Voicemail Received 2079–04–13, 03:18 UTC.
It’s Casper. Look, I know the run didn’t go as planned, and I know you got stiffed your closing costs. I want to make this right, it’s on me. Please call me back.
I shouldn’t have trusted the Johnson—that’s where it all began. I’ve worked with him before and he’s always come through with proper intel and shiny corporate nuyen for the jobs he’s proposed. Turns out he left the company two weeks ago and news was slow to spread.
The job was billed as a protection detail, I know. He wanted a little extra muscle in case a meeting went South on him. A little planning, some logistics and potential exit strategies, and surveillance of the local comm networks. Seemed pretty well up your crew’s alley.
I’ll be blunt—I was not aware he was going to kill his old manager, let alone in public, let alone try to get you to save him as the high-falutin’ restaurant turned into the OK Corral. You got him out of there while under intense fire, and when he split, it was with any hope of your getting the back half of your contract.
Newly fired, his partner having left him last year, and revenge against the Corp on his mind. I figure for him this was a one-way event; he didn’t have any plans for after the fact. He just wanted revenge.
As something of an olive branch I’ve had my eyes and ears on the street keeping an eye out for him, and I think I know where to find the little weasel. If you find him and either put him out of his misery or bring him back to me—your choice, no strings attached—I’ll cover the rest of what he owes you.
I want to do right by you. If you’re interested, please reach out to me.
Casper
