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I
n a few short weeks, the headquarters of Üstrel Corporation had been cleaned, restored and was now fully staffed and functioning. Aleksandar’s first order of business, the research and teaching hospital, was in dire need of repair itself, negligence on the part of the Üstrel family having left it barely useable. Meetings between the various unions who protected the workers in the hospital proved fruitful. Aleksandar’s blunt honesty about their situation had taken them by surprise. So had his preparedness. His detailed plan about how he intended to make up the lost funds was closely scrutinised by all parties, and even the lawyers hired by the unions. It had been tense at first, but everything checked out, and the unions agreed to the proposition, with a few modifications. It meant that Üstrel Corporation would forego all profits brought in from the hospital for three full years until all was righted, and all the employees were sure to receive the benefits owed to them, plus interest.
Üstrel Corporation had its fingers in so many pies it mattered little. Though the hospital was, along with the university, the biggest source of profit for the corporation, wages could be maintained. Profit gleaned from all the other sources would be enough for the company to scrape by.
The truth was they had little choice. If Aleksandar had not been given the opportunity to make things right, then the hospital would not recover and would close. This way, everyone would keep their jobs, and the hospital would continue to run in the meantime.
Several groups of members of House Svetoslav flew in from their hiding places in England to take up leadership positions within the hospital and the university to which it was attached. Aleksandar trusted them to handle their affairs well, and to be discreet about their needs.
With the hospital taken care of and now capable of running without his continual oversight, he could turn his attention to other areas of the Üstrel Corporation that had long been neglected by the House of the same name.
News here was no better than the news of the hospital had been. Üstrel Corporation owned most of the real estate in the central business district, and roughly half of the residential rental properties. Of those, one third were no better than ghettos, rented at heinous prices and poorly maintained. One building, Aleksandar learnt, had collapsed, taking with it almost all the poor families living within. The bodies had been dug out, but the place remained a heap of rubble, nothing but tarp protecting the exposed parts of the units that had once shared walls with the block-long building.
Aleksandar made that his next mission. He made a trip out to the site with a team of surveyors to see what could be done.
His arrival in the neighbourhood was met with stony silence by the residents who still lived in the Üstrel Corporation housing. The faces of hungry children poked out from the tarp that flapped in the wind on the buildings that still stood. Aleksandar scowled as he observed the derelict neighbourhood.
“How long has it been this way?” he asked one of the surveyors.
“Long as I can remember. Üstrel Corp bought it all cheap and never bothered to fix it up,” the man replied.
Aleksandar’s landmark agreement with the unions in the hospital and university had earned him a reputation as a breath of fresh air, and that in turn attracted journalists, all of whom wanted the scoop on the handsome and aloof young heir of the Üstrel fortune. They hovered around on the edge of the property now, snapping photos of Aleksandar as he nimbly negotiated his way through the rubble.
“They’re like vultures,” Stoyan growled as he walked beside his prince.
“Leave them,” Aleksandar murmured.
Stoyan pursed his lips in disapproval, but obeyed.
“The building was only three stories high, right? Like these others?”
“That’s right. Killed some thousand when it came down. Most of them children.”
Aleksandar shook his head. “And how many people live in the remaining buildings?”
“Technically it’s only meant to house about five hundred average-sized families. But there are several families sharing each unit.”
“Is that legal?”
“Not particularly, but they pay their rent so Üstrel Corp never bothered them.”
“I see.”
Aleksandar, now at the centre of the destroyed block, turned back and cast a critical eye around the space. “We could build three towers here,” he noted. “And move most everyone from that block into the new units. Tear down those buildings and build three more towers.”
“You’re not just going to rent out the new units, sir?” the surveyor asked, surprised.
“None of these buildings are fit for habitation,” Aleksandar replied with a growl. “They do not have to be luxury units, but I will not have anyone living in third world conditions in anything I have my name attached to.”
The surveyor did not hide his surprise. He looked across at Stoyan, who gave the man a shrug, then turned back to Aleksandar. “There is room for four towers, if you’re looking at a vertical build, sir.”
“No,” Aleksandar replied. “It’ll be three towers per block, each block. I would like a park in the centre.”
“A park, sir?”
“Yes. With a playground for the children. Perhaps a few fruit trees. Apples and plums, maybe. They have beautiful blossoms in the spring.”
The chief surveyor marked notes as quickly as possible on his device. “All right. I’ll take these to the architects and we’ll draw up some design options for you.”
“Thank you,” Aleksandar said. “Have Üstrel Real Estate Inc. investigate all our other properties as well. I need to know if any of them are at risk of collapsing on their residents.”
“Certainly.”
“Can we take a look around at the other blocks?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Let’s go, then.”
“Not a good idea,” Stoyan said. He looked up at the cloudy sky. “The sun will break through soon,” he whispered.
“I won’t be long, Stoyan,” Aleksandar said.
Stoyan grunted. They walked around the rest of the buildings, noting structural issues visible from the outside.
“We will have to tear these all down,” Aleksandar said. “The same format for their replacements. Three towers a block, lots of green space.” Aleksandar shook his head. “Let’s go,” he said.
