October, The Odd Ones

The call with the police had just ended. My throat was dry, my palms damp with sweat despite the icy calm of my office. I sat still for a moment, letting the silence settle like dust after a storm.

Tomorrow, we dismantle everything. My father's empire. Laura's schemes. The web of lies and corruption they've spun for years. The FBI's Criminal, Cyber, Response, and Services Branch (CCRSB) is already involved, but we need to move quickly. The evidence we've gathered is substantial, but we can't afford any slip-ups.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the upcoming mission. My anger flared again, directed at my father, at myself, at Laura. I had been complicit, naive, and blind to the truth. Now, I was determined to dismantle the empire my father had built on lies and deceit.

And Laura? She didn't just hurt my wife. She humiliated her.
And Me, I let her. With every smirk, every veiled jab, every text I answered when I should have ignored. And worst of all—I thought putting her on speaker last night would prove something. That I was being honest. That October would see I wasn't hiding anymore.

But it backfired. October saw everything. She saw how pathetic I'd become. How I let a woman like Laura stroke my ego while I let my wife wither in the shadows. All for what? Daddy's approval? A fucking pat on the head? I closed my eyes and pressed my fists to them, my teeth gritted so tight my jaw ached.

October was right. I wasn't a man. I was a puppet. A weak, spineless coward in a suit. And now the only thing left to do is destroy the hand that held the strings.
I stood up, pacing the room, my mind racing through the details. Tomorrow is the day we take them down, even myself—if that's what it takes. Because if everything burns down tomorrow and I'm standing in the ashes alone, so be it. At least I'll know I did something right in the end.

And if October never forgives me? I'll still do it. Because I'd rather be the ruin of this legacy than the son who upheld it. The lawyer's words echoed in my head. "Do not, under any circumstance, tip them off. If your father or Laura catch wind, they'll vanish, and we lose everything."

I was still staring at the case files when I heard the click of heels. Too familiar. Too late to pretend I wasn't here.

Laura.

She entered like always, like she owned the air in the room. Bright lipstick, smooth voice. Poison wrapped in perfume.

"Hey, stranger," she said with a mock pout. "You've been avoiding me."

"No," I said flatly. "Just working."

"Come grab coffee with me?" Her hand grazed my desk like it belonged there.

I tapped my mug. "I have one here."

Her brows furrowed. "You okay? You've been off all week."

I forced a smile. God, it felt like glue cracking on my face. "Just sick. Like I said last night."

She leaned forward, pouting again. "Still giving you hell, huh? Your wife, I mean."

There it was. The casual jab. The way she said "your wife" like it was a disease. I used to brush it off. Sometimes laugh. God, I was such a coward.

I stood up abruptly. "Excuse me. I need the bathroom."

I didn't wait for a reply. Just walked. Fast. My stomach twisted with every step. I could hear her heels behind me, following. Why was she following? And then I turned the corner—and saw him.

Joseph. My father-in-law. October's dad. Dressed in jeans and a worn leather jacket, but carrying himself like a man about to declare war. His jaw was locked, eyes burning.

Oh, no.

"Well, well, if it isn't Daddy's golden disappointment and his blow-up doll sidekick."

Laura blinked. "Excuse me?"

Joseph raised an eyebrow. "Oh, sorry—should I say 'executive assistant'? My mistake. Hard to tell when you spend more time on your knees than at a desk."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "Joseph—"

He held up a hand like a traffic cop. "Don't. Just don't. What's next? You're gonna cry? Grow a spine."

He turned to Laura like a man ready for war. "And you. If you had a soul, it ghosted you faster than your dignity did."

Laura flinched. "This is completely out of line—"

"You're worried about lines? Witch, please. You fly in on chaos and leave shame in your cauldron."

I looked down, stunned, ashamed, and also—God forgive me—a little impressed.

"Now go away," he said, each syllable soaked in contempt. "Before the floor cracks under the weight of your delusions."

Laura stiffened, but Joseph wasn't done.

