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Everyone knows about the legendary partnership of Lecter and Graham.
Graham was a post doc at George Washington University, and Lecter had been a cunning entrepreneur with a Godfather offer. For 10 years, they swept the field of competition with acquisitions. Good cop, bad cop, cogent persuasion, corporate raiding; they did it all, through both hostile and creeping takeovers. No one could stop them, not even federal authorities when legal accusations surfaced.
It was the love affair of the century. They even lived in the same building complex.
At a drunken end-of-the year party, Lecter had semi-humorously got down on one knee to propose.
20% of my shares, Will. Marry me.
Will had raised an eyebrow, and pointed out that Alana, Lecter’s current fiancée, wouldn’t take well to such a polyamorous arrangement.
Lecter had assured him with a quiet confidence that Alana wouldn’t be quite opposed to the idea.
Maybe there was something there- between them. Beyond the tabloids and rampant speculations about these two handsome and powerful men. Respect for sure. Love, perhaps; it wouldn’t matter if it was sexual or not, they communicated in a language of their own, and could probably live their entire lives speaking that language alone.
But we’ll never know, because two years later they’re separating due to ‘irreconcilable differences’.
Will sat in for jail time. Not much, 7 months- he was framed, or rather a convenient scape goat at the moment- but it was enough to tarnish his achievements. More than a few of his competitors shared a tumbler of whiskey, passing bribes under the table for a heavier sentence. What was the saying again? Ah, yes, kicking a dog while it’s down. Will received more than a few kicks.
When he walked out, eyes squinting at the sun, Lecter was there to welcome him with open arms.
A few months was all he needed, thank you, Will.
So, all in all, these previous few months included, 12 years.
Now they sit at opposite sides of the conference table, and stare at one another with a hint of a familiar smile and calculation in their eyes.
Like they never wrote over one another’s conference notes, never camped out in the office for weeks on end, never took shots on the balcony, never talked about dreams and aspirations and the art of an acquisition like it was something intimate and beautiful like lovemaking.
A sleep deprived post doc never stumbled upon a sharply dressed entrepreneur on a warm autumn afternoon. They never shook hands, never ate together, and never took the fall.
Like that 20% never happened.
"Are you staring at my tie?"
"Difficult to avoid. I really must introduce you to a different tailor. That looks like something from a departmental store."
"Thank you, Matthew bought it for me."
And there’s the new landmine between them- Matthew Brown.
Matthew was a janitor at NYU 12 years back. Dropped out of college with an asylum record for psychotic tendencies, a sex addiction, and mild drug usage.
He was brilliant.
Will met him shortly after the dissolution began between Hannibal and himself. It would be a lengthy process, starts and pauses, with necessary collaborations in between.
Actually, rewind. Matthew sought him out.
By then, Matthew was the CEO of a small time company, nothing that anyone would take notice of. The assets were abysmal at best. The company was nearing bankruptcy.
But he believed what no one would about Hannibal. The business behind the business. The connections behind the name cards.
Matthew offered Will everything, and a way to take Hannibal down.
Will accepted.
The contents of that conversation will never be known- what happened, how it happened, if it was more or less than a conversation. The tabloids only shrugged and settled with a headline that rang ‘Graham with his new beau, sexy boytoy Brown, during messy divorce’.
It got taken down within 24 hours.
But that very week Tumblr started churning out memes and fake iPhone conversations from zealous angry fans. Some opposing the development, others…soundly supporting it.
Will Graham:
You were the best fuck I never fucked.
Hannibal Lecter:
Don’t be crass, Will.
Will Graham:
Matthew’s crass, and he’s swallows in bed, fucker.
Funny how these people followed Hannibal and Will, finance warlords, like they do social icons. Funny how enough speculation could eventually mosaic the truth.
Does he, Will?
In name, it was an amalgamation. In truth, Graham- no longer Lecter&Graham, but this was unofficial- ate up everything. A small company like Matthew’s could never maintain autonomy in the long run.
Matthew wasn’t upset though; in fact he was more than happy to make some sexual innuendos at the conference table.
Some addictions never die with time.
Will quickly learned that even his own employees didn’t like Matthew, but they had to admit that the man was a corporate prodigy with a sharp instinct that belied his instabilities. A shark that thrived on the scent of blood. A shark that could draw first blood.
