Chapter 28: Steve's Retaliation
Ben's Danger Intuition woke him at 6 AM with specific, urgent warnings about his garage.
He arrived to find the roll-up door slightly ajar—not forced, but opened with precision. Someone with lock-picking skills had been inside.
His MacGyver Mind cataloged the violations immediately: financial records disturbed, contact list photographed, evidence of the Frank partnership exposed. Nothing stolen—which was worse than theft. Whoever searched wanted information, not valuables.
They'd been methodical. Professional. And they'd left a calling card.
Steve's business card sat on the workbench, message written on the back in neat handwriting: We should talk about mutual interests. -S
Ben's stomach dropped.
Steve investigated me. Hired someone or did it himself. Found enough to be dangerous. And he wants me to know he knows.
Ben's Danger Intuition pulsed warnings about the implied threat. Steve had leverage now—evidence of Ben's criminal activities, partnership with Frank, possibly even details about the gold scam if he'd dug deep enough.
The message was clear: back off from Fiona, or secrets get exposed.
Ben pulled out his phone and texted Steve: Noon. Lou's Diner on Ashland.
The response came immediately: See you there.
Lou's Diner was neutral ground—public enough to prevent violence, private enough for sensitive conversation. Ben arrived at 11:55, ordered coffee he wouldn't drink, and waited.
Steve appeared at exactly noon, sliding into the booth across from Ben with practiced ease. He looked different from his usual charming persona—harder, more calculating. The mask had dropped.
"Thanks for meeting," Steve said. "Saves us both time."
"What do you want?"
"Direct. I like that." Steve pulled out a folder, set it on the table. "So here's what I know. You and Frank Gallagher run a partnership—fencing stolen goods, running cons. You've got connections to Marcus's protection racket. And most interesting—you've been involved in jewelry fraud across three states. Gary, Milwaukee, Indianapolis. Pattern's pretty obvious once you look."
Ben's hands were steady despite his racing heart. "That's an interesting story."
"It's not a story. It's documented." Steve tapped the folder. "Financial records, witness descriptions, timeline of sales. You and Frank have been busy."
"If you've got evidence, why not go to police?"
"Because I'm not a cop. And because..." Steve leaned back, smile calculated. "I'm running my own operations. Car theft, mostly. So this isn't about justice. It's about mutual understanding."
"Mutually assured destruction."
"Exactly." Steve's expression was almost admiring. "We're both criminals. The difference is, you're trying to play hero while running cons. I own what I am."
Ben's Silver Tongue stirred, but Steve had clearly prepared for persuasion attempts.
"Here's my proposal," Steve continued. "You take a vacation. Few months out of Chicago. Let things with Fiona run their natural course without you interfering. When you come back, I'll have moved on, you'll have moved on, and everyone's secrets stay secret."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I share this information with people who'd be very interested. Starting with Marcus." Steve's smile was sharp. "I know about the protection money that mysteriously transformed from hundreds to singles. Must've been embarrassing when he discovered that. Bet he's still curious about how you pulled it off."
The threat landed like a punch. Steve knew about the illusion money—not the how, but enough to weaponize the information.
"You'd burn me to keep Fiona?" Ben asked.
"I'd protect my relationship from someone who uses impossible timing and suspicious knowledge to manipulate situations." Steve's voice hardened. "You showed up at the Kash & Grab at exactly the right moment. Too convenient, Ben. Too perfect. Whatever you're hiding, it's bigger than fraud."
Before Ben could respond, the diner door opened.
Fiona walked in, expression thunderous.
She spotted them immediately, stormed over, and slid into the booth next to Ben—deliberately putting physical space between her and Steve.
"Lip called me," she said. "Saw Steve's car at your garage this morning. Figured something was up."
"Fiona—" Steve started.
"Shut up." Her voice was ice. "Both of you, shut up and listen."
The diner's ambient noise seemed to fade. Fiona's fury was so pure it created its own gravitational field.
"I don't know what you're threatening each other with," she said. "And I don't care. What I care about is that you're treating me like property. Like some prize to be won through eliminating competition."
"That's not—" Ben tried.
"I said shut up." Fiona's glare could cut steel. "You—" she pointed at Steve, "—are a liar. I don't know the details yet, but those cars you drive? The money you flash? Something's wrong there. And you—" she turned to Ben, "—have secrets you won't explain. Mysterious past, impossible timing, everyone in the neighborhood talking about Lucky Ben like you're supernatural."
"Fiona, I can explain—"
"No. You can't. Because whatever explanation you give will be another lie or half-truth or convenient omission." She stood up. "Steve, we're done. Actually done. Don't call me, don't come by, don't try to fix this."
Steve's expression cracked. "You're choosing him?"
"I'm choosing me," Fiona corrected. "Choosing to not deal with men who think they get to make decisions about my life without including me in the process."
She looked at Ben, and her expression softened fractionally. "I need space. From both of you. From this whole situation. Ian almost died last week. Monica's having another episode. My family's falling apart, and I can't deal with whatever this is on top of everything else."
"How long?" Ben asked quietly.
"I don't know. However long it takes for me to figure out if I can trust you. If I can trust anyone." Fiona's voice broke slightly. "Just... stay away for a while. Please."
She left. The door chimed behind her, cheerful sound completely at odds with the devastation she'd left behind.
Steve and Ben sat in silence for a long moment.
"Well," Steve said eventually. "That went great."
"If you tell Marcus about the money," Ben said, his voice flat, "I'll tell the police about your car theft operation. Complete records. Dates, VINs, buyers. Everything."
"You don't have that."
"I've been watching you for months. MacGyver Mind, remember? I see patterns." Ben met his eyes. "Mutually assured destruction goes both ways."
Steve studied him, recognition dawning. "You actually love her."
"Yeah."
"And you're willing to burn everything rather than let me have her."
"If I have to? Yes."
Steve laughed—bitter, genuine sound. "We're both idiots. Fighting over a girl who just told us she doesn't want either of us."
"Seems that way."
They sat in hostile silence, two criminals in a diner booth, both facing consequences neither had anticipated. Finally, Steve stood.
"I won't tell Marcus. But only because Fiona asked me to stay away from her family, and you're part of that family now." Steve pulled on his jacket. "But we're not done, Ben. Whatever you're hiding, whatever you really are—I'm going to find out. And when I do, I'll make sure everyone knows."
He left. Ben sat alone with cold coffee and the wreckage of his carefully constructed life.
Won Fiona by default of her anger. Lost her trust in the same moment. And Steve's threat about Marcus is still live, just delayed.
Ben returned to his ransacked garage and began damage control. Changed locks. Moved sensitive materials. Created new layers of security his MacGyver Mind assured him would slow future break-ins.
But the real damage wasn't physical. Steve had information now. Fiona had pulled away. And the gold scam investigation was still closing in like slow-moving tide.
Ben sat among scattered tools and broken security, feeling the weight of consequences accumulating faster than he could manage them.
He'd saved Ian. Helped the Gallaghers. Built community connections. Earned the nickname Lucky Ben.
And all of it was balanced on lies that were beginning to crumble under scrutiny he couldn't deflect.
The victory was hollow. The target on his back was real. And Fiona—the one good thing he'd fought for—had just walked away asking for space he had no choice but to give.
Ben locked the garage and sat in darkness, cataloging the ways his interference had created exactly the chaos he'd been trying to prevent.
Lucky Ben. The fixer who solved problems.
Except the problems kept multiplying faster than solutions appeared, and his luck was starting to feel more like curse than blessing.
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