Chapter Text
Friday, October 3rd, 2008
Floriana, Malta
Ian Quinn wasn't someone who grew up in privilege, or so he'd claim. If asked, he would spin an inspirational yarn about how his father disowned him at a young age and his mother was forced to flee with him to America with nothing but the clothes on their backs. He'd talk about how he'd risen above adversity to graduate Cal Tech at seventeen and to have sold his first billion-dollar company by age twenty. In his story, he'd be the underdog everyone would be rooting for not only to succeed, but to triumph above all.
Of course, he'd neglect to mention that his father never really disowned him; he was just always working and only saw his son once a year on Christmas. He even provided his son with a small loan of a million dollars to get his business off the ground. His mother also didn't flee to America. She spent her summers in Venice and her winters in Port-au-Prince, like any other civilized person. Quinn also went to Princeton, not Cal Tech, and his grades while there were less than stellar. His degree from Cal Tech was only honorary, and only given to him after he'd taken credit for other people's work.
In all, Ian Quinn was a liar, manipulator, and fraudster, just like every other Silicon Valley billionaire. He'd conned his way into achieving money and fame, all to maintain a certain extravagant lifestyle to which he had become accustomed, and it truly was extravagant.
He owned houses all over the world. He had yachts, private planes, and even his own island. He vacationed in the Alps and San Tropez, always with a beautiful woman or ten on his arm. He had jewelry and art pieces more valuable than any other collection in the world. He had everything, even something to set himself apart; make him unique.
What was that exactly? Nothing much. He just collected rare, supposedly cursed artifacts from around the world. It wasn't a big deal, but it made for interesting conversation. Particularly with business associates that he found to be very disagreeable.
Some of the artifacts he had were real, but others weren't. He'd learned the hard way that quite a few people out there would claim that something they owned was haunted or had some hoodoo curse on it just to get old junk off their hands. He always hated it when he got scammed like that. Con artists never liked being conned themselves. It was humiliating.
The best luck he had with any artifacts seller was with Bela Talbot. The woman always backed up her claims with proof and hadn't let him down once. Well, that was until she was found ripped to shreds in a dingy motel room, leaving him wanting for a new dealer.
He'd already been through five different ones, none of them having come through for him. Frustrated, he decided to try a different approach. He already had information about a supernatural artifact that he learned about years ago; the Obelisk. He'd tried to hire Bela to get it, but she outright refused. Not wanting to lose such a reliable contact, Quinn hadn't pushed the issue. Instead, he filed away the information, hoping that one day he'd find someone else who would take the case.
So, he found a group of people would do anything he asked them to do. They didn't care what it was or how crazy it sounded, as long as they got paid. As a test, he asked them to retrieve the Obelisk. If they could do that, then he certainly would use their services again.
Except that they hadn't come through for him. He had asked that they bring the Obelisk to him by Sunday the twenty-eighth. However, that date had come to pass, and they hadn't brought him the Obelisk. They hadn't even called or tried to contact him in any other way, so he had to assume they either died or abandoned the job entirely. It was a shame, but at least they hadn't asked for any money up front.
Now, days later Quinn was in the process of finding someone else to steal the Obelisk for him. It was a tough. He was having trouble finding candidates who met his requirements. He was scanning the dark web for what felt like the thousandth time when one of his assistants paged him.
"Mr. Quinn," said the voice on the other end of the receiver. "Commander Reyes is here to see you." He raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"What does she want?" he asked, genuinely curious. He'd never had anyone who cut and run then try to come back.
"She has the item you requested." Quinn didn't need to hear any more.
"Send her in." As soon as his finger left the call button, he was closing out his browser. Although he already knew he wasn't going to be hiring them again, if she really had the Obelisk, then he wouldn't need anyone to retrieve it.
Seconds later, the door to Quinn's office opened and one of his assistants walked through. They held the door open for the next person to come through, who indeed was Commander Reyes, and she did indeed have the Obelisk. She held it in her stone hand, which was held in her one remaining flesh and blood one. What was left of the opposite arm was wrapped in bandages, protecting the amputated stump from infection and irritants.
The assistant walked out, shutting the door behind them. Reyes stepped forward, placing the Obelisk – severed hand and all – down on his desk. Standing up, Quinn leveled a hard look at the woman.
"What is this?" he demanded. Reyes didn't flinch.
"It is the Obelisk," she responded. "Exactly as you asked for it." Quinn's nostrils flared.
"This isn't as I asked for it!" he exclaimed. "For God's sake, there's a damn hand attached to it! What did you do? Super Glue it to a statue?"
"That is my hand," Reyes snapped. "I lost it retrieving that piece of junk for you!"
"Well, you shouldn't have taken it out of the curse box." Reyes' face dropped.
"You knew this could happen," she said coldly. "And you did not inform me?"
"No," Quinn simply responded. "Because I shouldn't have had to tell you. You should have done you research, covered all your bases."
"My men could have been killed!" Reyes protested.
"Yes," Quinn said. "And that would have been your fault."
The woman paled and was stunned into silence. Quinn ignored her reaction and retrieved a checkbook and pen from one of the drawers in his desk.
"So," he said. "I think it's time we discuss payment." Reyes narrowed her eyes.
"What is there to discuss?" she questioned. "We already agreed on five-hundred thousand US."
"Yes, but that was before you botched the job," Quinn explained. "Now I don't think it's worth the full amount."
"We had an agreement," Reyes insisted.
"That you broke," Quinn pointed out. "Along with the Obelisk." Fire burned behind Reyes' eyes, but Quinn didn't let that deter him. "So, considering you brought it back six days late, without prior notice of a delay, and in damaged condition, I'd say it's worth twenty-thousand US." Reyes' eyes bulged.
"Twenty-thousand?!" she exclaimed, aghast. "You bastard! I had my arm chopped off in the back of a Jeep for this, and you are telling me it is not even worth…"
"Or…" Quinn said over her. He had picked up the Obelisk by the stone hand while she was screaming and held it in front of her face. Instantly, she fell silent. "I touch this to something a little less detachable – say, your head – and I just take the Obelisk for free. Now, which do you prefer?"
The fire in Reyes' eyes died. Reluctantly, she murmured "cut me the check." Quinn grinned and set the Obelisk back down on his desk. Within moments, he had the check filled out and handed it to her. Reyes took it unceremoniously in her one remaining hand and started to walk away.
"It was a pleasure working with you, Commander Reyes." The insult to injury stuck just as he wanted it to. She froze a moment before opening the door. Anger consumed her entire form, but there was nothing she could do. At least, nothing that wouldn't get her killed. So, before she did something she would surely regret, she left. Quinn took great satisfaction in that.
Once she left, Quinn walked behind his desk and sat back down in his chair. He pressed the button on the intercom, connecting him to his assistant again.
"Yes, Mr. Quinn," they greeted.
"I'm going to need someone to come and secure the Obelisk," he said. "Make sure they wear gloves, though. I don't want to clean up that mess."
"Yes, sir," the assistant said. "I will get someone to come up and I will let them know."
Quinn left it at that. Leaning back in his chair, he admired the cursed object sitting on his desk. He might not have gotten it in the way he wanted it, but he still got it, and in the end that was all that mattered.