Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 115

"Look," I continued, "Don't worry about the money for medical stuff. Just forward all the bills to me and I'll take care of them. If my nephew's sick, the last thing I want is you guys worrying about how you're going to pay for his care."

"Yeah?" Jacob said, perking up at the offer. "Thanks, brother. I'll do that."

"No problem," I said, grabbing my cup of coffee and taking another sip.

Silence fell on the entire table, and after an uncomfortable few moments, Jacob cleared his throat and said, "So have you started looking for new investment opportunities yet?"

"Not really," I said, the bottom of my stomach immediately dropping. Was Ryan even sick?

"Because I have something you might be interested in."

"No thanks," I said. "I have financial advisors taking care of that stuff."

"Well, maybe could speak to them?"

"About what, exactly?"

There's this start-up-"

"Ah," cut him off.

"Wait. Just hear me out."

"Don't you already have a job?" I asked.

"Well yeah! This is just happening on the side, but it has the chance to be really big."

"Jacob," I said, unable to hide my exasperation. "Come on, man."

"What?" Jacob said, flustered at the shift in my tone from the benevolent brother who just offered to pay his medical bills to the rich potential investor giving push-back.

I stared at him for a long moment and finally said, "Nothing." I sat my coffee back on the table and stood up. "I need to use the bathroom. Jacob, it was good seeing you, man, but I'm gonna need to leave soon."

Jacob reached out and grabbed my arm, preventing me from turning around. "Marcus! Just hear me out on this!"

"Nah," said. "This sounds like more of the same. Do yourself a favor, Jacob. Go home and take care of your kid. Now, let go of me."

I wrenched my arm free of his grip and turned away from him, very aware that we were drawing attention from people at the tables nearest us just when I thought they were done eyeing me like I was a circus attraction.

Either Jacob didn't notice the hyperawareness from the rest of the room, or he didn't care. He stood and took a step toward me, grasping my shoulder,

"Marcus!" he said, palpable frustration in his voice.

His grip evaporated. Loud groans of furniture sliding across the floor rang through the coffee shop followed by the loud crack of something landing on a hard surface; cups shattered as they hit the floor, and I felt warm coffee splash across my feet, soaking my shoes.

By the time I tumed around to look at my brother, he was face- down and pinned to our table. Chloe had one of his hands in some strange-looking hold that locked his arm in place. By the expression on my brother's face, it looked painful. Her other hand was on his neck, pressing him firmly against the table. Jacob was no slouch; he must have had eight inches of height and at least seventy pounds on Chloe, but apparently, that didn't mean anything.

I started in surprise as I witnessed how easily Chloe handled my brother, and I wasn't alone. Every single patron of Strange Mudd was watching the exchange with the same wide-eyed expression, including Dillon and Carla. John and the other two bodyguards were also on their feet, one of them holding his hands on his waist as if disappointed. There was likely a gun near one of those hands.

"Please don't touch Mr. Upton without his permission," Chloe said in a conversational tone, completely incongruous with the situation.

Jacob simply grunted.

I approached him and kneeled so my face was in line with his. I loved my brother, but he truly was the trial and tribulation of my family, making my mom cry more than once, and his wife cry even more. I didn't know how to help him without enabling his crap.

"Jacob," said, "I'm happy to take care of your family's medical bills, and if you had come to me with legit concerns and a plan to turn things around, I would have loved to help, but what I'm not going to do is finance whatever stupid bullshit you're involved with. Now, I have a lot going on today, so I'm going to go use the restroom, and when I return, I'd like you to be gone."

Without waiting for a response, I stood up and left him to Chloe. As I passed John, I said, "Could you guys help Chloe get him out of here quietly? I don't want to make any more of a scene than we already have." He nodded and I walked away.

The restroom had three stalls, and I chose the middle. After engaging the flimsy lock on the door, I leaned against the fake wood and pressed my fingers to my eyes, cringing as I thought about everyone out there who'd seen the confrontation. The mob outside and now my brother showing up asking for money - this was the exact thing I wanted to avoid when I found out about my grandfather, and now my worst nightmares were coming true. I sat on the toilet with the lid down and just gave myself a moment to breathe. For a place called the Big Apple, New York was getting surprisingly small.

I heard the door open and swing shut, and glanced at the stall door to double-check that I locked it. The last thing I wanted to happen after the display outside was to have someone accidentally walk in on me... even if I was fully dressed and sitting on a toilet lid.

I saw the shadow of someone walk past my stall to the one on the very end. Then I saw it pass as the newcomer made his way back to the front of the bathroom. A few seconds later, the shadow appeared in front of my stall door and hovered there. Then there was a light knock on the door.

"Yep. Finishing up." I called out. The other stalls must have been broken.

I flushed the door so whoever was out there didn't think was some weird loser just hanging out in the bathroom, and then I

unlocked the door. God... I couldn't even be left alone in the freaking bath-

The door flew open, forcing me back so didn't get hit in the face.

A man with several inches of height on me and built like a truck took half a step into the stall, blocking me from leaving. He had thinning, dirty blonde hair and a very old, faded scar that ran across his cheekbone just under his left eye. He must have been at least 6'4" and at least thirty pounds heavier than me. He had one hand in a pocket jacket and started pulling it out; saw the handie of a pistol gripped in his hand.

"Marcus Upton?"

To Be Continued..