Chapter 35: Cupcake Business
John Kramer had finally left the clinic.
Ethan stood by the clinic window, watching that gaunt silhouette disappear into the Brooklyn crowd, still processing the conversation for several seconds.
He'd initially assumed the man wanted to recruit him into some kind of twisted "game of life and death."
Turns out—the psychopath was actually trying to persuade him: "Join me; let's reshape humanity together."
Reshape humanity?
This way?
Ethan exhaled softly: fundamentally incompatible worldviews, no possible alliance.
John Kramer's philosophy wasn't entirely without merit—some hardcore addicts who've completely hit rock bottom genuinely do need forcible intervention.
But you can't apply a one-size-fits-all approach to the entire world.
You can't treat someone who drinks a daily Starbucks Frappuccino like their life hangs in the balance, engineer some elaborate "sobriety game," and traumatize them psychologically, right?
Some people merely engage in self-destructive behavior; as long as they don't harm others, there's absolutely no justification for subjecting them to life-or-death trials.
Ethan had naively wondered—if the brain cancer were completely cured, would the Jigsaw Killer cease his activities and become a law-abiding citizen?
Today's disturbing conversation definitively answered that:
No. Absolutely not.
John Kramer didn't design those sadistic games because he was running out of time; he engineered them to "test and prove humanity's worth."
So as long as "all humans are mortal," his obsession will continue burning indefinitely.
Thankfully, Ethan's refusal had been unambiguous.
Maybe their paths would never intersect again—he sincerely hoped so.
By closing time, Mary still hadn't shown up for her scheduled evening shift.
Ethan considered for a moment, decided not to wait any longer, switched off the clinic lights and locked up.
Tonight he'd decided to visit the Williamsburg Diner—primarily to lift his spirits with Max's cupcakes.
And also... to follow up with Caroline and Max about whether they'd finalized discussions regarding long-term cupcake supply to the clinic.
The cab pulled up outside the diner; neon signs reflected colorfully on the windows.
Ethan pushed the door open—the familiar scents of fried food, fresh coffee, and Max's signature sarcastic customer service hit him immediately.
He'd barely settled into a booth when Max sauntered over carrying a laminated menu.
"Well, well, Doc, what brings Your Majesty back so soon?"
She slapped the menu onto the table theatrically. "Seeking emotional support or physical satisfaction?"
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Ideally both."
Max smirked. "Then you've come to the right patron saint! I'm Brooklyn's answer to Scarlett Johansson, a diamond among your roster of exes."
Ethan gave a helpless laugh. "Right now I genuinely need your cupcakes more than anything. Did Caroline mention the clinic supply arrangement?"
Max's playful tone shifted. "She did, but... this isn't the best timing."
"It's only thirty cupcakes daily." Ethan remained patient. "That's completely manageable for your production capacity.
Plus it generates an additional hundred-plus dollars daily income. You could finally quit that horrible babysitting gig and save hours of commute time."
Max narrowed her eyes skeptically. "Are you planning to personally consume thirty cupcakes yourself to financially support an ex-girlfriend? Should I expect you entering a competitive eating contest next week?"
"Definitely not happening." Ethan explained rationally. "I simply figure: if I genuinely enjoy them, my patients will too. Reward myself while simultaneously upgrading the patient waiting experience—perfect synergy."
He added: "Thirty cupcakes, maximum flavor variety preferred. If you find that quantity insignificant and inconvenient, just bake one or two consistent flavors—I honestly don't mind either way."
Max squinted with obvious suspicion. "I detect an ulterior motive. You want me delivering cupcakes daily so you can hook up with me on the exam table?"
"Hadn't actually considered that angle." Ethan slapped his forehead with mock realization. "But remember you said both making money and having sex feel amazing? If you deliver cupcakes to the clinic, you'd accomplish both simultaneously."
Max chuckled genuinely: "Let me think about this proposition."
"Fair enough." Ethan spread his hands accommodatingly. "No pressure from my end."
Push too aggressively and you achieve the opposite result.
Max has her own business calculations; Ethan doesn't want to force the decision.
He picked up the menu, ordered his dinner, and waited patiently.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Before his food arrived, Caroline approached with a water pitcher and refilled his glass.
"Hey Ethan, back again today!" She beamed with genuine warmth.
"Missing Max or missing Max's cupcakes?"
Ethan smiled. "Honestly a bit of both. I just mentioned the clinic supply arrangement to Max directly."
"Oh yeah? What'd she say?" Caroline's eyes lit up with interest. "When I initially brought it up she kept insisting it would completely destabilize her hard-won work-life balance."
Ethan nodded knowingly. "Pretty much identical response, vague concerns about 'bad timing.' Talk to her again later—maybe you can persuade her to 'embrace the opportunity.'"
Caroline straightened with determination. "Consider it handled."
Within ten minutes she physically dragged Max back to the booth.
One wore an expression that screamed "I surrendered but I'm not happy about it."
The other looked like a triumphant general returning from successful negotiation.
Max planted her hands defiantly on her hips: "Fine! FINE! I'll do it! Starting tomorrow I'll supply cupcakes to your clinic. Thirty pieces daily, single flavor; want multiple flavors—no problem, pay proportionally extra."
Ethan couldn't suppress his smile. "You two negotiate with terrifying efficiency."
Max rolled her eyes dramatically. "Don't get sentimental yet; we need to finalize logistics. What time daily? How's delivery handled? What's the per-cupcake price?
Let's establish clear terms—we're not running a charity operation. Even if you are my... ex-boyfriend."
Caroline coughed pointedly. "Max, he never requested charity pricing, relax."
Ethan suppressed his amusement. "Delivery before 10 AM works perfectly. I can provide you with a clinic key; just leave them at the reception counter in a designated spot."
Max nodded acceptance.
"What about pricing then?" She folded her arms expectantly. "Fair warning, my ingredient cost runs only about a dollar per cupcake, but don't you dare use that to lowball me."
Ethan calculated quickly. "Three dollars per cupcake? Plus reasonable compensation for your delivery labor—flat fee of thirty dollars. One-twenty total daily."
Caroline's eyes widened dramatically. "Wow, that's genuinely solid steady income, Max—pretty sweet deal actually."
Ethan continued: "Assuming roughly twenty-two business days monthly, you'd gross approximately twenty-six hundred, definitely enough to quit the babysitting side-hustle."
Max frowned initially, visibly calculating the math mentally—
then her mouth slowly curved upward. "Deal accepted!"
Agreement reached, Caroline headed back to the kitchen; Max remained to finalize additional details—daily flavor rotation, packaging requirements, shelf life considerations, volume adjustment protocols if needed.
Caroline returned balancing Ethan's food order and diplomatically interrupted their business discussion.
Max quipped: "Eat up, Doc. A big-shot medical professional like you makes us conduct business meetings during dinner service—truly elite executive behavior."
Ethan shook his head with a smile and picked up his fork.
Just as he took the first bite—
his iPhone buzzed insistently.
He absently lifted it and saw the caller ID displayed:
"Mary Mason"
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