"And you—" he turned his glare on me, razor-sharp—"Thomas. Get inside. Idiot. Let Jezebel slither back into whatever smoke-filled corner she came from. I need a word with you. Whether I use my tongue or my fist—we'll see in about thirty seconds."

"I'm calling security," Laura snapped, already reaching for the phone on the desk. "How the hell did he even get in here?"

"No!" I shouted, stepping forward. "Don't you dare. That's my father-in-law."

She paused, staring at me like I'd grown two heads. Then she laughed, a sharp, mocking sound that grated like broken glass.

"Oh, well," she smirked, arms folded. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I see. You and your daughter have a flair for melodrama."

I winced. "Oh no."

Joseph slowly turned, pivoting like an old gunslinger about to draw. His voice dropped into a cold, amused snarl.

"Wow, black widow," Joseph sneered. "Still spinning webs of bullshit, or just feeding off the next carcass?"

Laura bristled. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused," he snapped. "Preferably through a window."

She opened her mouth, but Joseph just raised a hand, cutting her off with a glare that could've shattered glass.

"Go play villain somewhere else. The adults are talking now."

I watched her flounder, speechless for once, then storm out in a flurry of designer perfume and wounded pride. Joseph exhaled, then shot me a look like I was next.

"You," he barked, pointing at me. "Inside. Now. Before I start throwing chairs."

I opened the office door, trying to keep my face neutral.

"Come inside," I said to Joseph, stepping aside. Then I shut the door behind us. When I turned around, Joseph was right there—two inches from my face. I stumbled back slightly, startled.

His voice was low and lethal. "The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because there are too many damn witnesses."

I blinked. "Joseph—"

He raised a hand, silencing me with a look that cut sharper than any words could.

"I could take you out on a fishing trip," he said, his voice almost conversational—eerily calm. "One of those remote, no-cell-signal, 'just the boys' kind. Pack a cooler, throw in some beers, maybe even act like we're bonding for the first time in your miserable life. You'd feel relaxed, safe, thinking maybe we're turning a corner."

He got closer, and I could feel the weight of every word settling on my chest like concrete.

"And then, we'd drink something special. Yours would have a little... enhancement. Odorless. Tasteless. You'd drop like a stone mid-toast, and I'd watch you twitch like the spineless worm you are."

My mouth went dry. He wasn't even blinking.

"Then I'd wrap your worthless body in fishing wire, tie it to a rock the size of your delusion, and sink you to the bottom of the bay where even the crabs would be too dignified to touch you."

He tilted his head, smiling faintly.

"I'd scatter fish bait over your corpse so the ocean could do what it does best—erase mistakes. In a week, maybe two, your face would be so chewed up and bloated they wouldn't be able to tell if you were my son-in-law or a drowned raccoon."

I blinked. "That's... wildly specific."

He paused, jaw clenched.

"Oh, I've thought about it," he said without hesitation. " Every time I saw October shrink smaller around you. Every time I watched her lose that fire in her eyes while you strutted around like a damn peacock because your daddy patted your head."

"And the worst part? The absolute insult? You did all that damage not because you're evil, but because you're weak. You chose comfort over conscience. Ego over empathy."

He stepped back slightly, as if even being near me was nauseating.

"The only reason I won't do it is because there are three innocent kids who still believe you're worth something."

He pointed at me now, his finger like a loaded weapon.

"They are the thread, Thomas. The only thread keeping me from becoming the villain you deserve."

I tried to breathe, but it felt like the air had turned thick and sharp. He turned away, slowly.

"And believe me—if that thread ever snaps? I won't go to prison. I won't feel remorse. I'll go fishing."

I nodded slowly. "Understood."

He turned away, adjusting his jacket like he hadn't just delivered a monologue from a mob movie.

"I should've sunk you years ago," he muttered, heading for the window. "But October insisted you had a heart. I don't see it."  He didn't even look at me at first, just gestured to the nearest chair like I was a disobedient dog.

"Sit." I sat.

