Chapter 5 - A Visit to Westminster Street
The top floor of 400 Westminster Street was quiet, decorated in sterile gray carpeting, glass partitions, and slick brass light fixtures.
Curtis Hodge sat behind an oversized glass desk, swirling a glass of sparkling water while reviewing a pile of delinquent medical collection files. He was a thin, sleek man in his late forty, with sharply coiffed hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and an air of untouchable arrogance.
The heavy oak door to his private office suddenly burst open with a sharp CRACK.
The brass lock sheared off, splintering the frame as Dominic stepped inside, sweeping the room with a quick, practiced glance before stepping aside.
Michael Marchetti walked into the office.
He moved with calm, predatory grace, his heavy suit coat draped perfectly over his shoulders. He didn't look angry; he looked like a man inspecting a minor structural defect in a building he intended to demolish.
Curtis Hodge jumped out of his chair, his face instantly turning pale, his hand reaching reflexively for the desk telephone. "What is the meaning of this? You can't just barge into my—"
Michael walked straight up to the desk, grabbed the heavy glass landline phone, tore the cord from the wall with a single swift pull, and tossed it into the wastebasket.
He pulled out the high-backed leather chair across from Hodge, sat down, and crossed one tailored leg over the other.
"Sit down, Curtis," Michael said softly.
Hodge’s throat bobbed. He knew who Michael Marchetti was. Everyone in Providence who dealt in money knew the Marchetti name, and everyone knew that crossing Michael was a dangerous game with high stakes.
Hodge slowly sank back into his leather chair, trying desperately to regain his composure. "Mr. Marchetti... if this is about the commercial lease on the Federal Hill properties, my firm was entirely within its rights—"
"I’m not here about real estate, Curtis," Michael interrupted, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. "I’m here about employee number three-seventeen."
Hodge blinked behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "Employee... I don't know what you're talking about."
Michael reached into his pocket, pulled out a thick envelope, and tossed it onto the glass desk. The flap fell open, revealing a thick stack of certified bank checks and legal release documents.
"That is seven thousand two hundred dollars," Michael said. "It covers the entire balance owed by Faye Delaney, including your extortionate late charges."
Hodge stared at the envelope, then looked up at Michael, a flicker of slick confidence returning to his eyes. "Ah. Miss Delaney. She was... delinquent on her mother's care facility fees. I was simply representing the primary lender. It was purely business, Michael."
Michael leaned forward, resting his forearms on the glass desk. The proximity allowed Hodge to see the dark, dangerous intensity in Michael’s eyes, and the intricate ink tracing up his neck.
"Calling a terrified twenty-seven-year-old girl at two in the morning on her dead sister's recycled phone number isn't business, Curtis," Michael said softly. "That’s cruelty. Threatening to throw an invalid woman onto the street at eight AM while her daughter scrubs my kitchen floor isn't finance. It’s an insult to my house."
Hodge swallowed hard, cold sweat breaking out across the back of his collar. "She owed the money—"
"She owes nothing now," Michael said, pointing a single long finger at the papers. "Sign the full release. Dissolve the lien. Hand over every original file you have on the Delaney family."
Hodge hesitated for two seconds.
Michael didn't raise his voice. He simply raised his hand and made a tiny gesture toward Dominic standing at the door. Dominic took two steps forward, his hand slipping inside his dark leather coat.
Hodge’s nerve snapped instantly. He grabbed a pen with a shaking hand, pulled the papers toward him, and signed his name across four different release lines. He scrambled under his desk, pulled out a beige file folder labeled DELANEY, FAYE & KAREN, and pushed it across the glass.
"It's all there!" Hodge gasped, his breathing ragged. "Every note, every ledger entry! It's done! The debt is wiped!"
Michael picked up the folder, verified the contents, and stood up. He buttoned his suit jacket with calm deliberate movements.
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"If you ever call Karen Delaney again," Michael said quietly, looking down at the terrified man, "if you or your collectors go within five hundred yards of her, her mother, or her workplace... I won't send money next time, Curtis. I’ll send Dominic."
Michael turned and walked out of the office, leaving Curtis Hodge shaking behind his glass desk in the ruin of his broken doorway.
