Chapter 139: Simple Business Agreement
The door opened with a hiss, followed by the heavy steps of someone who refused to be cowed by the place he was walking into. Killian Sergie entered, wrists restrained by glowing laser cuffs that pulsed with soft blue light. These restrictions were this light only because he hadn’t been formally charged yet.
And yet Killian looked... remarkably calm for someone who had just spent several hours in captivity. His gaze swept the room once, and when his eyes landed on Keaton, something in his face twisted.
"You." His voice cracked like a low growl. "How dare you—"
The guard shoved Killian down into the metal chair, clipped the cuffs to the wall latch, and stepped out with a mechanical bow, giving them privacy.
The door sealed shut with a muted thud and silence.
Keaton didn’t move at first, letting Killian calm down first. Then he leaned back in his chair, studying the man across from him.
Killian was younger than Mick by a few years, probably mid-twenties. He came from a respectable middle-class family and worked his way into a position as Mick’s assistant.
Due to his overwhelming capability, it was unthinkable for Killian to stay with Mick. Therefore, rumors have it that Killian has special feelings for Mick.
If that were true, then this would be easy.
"I’m not here to see Mick," Keaton said, calm and almost bored.
"Obviously." Killian snapped, clearly displeased. "What did you come here for? To gloat? Or to tell me how I should’ve abandoned him to save myself?"
"No," Keaton replied simply. "I came to offer you something."
Killian’s eyes narrowed, and wariness replaced the hostility. "What kind of offer?"
Keaton pulled up his light brain with a gesture, the holographic screen materializing between them. A few quick swipes brought up the information he wanted to show.
"You know the charges Mick is facing." Keaton’s tone was emotionless. "Assault. Attempted Illegal imprisonment. Destruction of property. Drug-related crimes."
He glanced up briefly, gauging Killian’s reaction.
Killian didn’t flinch, but his throat bobbed.
Keaton continued, "The prosecution is pushing for maximum sentencing. Which means he will be sent to Vankila Planet for good."
Killian said nothing, but the silence itself was an answer.
Everyone knew about Vankila Planet. The prison world that housed criminals from across the Imperial Galaxy. A place where the worst of humanity was sent to rot. No one who had been thrown there actually came back alive—a living tomb at the edge of the Imperial Galaxy.
"What’s your point?" Killian asked, his voice rougher than before.
"My point," Keaton said, leaning back, legs crossing lazily, "is that Maxwell wouldn’t let go of Mick easily. But even with everything Mick did, his crimes don’t qualify him to be thrown in the main planet."
Killian blinked, confusion slipping past his earlier rage. "What...?"
Keaton pulled up a 3D layout of the prison world: three rings surrounding a dense, storm-wracked, deserted planet at the center.
"The outer ring," Keaton said, tapping the diagram, "houses violent offenders. Murderers. Traffickers. War criminals. It’s essentially a death camp. Zero chance of survival."
His finger slid inward.
"The inner ring, however, is for white-collar criminals and political offenders. Corrupt bureaucrats. Tax thieves. Corporate traitors. Very different environment."
He looked at Killian deliberately.
"Bearable."
Killian’s expression changed, hope slid into his eyes like poison.
"And why are you telling me this?" Killian said slowly, "You turned him in. You’re the reason he’s here."
"Because I can ensure Mick is placed in the inner ring." Keaton smiled faintly. "With you."
Killian stared at him, disbelief simmering under suspicion. "Why? Why help him now? Why help us? After everything?"
Keaton considered lying.
But something in Killian’s eyes made him abandon that instinct. If you wanted something from a man like Killian, you shouldn’t feed him lies that could eventually be unraveled. You fed him something real enough to taste like blood.
"I’m not doing it for Mick," Keaton said.
Killian stiffened, but Keaton pushed forward.
"I’m doing it because I need something. And unfortunately for both of us, you’re the only one who can get it."
Killian’s brows furrowed. "There’s nothing I have that you could possibly—"
"There is." Keaton cut him off.
He leaned forward, voice dropping lower—cold, controlled.
"My father has secrets. Documents. Years of blackmail material he’s hidden away."
Killian’s eyes flickered.
"I want that information," Keaton continued. "And Mick doesn’t know where any of it is. He’s never been smart enough to look past what he thought mattered."
Killian bristled. "Don’t talk about him like—"
"Like what?" Keaton asked mildly. "Like he’s incompetent? Or like he used you and you loved him anyway?"
Killian froze.
And there it was—the muddle in his judgment Keaton was counting on.
Keaton pressed with a sharp tone.
"You worked for him for years. You had access to things he didn’t even understand. Private server routes. Storage vaults. Hidden residences. He relies on you more than he should have."
Killian swallowed, unable to mask how much that hurt.
"You want me to help you dig up dirt on your father," Killian whispered.
"I want the truth," Keaton corrected. "Every mistress, every bastard child, every illegal bribe, every threat. Everything he’s built his empire on."
His jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
"And I want to know what really happened to my mother."
Keaton rarely spoke of his mother. Killian realized that no one ever heard that name brought to his lips.
Killian stared at him for several long seconds. "If you hate your father that much, what stops you from turning on me once you get what you want?"
Keaton gave a small, humorless laugh.
"You can’t trust me," he said matter-of-factly. "And I can’t trust you. Trust is irrelevant. Trust is for people who have the luxury of choice."
He opened a contract template on the holographic screen, the legal language scrolling endlessly like a waterfall of sin.
"This is a simple business agreement," Keaton said. "You want Mick in a place he can survive even if he gets locked up. I want the files my father hid. We cooperate."
"And if I refuse?"
"Mick goes to the outer ring," he said calmly.
Killian’s face drained of color.
"You will eventually be released. Keaton added with an indifferent shrug, "Your charges are lighter, after all. Especially since the court will absolutely see Mick as the mastermind—"
Killian snapped, "I DID IT ALL BY MYSELF!"
Keaton said directly. "But the court wouldn’t see it that way."
Killian flinched, unable to retort.
"You will be free," Keaton said softly, "and he will die alone. And you will spend the rest of your life wondering if you killed him by doing nothing."
The silence after that was suffocating.
Killian’s breathing grew unsteady. His eyes glazed just slightly—not enough to cry.
Killian asked quietly, "You’re really willing to destroy your father for this?"
"I’m willing to find out the truth," Keaton corrected. "What happens after that... depends on what that truth turns out to be."
The contract terms on the screen seemed to glow so brightly that it hurt to look at them.
"If the truth destroys him," Keaton finished, "then good."
Killian stared at the contract.
Keaton leaned back and waited.
Killian’s love for Mick would do all the work for him.
Killian lifted his bound hands, the cuffs clinking softly, and pressed his thumb to the contract’s signature field.
The hologram pulsed green.
Keaton exhaled quietly. A slow smile crept into his voice as he murmured, "I’ll wait for your good news."
Killian lowered his hands, eyes shadowed with judgment.
Keaton met that look with effortless indifference.
In the end, he thought dryly,
Men.