He paced a little, cracked his knuckles, then leaned against the edge of the desk with his arms crossed. "So. October told me everything. You're taking down Daddy Dearest, huh?"

I nodded. "Yes. And Laura. I finally found proof. Real stuff—money trails, offshore files, correspondence. I sent it all to the lawyer and the police this morning. They're flying to Portugal tomorrow. There's a meeting planned—offshore accounts, fake corporations, some kind of backdoor merger with a shell company. It's a full circus of financial fraud."

Joseph raised his eyebrows. "Well, well. Isn't that romantic? A father-son betrayal with international flair. Shakespeare would've loved it."

I didn't answer. He narrowed his eyes. "And what's your role in this heroic little soap opera?"

"Keep them from getting suspicious. Make sure they don't change plans. Don't screw up the mission."

He made a noise like a laugh and a sneeze collided. "Ah. That explains you playing cruel idiot to my daughter the last few weeks. But what about the last few months? Better yet, the last few years. Since the beginning, Thomas. Let's not pretend this all started with some dramatic whistleblowing."

My chest tightened. "I messed up. I still am. The way I acted, the things I let slide—I didn't realize how far I'd fallen until she spelled it out. Until Laura... got close. And the lines blurred."

Joseph launched forward so fast I didn't even register his hand until it was gripping the front of my shirt.

"You slept with that snake?"

I choked on air. "No—Jesus, no—I never touched her!"

He stared at me like he was trying to read the lie in my pores. Then let go. I stumbled back, coughing, trying to catch my breath.

"I meant," I gasped, "lines like emotional boundaries. Prioritizing her. Listening to her over October. Letting her influence me."

Joseph took a threatening step closer. I reflexively backed away.

He muttered something about the kids under his breath, then pinned me with a glare. "So you enjoyed the attention. That it?"

I looked down. "Yeah I did, and then her attention... got me Dad's attention too. It felt like—approval.."

"And October's attention wasn't enough?" His voice was venom wrapped in velvet.

"It was," I said quickly. "But in my mind, I never compared them. They felt like... two different parts of my life."

His laugh was low and mean. "Newsflash, Romeo—when you pick the viper over your wife, there are no parts. You made it one big mess."

"I know," I whispered. "I know I messed up. Being weak and pathetic and wrong."

He crossed his arms and looked me up and down like I was a used car someone tried to return. "You? Weak? Pathetic? Nooo. Say it ain't so. Raised by a robot in a suit, mentored by Cruella de Corporate. Honestly, I'm amazed you can tie your own shoes without asking for a quarterly review."

A bitter laugh slipped out of me—sharp and empty, but real. Something cracked open in my chest, and for a second, it felt like air could finally reach places that had been locked tight.

Joseph's gaze didn't soften, exactly, but it shifted. Like he was seeing something he didn't want to see.

"Listen," he said, voice lower now. "I'm angry at you. Let's not pretend otherwise. If it were up to me, you'd be scrubbing public toilets with your toothbrush for the next decade."

I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up a hand.

"But," he added, slower now, "I also... feel sorry for you."

That surprised me more than the threats.

"Your father—he's a block of ice with a bank account. Cold, controlled, and cruel in that polite, buttoned-up way that never leaves bruises. The kind of man who can gut you with a smile and still get thanked for dinner. He doesn't raise his voice, because people like him don't need to. They break you with silence, with disappointment, with the knowledge that no matter what you do, it's never enough."

He shook his head slowly.
"And your mother?" He let out a low breath. "She spent her life chasing crumbs of affection from him, scraping together any look, any word, like a starving dog. So busy trying to please that man, she didn't even see the wreckage behind her. Her kids—you—were starving for something real. Something warm. Something human. And she never noticed. Or if she did... she just hoped you wouldn't need more than she did."

His eyes locked with mine then, sharper than ever.
"And that is just based on what I saw and heard from October, God knows what they actually did to you. So don't act so surprised you ended up the way you did. You were handed a blueprint for emotional bankruptcy and told to build a life with it."