Why was he hiding in a small bankrupt company all these years then?
No one knew.
"Mr. Graham, I believe your cuff link fell loose on the way here. If you wouldn’t mind, please use mine."
Everyone stares uncomfortably as Matthew makes a showing of caressing Will’s wrist before slipping his own link into the crisp cuff.
Anything to make Hannibal uncomfortable, Will thinks as he indulges these embarrassing flirtatious advances.
Once when it was just the three of them, Will had purposely tapped Matthew on the shoulder and gestured with his chin towards the men’s room. Matthew tongued at his dry lips.
They’d only continued the discussion at hand in the bathroom though, the criminal charges that Hannibal had been swiftly and indefinitely silencing. Matthew offered some of his observations. Pupil dilation, he knew when someone was lying.
When they clocked it to 10 minutes and 55 seconds, Will wondered wryly if Lecter had already left- they were so damn rude-, but still, he reached out a hand and loosened Matthew’s tie, a swift drag of the silk.
Solid black, John Varvatos.
He sucked hard at the skin on Matthew’s neck.
It left such a pretty burgundy bruise.
Hannibal hadn’t left. He did though, after seeing the mess of Matthew’s collar and hanging tie. The patch of skin still wet from Will’s mouth.
Back to the present though, that is what we are concerned with after all.
The dissolution, the divorce, however you call it.
The conference room is massive. There are four long tables, filled with all their board members, department heads, advisors, and lawyers.
It’s a somewhat sad sight. The last time this many people were here, they were celebrating their biggest and toughest acquisition thus far- one that had taken a year to complete with all its stop and starts.
There was champagne everywhere. Zeller texted Will at 6 in the morning the next day asking why he woke up smelling champagne in his own piss.
Was that normal? Shit.
Will nearly tripped over one of his dogs laughing, hangover be damned.
Now they’re here because a line needs to be drawn, and camps divided. Although, this is more for the employees than the actual legal dissolution.
A public performance of what has been transpiring behind doors for the last couple of months, if you will. Hannibal thought they owed it to the staff- something almost polite.
Hannibal takes the first speech.
Will, the next.
Redistribution of board members will be done through public voting- something quite foreign and crass of practice. Dramatic of course.
People murmur and shuffle.
Everyone knew it was coming, but it’s still a difficult mind frame to adopt. 12 long years of seemingly endless growth and development. There were slumps and fall backs here and there but always, Lecter&Graham made it through. Lecter’s +1, Graham’s +1, like Nicholas Sparks and playgirl magazines. What a pair.
Forbes. The Economist. Businessweekly. You name it, they were on the cover.
Alana Bloom, without a doubt casts in favor of Lecter.
Brian Zeller and Jimmy Pierce stay with him.
Jack Crawford.
Jack Crawford, the man he shared a mutual respect with.
He leaves.
For a brief second Will is resentful. The real siege against Hannibal has not even begun, and yet he has already lost the faith of Jack. But of course, he expected this. Whatever happens, he has already dreamed about more times than he can count. All the possibilities. All the scenarios.
Matthew grabs at his thigh in reassurance.
Or it would be his thigh, but his hand knocks against the table leg and falls a bit off course from the blunt pain. Shaking it out and reaching forward, Matthew finds his fingers pressed against a zipper.
He squeezes anyway.
Will chokes, his leg coming up hard against the table in surprise.
A loud thwack.
The room is suddenly silent while Will flushes with a cringe and apologizes for the intrusion.
And the face on Hannibal, as he realizes they’re trading hand jobs beneath the table at the most critical conference- performance-, all high ranking staff members in attendance.
A pen creeks ominously from the other side of the room, pressure being exerted along the length.
Hannibal thinks about throwing it, on a slant with enough force and precision, the pen is a bit heavy at the cap end, so he would need to compensate for the weight-
Except they’re not- trading hand jobs that is, they haven’t even gone close to that-, but imagination is so much more vicious than reality.
Play around with imagination, and you realize you’re more savage than you ever thought.
But Will is prepared to make that reality just as vicious. Kindness for kindness, pain for pain, blood for blood.
12 years has been long enough.
Will’s hands close around Matthew’s, still awkwardly hovering over his crotch, and breathes deeply.
The reckoning.
And so it begins.