Before long, Stoyan had pushed through the pack of journalists clamouring for attention from the businessman, and they were in the sedan, driving away.
“It’s not your job,” Stoyan said from the front seat.
“Hmm?” Aleksandar asked.
“It’s not your job, saving everyone.”
“Perhaps not,” Aleksandar said. “But I can try.”
Stoyan shook his head but said no more.
Aleksandar entered the foyer of his massive estate home and paused. The stop was so abrupt, Stoyan almost ploughed straight into him. He stopped himself just in time with a small grunt and looked over the shoulder of his prince at the thing that had made him stop so suddenly.
A young boy, held firmly at his elbow by Lucan, glared balefully at Aleksandar. Aleksandar removed his sunglasses and raised his eyebrows at Lucan.
“Good afternoon, Master Svetoslav,” Lucan said smoothly. The boy struggled, but could not escape the Aspara’s grasp. “Yulia has arrived and awaits you in your study upstairs.”
“She’s a week early,” Aleksandar noted distantly, not taking his eyes from the boy. “And this is?”
“Follow,” Lucan said curtly. He turned and, dragging the boy along, strode away.
Aleksandar followed, a curious Stoyan at his heels.
They entered the ground floor room that Aleksandar had set aside as his library. Currently working on restoring the second floor, Aleksandar had not even touched this room. It was still a wreck of crumbling plaster and smoke stains.
And now it was a wreck of crumbling plaster, smoke stains and spray paint.
Bright red paint outlined the first sketches of what looked like a human heart.
Aleksandar stopped and stared at it before turning slowly to face Lucan and his captive. The boy could not be more than fifteen, and looked Indigenous, from the cast of his skin and the angle of his eyes. He wore his long black hair in a braid.
Though he stared defiantly at Aleksandar, he was so afraid that he trembled. Lucan tossed a red spray paint can at Aleksandar. Catching it deftly, he glanced at it before holding the boy’s gaze steadily.
“What is your name?” he asked the boy, not raising his voice.
The boy remained silent and Lucan shook him. “Ow!” the boy complained.
“Master Svetsolav asked you a question, boy,” Lucan growled.
Aleksandar waited.
“Brendon,” the boy said sullenly.
“Well, Brendon,” Aleksandar said. “Do you mind telling me why you decided to tag my library wall?”
“I didn’t think anyone was home,” Brendon said.
“That was not my question.”
Brendon fell into sullen silence.
“Answer him!” Lucan snapped.
The boy twitched in fright. “I had to!” he said automatically. “It was the test.”
“Test?” Aleksandar asked.
“To get into the gang,” Brendon replied, falling back into a pout.
“Let him go, Lucan,” Aleksandar said. The Aspara released Brendon, thrusting him forward and making him stumble.
Brendon straightened, his eyes darting to the broken window on the far side of the room.
“I wouldn’t,” Aleksandar said, smiling gently.
“Yeah? Why not?” Brendon sneered.
“Because you know nothing about me, Brendon. You don’t know what I am capable of. And I tell you now, I will catch you.”
Brendon scoffed.
“He will,” Lucan said quietly from behind the youth.
Brendon turned to him and then turned back, his bravado depleted. “So you gonna call the cops or what?” he demanded of Aleksandar.
“Why? Do you want me to?”
Brendon folded his arms and scowled.
“I have a feeling that you have a record already, don’t you, Brendon? In fact, you’re one small slip from spending a considerable amount of time in a detention centre. That’s why you’re seeking the protection of a gang.”
“So?”
“So, I’m guessing that despite your bravado, you don’t really want to go to gaol. Am I right?”
The boy shrugged nonchalantly. Aleksandar smiled.
“Now, why are you so desperate to get into a gang, hmm? What’s going on that you feel you need them?”
“I don’t need them,” Brendon said defensively. “They’re my friends, all right?”
“Interesting set of friends, making you risk gaol for them.”
“Everyone has to prove themselves,” Brendon said.
“Perhaps. Prove themselves to be what, exactly?”
Brendon clamped his mouth shut and scowled.
“What do you want to prove to be, Brendon?” Aleksandar said, stepping forward.
Trapped in Aleksandar’s dark gaze, the terrified youth could find no words. He wilted beneath the intensity.
“I won’t call the police, and I will not press charges. In return, you will clean up your mess on my wall. And you will return tomorrow to help me restore this room.”
“What?”
“And every day thereafter until my new library is finished.”
“What? No way!”
“You’ll clean this wall tonight. Unpaid, since it’s your mess. But what work you do after that will be compensated.”
Brendon stopped short, his mouth open slightly for a brief moment. Then he straightened. “Wait, what? Let me get this straight. I broke into your place and you’re offering me a job?”
Aleksandar shrugged. “Do you accept the terms, Brendon?”
“Uh... And you won’t press charges?”
“I promise.”
A slow smile crossed Brendon’s face. He held out his hand. “Deal.”
