“Mr. Morgan,” the page confirmed breathlessly.
“Yeah, that’s me. What is it? Did my mom send you,” Jericho asked?
“You have a call, Sir,” the page responded, skipping over the fighter’s frantic second question. “They say it’s very urgent.”
Mike popped his ruddy face out of the doorway.
“What’s going on,” he asked.
“This kid says I’ve got an urgent phone call. I think something’s happened to Mom. Where is the phone,” asked Jericho, turning his attention back to the page.
“In the office. I’ll show you,” the young man answered.
“Let’s go,” demanded Jericho, then looked at Mike and Rand, who had joined them in the hallway. “You guys stay here, in case she comes by. I’ll let you know what the call’s about.”
“Ok, you got it,” returned a worried Mike. “We’ll be right here until we hear something from you.”
“Thanks,” Jericho said as he and the page set off down the hallway towards the arena’s business office in full stride.
Three minutes of hurried, worry-filled walking later, the two of them arrived at the office. For a building of that size, the business office was quite cramped. It contained only two desks back-to-back, their corresponding, dingy, high-backed brown chairs, and four large filing cabinets stuffed to the gills. There was no one currently occupying the space, which seemed odd on such a busy night.
As they opened the door and walked in, the page pointed at the phone on the desk facing away from the door and said, “Pick it up and hit the blinking red hold button. I’ll leave you to your call.”
“Ok,” Jericho said as he quickly traversed the small space and sat down in the uncomfortable chair.
“I hope everything is ok with your mom,” the young man offered as he quietly closed the office door.
Without responding, Jericho picked up the phone and stabbed at the red button with his index finger.
“Hello? This is Jericho Morgan. Who is this?”
“Why hello, Mr. Morgan. Congratulations on your big win,” came the answer through the phone. Jericho instantly recognized the voice. It was the creepy accountant from earlier.
“Goddammit,” exclaimed a frustrated Jericho whose only thoughts were for his mother’s well-being, “I don’t have time for this shit right now!”
“Ah, but you will make time for this shit right now, Mr. Morgan,” returned the voice. This time with much more steel than honey.
“Oh, really,” sneered Jericho. “Why is that?”
“Because, Mr. Morgan, I have your mother,” came the chilling response.