He Was Duressed, Your Honor

Chapter 4

"He better not say a damn word about any of th-"

"He won't," Memphis cut him off sharply.

Mr. De la Porta walked towards Memphis and placed his hand on her shoulder, gripping tightly. Memphis tensed and could feel a bruise forming on her shoulder from the billionaire's touch. De la Porta brushed the hair off the back of her neck and shivers ran down her spine.

"He better not," De la Porta repeated. "You know what happens if he does."

She whipped around smacking his hand away.

"He won't."

De la Porta walked towards the door of Memphis's apartment, pausing and running his hand along the peeling paint as she sat down at the small round wooden table separating her kitchen from a small living area.

She could feel De la Porta's eyes on her, and she did her best to steady her breathing. He picked up his briefcase and gripped the rusted doorhandle tightly. His face was firm but something behind his eyes made Memphis suppress a shiver.

"I own this town," he started. "Now I own you. And under no circumstances will I being going down for this if one of you fucks it up."

The door slammed shut behind him and Memphis jumped. She let out a shaky sigh and tugged at the sleeves of her leather jacket as tears began to trickle slowly down her face. She could feel the phantom grip of his hand still on her shoulder.

She stood up and walked over to the sink where she gripped the counter until her knuckles turned white.

Memphis had met De la Porta for the first time six years ago when she ran out of money the first time. She was working as a part-time caterer for some company she had found paying minimum wage and they were serving at some fancy gala.

Her landlord had already left her three notices, but what she made serving hors oeuvres to Midlands wealthiest was nowhere near what she needed to keep her in her apartment.

She had passed by this table that clearly had people with cash to burn sitting carelessly around it. She set down a platter of champagne and could feel the eyes of one of the men on her. She put on her best smile and turned to hand him a glass.

He smiled back before returning to conversation with his peers, and Memphis bent down to fake tying her shoe. She had kicked over his briefcase when she first walked over and was able to easily pocket the man's wallet before grabbing her tray and returning to the kitchen to get more refreshments.

A week later, there was a knock on her door.

She was surprised to see the same man standing in front of her when she opened it. He held out his hand and she looked at him quizzically.

"I believe you have something of mine."

She felt her hands begin to shake, but kept her voice steady.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" She replied. He smiled.

"I don't worry about things as small as a lost wallet," he continued, "but I have something coming up that I need some help with, and I must say, you've impressed me."

He stepped inside, pushing past Memphis. She did not recognize him, but the man spoke with an air of such importance that she cowered in his presence. No one that knew Memphis would say that she would ever be one to cower in someone's presence. Usually, she was the one who forced others to cower.

"Look, I don't know who you are but I do-" she started before the man cut her off.

"I know you took my wallet," he said. "I have... friends who help me with this sort of thing. But I need your help and-"