hands gesturing, and I wait patiently for Daichi's translation.

"Jesus Christ, you don't fuck around, do you?" Daichi translates, matching Silas's tone. "Come on, man. The boys didn't actually rape her or anything. They're just stupid teenagers who don't know where the line is. Hell, you've seen your daughter, can you really blame them for trying?"

Every muscle in my body wants to move. Wants to reach across this table and show Silas Richardson exactly what happens when you talk about my daughter that way. But I don't. I sit perfectly still, my face showing nothing.

Daichi continues translating seamlessly, though I can feel the anger radiating from him too. We've known each other for twenty years. He loves Luna like a niece.

I wait for Silas's actual terms. The crude words are just more provocation, more testing. He's trying to establish dominance through shock value, trying to make me reactive rather than strategic.

Silas continues speaking, and Daichi translates: "Tell you what. The two tagalongs? I could make them disappear. Tonight if you want. Cut 'em up, wrap 'em in a bow, have 'em on your doorstep by morning." He says it casually, like he's offering to have his assistant pick up lunch. "But Jack? No. He's my son. He's a Richardson. That's not happening."

I respond immediately. "Prison then."

Silas makes a dismissive sound, speaking rapidly, "A Richardson in prison? That's worse than killing him. The family name gets dragged through the mud, every business deal we've got falls apart because people think we're weak." A pause as Silas continues. "Look, I get that you're pissed. So here's my offer, one billion dollars. We make this go away, Jack stays the hell away from your daughter, and we both move on. Clean, simple, everybody wins."

One billion dollars.

He's lowballing me. Spectacularly. Insultingly.

And more importantly, I'm not here for money. I have money. What I want is consequences.

I speak again, my voice carrying absolute finality: "Money will not move me."

Silas laughs again, but this time when he stops, his eyes have gone cold. The friendly facade cracks just enough to reveal what's underneath, a man who's used to getting exactly what he wants, when he wants it, and doesn't appreciate being told no.  "You're really busting my balls here, Satoru."

Silas pauses, his fingers drumming against his whisky glass. When he speaks again, his tone has shifted to something more dangerous. "You know, I've been hearing about this Adam kid. Seems like a real hero, jumping in to save your daughter like that. Good friend of Luna's, right?"

I already know where he's going with this. It's predictable to the point of being cliché.

Silas takes another sip of whisky, letting the silence build deliberately. Then he continues speaking, "Thing is, people need to understand that you don't fuck with the Richardson family. We let this slide, we look soft. And if we look soft, every punk with a chip on his shoulder thinks they can take a swing at us." Another pause. "Maybe I need to send a message. Have the kid taken care of. And his family, I might need to add them to my collection.” He licks his lips, “And your daughter... well, America's not exactly the safest place for a pretty young girl. Lots of accidents can happen. Be a real shame if you weren't watching her close enough."

There it is. Threats against Adam, against his family, against Luna herself.

I smile. For the first time since entering this office, I let my expression shift into something genuine, a smile that shows exactly what I'm thinking, that lets just a hint of the madness underneath come through.

I speak again, my voice soft and amused: "So, that's it then? You want a war?"

Silas meets my gaze steadily, "Do I look scared to you?"

"No. But neither am I. So let's stop pretending these threats mean anything."

The tension in the room is thick enough to cut. Principal Douglas has gone very pale, apparently just now realizing that his office has become the staging ground for something well beyond his pay grade. Daichi remains perfectly still beside me, his stance shifting almost imperceptibly, ready to move if this turns physical.

Silas studies me for a long moment, then makes a small noise, half amusement, half acknowledgment. "Alright. Alright, fine. His two friends disappear, but I'm not killing my son and he's not going to prison. That's off the table completely."

Silas thinks for a moment, his fingers still drumming that same irritating pattern. "But you're right that he needs consequences. Real ones. So here's what I'll do, I pull him out of school for a year, send him to military training. The real shit, not some cushy officer program. He comes back disciplined or he doesn't come back at all. How's that?"

It's a better offer than the money, I'll give him that. Military service would be harsh for a spoiled child like Jack Richardson, would strip away some of his arrogance and sense of invulnerability. But it's also temporary, reversible, ultimately meaningless. He'd come back in a year, maybe slightly more disciplined, but fundamentally unchanged.

But something else catches my attention. The way Silas talks about his son. The casual dismissiveness. The complete lack of paternal concern or affection.

I've done my research on the Richardson family, of course. Jack is the youngest of three children, and by all accounts, the most disappointing: Mediocre grades despite the best tutors money can buy. No particular talents or ambitions beyond harassing girls and coasting on his family name. A liability more than an asset.

Silas doesn't actually care about Jack. Not really. He cares about the Richardson name, about maintaining the family's reputation and power. But Jack himself? He's expendable. Replaceable.

With this in mind, I state my new terms. "That’s not enough. If you won't allow legal consequences, then I require physical ones. Send him away for a year, but also, give me his arms. I don't want him laying a hand on another girl."

Silas laughs at that, loud and genuine. "Holy shit, you're a cold bastard! I love it! But no. I'll give you one arm. The left one. And you're right, he needs to learn there are lines even a Richardson can't cross. This'll do it."

There's something almost eager in the way Silas agrees. Like he's been waiting for an excuse to teach his disappointing youngest son a permanent lesson. Like this negotiation is doing him a favor, giving him justification for something he's wanted to do anyway.

I consider this carefully. One arm isn't what I asked for, but it's more than I expected to get. It's permanent, visible, a constant reminder of the consequences of his actions.

"That's acceptable. And Adam, his family, and Luna, leave them all alone."

Silas waves his hand dismissively, "Seriously? Adam? That random ass kid? Well yeah, sure, whatever. It's a deal."

"Good. And I'll be the one who takes the arm. We'll arrange a time and location."

Silas raises an eyebrow but shrugs, "You want to do it yourself? Fine by me. Give us a week though, Jack's spoiled as hell, he's gonna need some convincing before he accepts this."

Silas pulls out a business card from his jacket pocket and slides it across the coffee table, "Call me whenever. We'll set it up."

Then Silas stands, holding out his hand with that same easy smile he's worn throughout this entire grotesque negotiation. "Hell of a negotiation, Satoru. Pleasure doing business with a real professional."

I respond with perfect neutrality: "Likewise."