Chapter 7 - KAYLA WALKED AWAY, AND GUNTHER DISCOVERED THAT WANTING HER BACK DID NOT GIVE HIM THE RIGHT TO FOLLOW
Gunther lasted nine days before asking Victor where Kayla worked.
Victor stared.
“You told me not to monitor her.”
“I’m asking.”
“That is monitoring with extra steps.”
Gunther glared.
Victor smiled.
“Growth is ugly on you.”
Gunther did not find out.
He could have.
One phone call.
License plate.
Payroll.
Credit report.
Nothing in his world was truly private if he chose otherwise.
So he chose otherwise.
That was harder than dismantling clubs.
Kayla eventually called him herself.
“Sam wants to talk.”
Not romantic.
Still enough.
They met at a community legal office.
Sam Hughes was twenty-eight.
Lean.
One leg permanently weakened.
Metal brace under jeans.
Gunther had seen medical reports.
Seeing man was different.
Sam did not shake hand.
Good.
“You owned Northstar.”
“Nineteen percent indirectly.”
“Do not use percentage to make it smaller.”
Gunther nodded.
“Woods entities benefited.”
“Yes.”
“You accelerated night freight.”
Gunther thought.
“Yes.”
“Which made supervisors skip maintenance.”
“I didn’t order skipped maintenance.”
Sam’s eyes hardened.
“I didn’t say you did.”
There.
Gunther caught himself.
Defending before accusation.
“I pushed volume.”
“Yes.”
“Your organization created pressure.”
“Yes.”
“My brake report should have been handled.”
“Yes.”
“Your people covered it.”
“Yes.”
Sam stared.
“Why are you agreeing?”
“Because it’s true.”
That angered him more.
“You think saying yes fixes it?”
“No.”
Good.
Sam’s lawyer outlined demands for independent compensation class covering workers injured under Northstar conditions.
Medical support.
Lost wages.
Record correction.
Public acknowledgment.
Safety overhaul.
Gunther agreed to mediation.
Not blank check.
Structured.
Independent.
Kayla watched silently.
Later outside:
“You did okay.”
“High praise.”
“You didn’t buy him.”
“I wanted to.”
“I know.”
Gunther looked at her.
“How’s your job?”
She smiled.
“Good.”
He waited.
No more questions.
She noticed.
“Do you want to ask where?”
“Yes.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“Because you’ll tell me if you want.”
Kayla’s expression softened.
There.
They got coffee.
Not date.
They told themselves.
Two months later, coffee again.
Then lunch.
Gunther never sent a car without asking.
Never paid her brother.
Never checked her schedule.
He failed sometimes.
One evening Kayla said she was walking home after late shift.
Gunther immediately sent two men.
She saw them.
Called.
“Remove them.”
“There was a robbery three blocks away.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Remove them.”
He hated it.
“Kayla.”
“Gunther.”
He called men back.
Then sat awake furious at himself.
Next morning:
“I’m sorry.”
She answered:
“You were scared.”
“Yes.”
“That explains.”
“Doesn’t excuse.”
He stared.
“You’ve become annoying.”
“You hired me.”
“Victor did.”
She laughed.
Their first real date came six months after resignation.
Kayla chose restaurant.
Not his.
Small Greek place.
No private room.
One security agent outside after agreement because Gunther still had credible threats.
She wore green dress.
Gunther stared too long.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“You look…”
He stopped.
Kayla had spent life hearing people describe body before person.
Curvy.
Heavy.
Soft.
Too slow.
Too big.
Gunther knew that now.
“You look happy.”
That surprised her.
“I am.”
Good answer.
They talked about everything except crime first hour.
Sam.
Her childhood.
Gunther’s mother.
Why he hated mornings with women.
Kayla asked:
“Why?”
He thought.
“My father.”
“What?”
“Affairs.”
Arthur Woods had women constantly.
Gunther grew up watching them leave breakfast rooms pretending not to exist.
His mother knew.
Endured.
Gunther began associating romantic mornings with humiliation.
So he created arrangements where no one stayed until morning.
He called it control.
Really avoidance.
“Did you cheat?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I never gave anyone enough relationship to cheat on.”
Kayla smiled sadly.
“That is not necessarily healthier.”
“No.”
“Jacqueline?”
“Arrangement.”
“Did she know?”
“Yes.”
“Did she want more?”
“Probably.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then ending it was fair.”
“Watch?”
“Stupid.”
“Typed note?”
“Cowardly.”
Gunther almost smiled.
“I see.”
“You could have had conversation.”
“I paid her.”
“That is not conversation.”
Of course.
He later called Jacqueline.
Not to restart.
To apologize.
She laughed.
“Did someone hit you in head?”
“No.”
“New woman?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
“I knew it.”
“How?”
“You never apologize unless somebody made you notice something.”
Fair.
Jacqueline accepted apology partly.
Kept watch.
Good.
Then a major development.
Federal investigators offered Gunther agreement.
To dismantle remaining criminal network, testify about Barrett, Caleb, labor intimidation.
In exchange, reduced exposure.
But there was a condition:
He had to identify all individuals he had ordered threatened.
Some were old.
Some serious.
Gunther realized one name.
Professor David Keane.
Union organizer.
Five years ago Gunther ordered men to “remind him family mattered.”
They photographed Keane’s daughter dorm.
Exactly like current example.
Keane resigned union work days later.
No physical harm.
Still terror.
Gunther told Kayla.
She went quiet.
“That’s awful.”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever think what girl felt if she found out?”
“No.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“What will you do?”
“Tell investigators.”
“And Keane?”
“If counsel permits, apology.”
“Money?”
“Only if legal settlement through independent process.”
Kayla nodded.
Not praise.
Good.
Then Gunther asked:
“Do you still want to see me?”
She looked at him.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you’re changing because you want me or because you finally believe it’s right.”
Gunther answered slowly.
“If you left tomorrow, I would still do it.”
Kayla studied him.
That was answer.
She took his hand.
First time.
Not him reaching.
Her.
Gunther stared at their hands.
“What?”
“You did that.”
“Yes.”
“Just checking.”
She laughed.
Their first kiss happened outside restaurant.
He asked:
“Can I?”
Kayla looked almost amused.
“You’re really trying.”
“Yes.”
“Then yes.”
He kissed her.
No entourage.
No money.
No contract.
No morning exit plan.
And for once, Gunther did not feel trapped by another person’s warmth.
He felt terrified that he might deserve it someday.
May you like
Not yet.
Someday.
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