Phoebe's POV
I didn't waste energy calling out Johnson's ridiculous performance. The guy had roughly $64 million sitting in his accounts—playing the broke card was beyond laughable. He clearly just wanted some drama and thrills.
"Fine. I'll drop 66 grand on Patty's leg," I stated matter-of-factly. For someone as insignificant as Patty, that was premium pricing on the darknet.
Johnson threw me an "OK" gesture, chuckling. "Damn, Phoebe. You don't play games! When do you want this handled?"
He knew Patty danced professionally. Destroying one of her legs would permanently end her stage career.
My mouth curved into a calculated smile. "No hurry. Clearwater University's sports meet is right around the corner. Let her compete first. We should honor the spirit of fair play, after all."
Johnson went quiet, his brain clearly spinning. Sportsmanship? Seriously? You're an elite instructor at the HDA Jackson Mercenary Special Operations Base, and you give a damn about that?
