Chocolate Defense

I’ve always said the way to my heart is through chocolate. And it’s true. If you want me to give you a moment of my time, to grace you with another minute of your life while I pretend to be understanding, just bring me chocolate.

Who knows? Maybe your argument against my decisions, served with the right dose of explanation and rich chocolate, will make me change my mind.

Honestly, the thing I really love is to torture those who take advantage of my wealth and generosity. I help others out when nobody else will, and people are all too willing to jump at the opportunity. But when it’s time to pay me back, hesitancy creeps in under the skin of those indebted to me. When you betray me, I will make a fool of you. I will get my payment, in one way or another.

And I don’t need my money back. No, I have far more than I know what to do with. But I don’t give it without strings, and I will get the last word, whether in repayment or by other terms. Some say it’s evil, what I do. I say it’s genius, and it keeps things well within my grasp. Power is what drives me, and I will not lose it.

Still, it’s become a bit of a tradition for my subordinates to come before me, as a last stand, when things don’t work out between us. A trial, so we can keep this all legitimate, I suppose. It wasn’t always in my contracts, to let someone beg their forgiveness and try to change my mind. No, there was once a time I’d send my goons to do the job—first a warning—then a removal of sorts.

But one day a young man found my lair, and I overheard him begging my lackeys to let him speak to me. They wouldn’t have allowed it, but I was bored, and this attempt brought me entertainment. The young man, still weak from the warning he’d received a week prior, limped into my office and stood in front of me. He reached into his bag, bravely, might I add, as my men pointed their pistols at him ready to defend me and my life. He removed a box with freshly made chocolates.

“I heard you like chocolates. My family makes them—they are the reason I needed the loan. Banks wouldn’t help, but you did. And we are building our business slowly. I want you to try our treats and take the earnings we’ve made so far. If you spare me, I will pay you back, no matter what it takes.”

It turns out the chocolate was delicious, and I let him live under the agreement that we take forty percent of revenue until I was paid back in double. And for use of the family’s facilities when we needed to complete business in a rather, shall we say, professional manner. He was allowed to live, and with him, the legend of a gift of chocolate came to be.

Now you stand here before me, unwilling to do your part in this agreement. I told you I’d come to you when I needed a favor. I asked you to kill a man, someone you are close to. I was told it was someone you sleep with, perhaps even love. But I saved you when nobody else would. I brought your life back and now you show little appreciation.

I don’t know why you’ve come to present your case today. You’ve made it clear to my goons that you won’t honor our agreement, that your heart tells you otherwise. Still here you are, and you’re holding a slice of chocolate cake.

My mouth waters at the sight of it, with fudge frosting eloquently poured over the layers, with flecks of dark chocolate protruding from it’s now frozen icing. This piece of cake will most certainly be a treat. But unfortunately for you, my friend, it won’t do the trick. You see, I need that man dead—and to let him live, or let you get away with a debt unpaid—is simply not an option. Still, I can see the hope radiating from your eyes, pleading with me in silence.

“This is something I’ve crafted just for you. I brought the entire thing, actually, in case you, or your men would like to have some.” Your voice shakes, and I smile in delight of the sound. I love to make people squirm.

I look around at our audience, my burly men all watching you, trying to not look hopeful at the thought of a piece of cake. Perhaps I will share it with them after all.

“You may slice the rest. I suppose I can share a piece with my men today.” I say, calm, collected, but with power.

One of my men brings the platter into the room and sets it on a table, where you slice three pieces and hand them to the men in the room. They hold their plates with one hand, their opposites resting on their holstered guns. They won’t let their guards down, not for you, not for anyone.

“Do you mind if I join you?” You ask. “I worked so hard on this cake, and it might be my last meal.”

“No, I don’t think you’ll be deserving any today. A traitor doesn’t get rewarded.”

Finally, you bring me my large piece of cake, and I bite into it. Delicious.

“You have one minute to plead your case,” I tell you, then take another bite and let the creamy chocolate melt in my mouth.

“I’ll do it, tonight. I’ll kill him for you. I shouldn’t have resisted before, but a deal is a deal. You can send these men to wait outside, in case I don’t. In case I can’t find the courage to kill the man I love. But please, give me one more chance.” And you bow your head, waiting for my decision.

This chocolate cake is good. Decadent. It’s rich, just like me. And it’s as good as that first piece of chocolate my Chocolatier brought me, changing my mind for the first time. Perhaps this time will be the second.

“Okay, you get one more shot.” I succumb to the idea of watching you in misery, deciding whether to kill the one you love, or be killed next to him. You’ll lead my men right to him, so really, I win regardless.

“Thank you,” your relief seeps from your pours, flooding the space. And I almost regret my decision.

You bow your head again, then write down the address where you’ve been hiding.

“You can wait outside the room, please.”

My eyes follow you as you step out of the room. I can see you on the camera, taking a deep breath and sighing in relief. You can’t escape us, not when I can see everything on my monitors—not when my men are far faster than you are, unarmed and defenseless.

“You can eat,” I tell my men with a harsh permissive tone. As I watch the screens, you unmoving, I fork bites of the cake into my mouth, as my lackeys hesitantly do the same.

Then, something begins from deep inside my belly. It’s warm at first, like a comforting glow. Then it begins to burn, slightly at first, then more severe. By the time I realize something’s the matter, I can’t move, can’t get any words out. As my vision blurs, I watch my men drops their forks, their muscles failing them.

You, you are the cause of this. I’ve always joked my love of chocolate would be the death of me, but I never imagined anyone would be so stupid to try. But you have pulled it off. As I fade to the blackness, I can’t accept someone has found a way to defeat me.