My throat tightened. He wasn't wrong. Not even a little.

"So yeah," he went on, "I get it. In some twisted way, I do. You grew up thinking love meant earning it. Proving yourself. Performing. And when someone like Laura waltzed in, smiling like a Disney villain and feeding your ego? Of course you listened. She spoke the only language you were ever taught: approval with strings attached."

He paused, eyeing me carefully.

"But here's the thing, Thomas—being handed a shitty deck doesn't excuse you for playing it badly."

I nodded slowly, swallowing the lump rising in my throat.

He sighed. " I'm telling you this not because I like you—but because I love her. You've got a chance to be more than your past. But only if you stop making excuses and start choosing better."

I looked down at my hands. "I want to." Joseph didn't smile. I swallowed hard. "I will, I love her," I said, quietly but firmly.

Joseph gave me a look like I'd just declared I was auditioning for The Bachelor. "I don't really buy it," he said, arms crossing again. "Because you know what? I don't think you actually know what love is."

I opened my mouth, ready to say how I've worked myself into the ground providing for her, for our son, for the life we built. I work. I provide. I—

"Say 'provide', and I'll strangle you with one of your overpriced ties. And if you bring up marrying her like it was a humanitarian effort, I swear, I'll call Guinness for the world's largest ego."

I stopped. Jaw clenching. Throat dry.

He nodded grimly. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

Then he took a breath, tone shifting—not softer, but steadier. Like he was delivering an unpleasant truth you didn't want to hear, but needed.

"Loving someone—really loving someone—is not about signing checks or standing next to them at the altar. It's about putting them before you. It's showing up when it's ugly. It's seeing their needs, not just your own. It's respecting them when they're in the room and when they're not. It's making damn sure they're emotionally and physically safe, especially from you. It's choosing them—over your pride, your distractions, your daddy issues, yourself—every day."

I didn't say anything. I was listening. Actually listening. Like something important was being wired into me for the first time. It was weird and unsettling—like I was trying to reprogram the default settings I never even realized were installed. I'd learned a lot about deals and leverage and staying two steps ahead. No one ever taught me how to love someone like they were a human being, not a reflection of my usefulness.

Joseph watched me for a long moment, then exhaled and rubbed a hand down his face. "But you know what?" he muttered. "I'll be here for you."

I looked up, surprised.

"God knows how much I don't like you. I don't love you. I can barely tolerate you. Honestly, you rank somewhere between the DMV and wet socks."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I said with a dry smile.

"unfortunately, you're family. Through some twist of fate and your long-suffering wife's good judgment—which you burned to the ground, by the way—I'm stuck with you."

He paced a little, then paused, folding his arms. "And I know the burden of having a crappy childhood and crappier parents. Trust me. I didn't exactly win the parent lottery either. Cold, neglectful, demanding—pick your poison. So I get it. That stuff leaves holes. Scars.

He exhaled hard, then jabbed a finger in the air again.

"But here's the good news: it's not irreversible. You don't have to stay small just because they kept you caged. You can grow outside of them. You can rip up that old blueprint and draw something better. Sloppier, sure. But real. somehow, despite all the therapy I refused, I figured out how to be a decent father."

His voice dropped just slightly—not softer, just more weighted.

"And now... now that there's a grim, flickering, deeply skeptical hope that you might actually grow up and stop being a sentient cautionary tale, I'll be here. Whether you like it or not. As your substitute dad. Or your personal, snarky parole officer."

A pause.

"Whichever makes you cry less." He smirked, but the warmth behind it was undeniable.

I was tearing up but I also laughed. It felt strange. Cleansing.

"Thanks," I said.

"Don't thank me yet," he grumbled. "We've still got to take down your warlord father and the she-devil sidekick."

"Right. Portugal."

He sighed. "how can I help?"

My throat tightened around the words like they might betray me if I spoke too loud. Still, I forced them out, barely above a whisper.

"Will you come with me? When we take them down. Please."