Aleksandar took it and they shook on it. “Don’t think you can disappear after today,” he warned softly. “I have people who will find you.”
Only the slightest slip of Brendon’s self-satisfied smile gave away any discomfort on Brendon’s part. That tiny movement of the corner of his mouth told Aleksandar everything he needed to know about the disappearing act the youth had planned. A flickering look at Lucan told the Aspara that Aleksandar knew the youth was planning to bolt after tonight. Lucan would make sure he could be found again.
“Stoyan,” Aleksandar said.
The driver and bodyguard walked forward immediately. “Yes, Master Aleksandar?” he asked.
“Brendon here is going to wash my wall this evening. Would you be so kind as to fetch his tools?”
“Right away, Master Aleksandar.”
When Stoyan returned, Lucan and Aleksandar took their leave.
“You were too easy on him,” Lucan noted sourly as they left.
“What was I supposed to do, Lucan?” Aleksandar asked. “Have him drawn and quartered?”
“I miss the old days.”
Aleksandar laughed softly.
Brendon was left to work on his task in the destroyed room, scrubbing furiously at the red paint he had sprayed on the wall. Stoyan leant against the doorframe and watched him.
For a long time, Brendon ignored him. Finally, more because he desired some other sound than the quiet of the room, he asked, “So, why do you call him ‘Master’, huh?”
“Because,” Stoyan answered.
“Because?”
“He is my employer.”
“That makes him your boss, not your master.”
Stoyan shrugged. “There is no difference.”
“Yeah there is, man. Master means, like, he owns you. And you’re not a slave. Are you?”
“I am his driver,” Stoyan replied simply.
“Whatever, dude. I’d never call anyone master. Even if he was some rich prick.”
Stoyan raised his brows. “Aleksandar Svetoslav is a good man. He has been a good friend. He is like family.”
“Don’t kid yourself. You’re just his driver.”
Stoyan smiled secretively. Brendon could only guess at what that smile meant, and was certain he was wrong on all counts. “Whatever,” he muttered.
It took the rest of the day for the wall to be scrubbed to Stoyan’s satisfaction. Brendon’s arms and back ached when he triumphantly tossed the grimy sponge into the equally grimy water bucket.
“There,” he said with satisfaction.
He and Stoyan stood, staring at the newly cleaned wall. Brendon had done the entire wall, not only the large section where he had begun to paint his heart. It almost gleamed in the dimming light of dusk.
“Not bad,” Stoyan said.
Brendon grinned.
“Now come. Clean up and I will take you home.”
“I can make my own way.”
Stoyan shook his head. “The city is not safe. I will take you home. Now clean up.”
All it took was a single scowl from the bulky Bulgarian standing before him to make Brendon swallow his objections. “Fine,” he muttered. He took a step, then stopped. “Uh... Where is the washroom?”
Stoyan smiled slightly and pointed. Before long, Brendon was at the sink, scrubbing himself clean.
Upstairs, Lucan and Aleksandar met with Yulia, a young, obviously Eurasian woman sitting before Aleksandar’s desk wearing a tight red dress and a knowing smirk.
“You’re not feeding, my lord,” she said, observing her prince’s frame critically.
“I have been busy,” Aleksandar grunted.
“Yes, I hear House Üstrel left quite a mess.”
“An understatement. You are here early.”
Yulia nodded. “I was bored. Thought I’d drop by to surprise you. Besides, I hear you need a manager for the converted church. Ironic, that, turning a church into a nightclub; and run by Opyri, too. The priesthood would be rolling in their graves.” She grinned.
“Are you applying for the job, Yulia?” Aleksandar asked. “A nightclub owner?”
“I like the thought of having something to myself. Besides, it means a continual supply of fresh meat.”
“They’re people, Yulia.”
The beautiful woman shrugged. “They’re food.”
“There are rules.”
Yulia rolled her eyes. “No killing. No Thralls. I know. I know. Honestly, you take all the fun out of being. We’re on a whole new continent. What the Shadow Council doesn’t know cannot hurt them, right?”
“That’s the thinking that brought House Üstrel to the ground,” Aleksandar replied. “I will not have your behaviour bring hunters to our door.”
Sighing, Yulia stood. “I understand, my prince,” she said in silken tones. Extending her hand, she asked, “Will you let me have the church? You know I can do wonders with it.”
Aleksandar took her hand and they shook. “Welcome to America, Yulia.”
Yulia smiled. “Thank you, my lord.”
“I assume that your living arrangements are yet to be made. We’ve recently finished the guest house. It is available for your use until more suitable arrangements can be made for you.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Lucan?”
“My lord?” Lucan replied.
“Would you be so kind as to show Yulia to the guesthouse?”
“Of course, my lord. This way, Ms. Andropova.”
Yulia’s mouth quirked in a small, slightly sarcastic smile as she followed Lucan from Aleksandar’s study. Aleksandar watched her go before turning his attention to the stack of mail sitting on his desk. He thumbed through the envelopes until he came across one that was hand-written rather than typed. He read the return address and his face opened into a bright smile. He sat at his desk and opened the envelope.