by Holly Rayner
I hope he doesn’t expect a tip, Kally thought bitterly, looking out of the window to see where she was.
They were in an enclave of Queens that was usually locked behind a fortress of concrete and steel, and a gentleman clad in a black uniform had just opened a set of iron gates to admit the cab. Inside, Kally saw a vivid island of verdant grass, spangled with an impressive assortment of flowers. This was hugged by a very wide, sloping highway that led to a sprawling mansion complex. As the cab pulled up in front of the massive front door, with its elegantly-bordered, diamond-shaped window, Kally was vaguely aware she was experiencing something few people ever would.
Both Kally and the cabby, who was trying to act cool, as if he often brought passengers to mansions, were expecting another uniformed servant to appear and escort her inside. Instead, it was Alexandros himself who emerged smiling from the door, and came down the grand, white steps to greet them. He was dressed in a smoky gray suit that, Kally was sure, cost more money than she was going to make all month.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he intoned warmly, as he paid the fare.
He led her to the door with professional courtesy, ushering her into a vast front hall, and Kally was relieved to see that his behavior seemed unchanged from their last meeting.
“My office is on the third floor, Ms. Jones. I’ll show you up.”
They passed through a front hall that was bisected by two handsome wooden staircases. Through a door to the right of these, Kally spied a dining room that she guessed was nearly large enough to hold a UN conference. A crystal chandelier hung above the long dining table, shining like a prism. To their left was a sunken living room, filled with stunning pieces of furniture, and a grand, intricately-decorated fireplace.
Alexandros led Kally up the staircase that was on the left-hand side. On the second floor landing, he pointed out doors that led to a gymnasium and his personal library, casually mentioning that there were also five guest bedrooms and a sauna to be found there.
From the way he spoke, Kally could tell Alexandros knew that nothing he had was going to impress her; it seemed that being impressive was very far from his mind, and the anguish of the previous day's confession was still written on his face. As they arrived at the mansion's third floor, Kally hoped to God that her emotions were better hidden.
The third floor was decorated with quiet elegance. Standing in the middle of the hall, Kally found herself opposite a heavy door, made of intricately-carved oak. To her left, a small black table bore a vase of foxgloves, and a rich jade carpet, bordered in gold, ran the length of the hallway. Embossed wallpaper covered the walls, and several oil paintings completed the scene.
One of them arrested Kally’s attention at once. It displayed a beautifully stoic young woman with innocent but morose features. Something about her deep, sad eyes made it difficult for Kally to look away. All at once, she remembered seeing a picture of the woman before; it had been the only one on Alexandros’ desk in his office.
Is that his sister, Briza?, she thought, wondering why he would commission an oil painting of one of his siblings when, as far as she knew, Alexandros had nothing but traumatic memories of his family.
Seeing her staring at the painting, Alexandros gazed at it for a long moment, but supplied no insight on the subject. He simply opened his office door and gestured for Kally to go ahead of him.
This office was almost an exact replica of the one at Alexandros’ headquarters; the same oak paneling and crimson wallpaper covered the walls, the same mysterious photograph decorated the desk. Kally took her seat and fished her tablet from her purse, preparing to continue her notes, but the Greek did not immediately move to his seat behind the desk. For a few long moments, he considered the picture on his desk, an unreadable expression on his face, and when he was finally seated, he forced a smile to his lips, addressing Kally with what was clearly forced good humor.
“I must apologize again for changing our plans at such short notice. Let’s pick up where we left off yesterday. I believe we said we were going to discuss my plans for the future.”
“Yes,” replied Kally, refocusing her mind on her task. “You hinted at an ambitious plan to make restitution for your involvement with the diamond mines.”
“Among other things, Ms. Jones, yes. My plan has many facets. It occurred to me that one solution would hardly be enough, so I set to gathering ideas from around the world. The first came to me when I visited India last year. I visited a community where local women had been able to get their families out of poverty by establishing their own businesses. The startup capital came from microloans provided by outside organizations, and the women formed a strong, supportive community. Because of this, the women can usually pay back the loan. I learned that this system has gone a long way towards sustainably combating poverty in the developing world. With this in mind, Stratos Holdings will imminently be announcing a ten billion dollar investment in microloans over the next five years. The very first funds will go to establish a series of similar programs in West Africa.”
“That sounds like a well-thought-out response to the problem,” said Kally. She was used hearing billionaires brag about making what were really token donations to charity, and she was pleasantly surprised to learn that Alexandros had a better plan in mind than simply throwing money at the problem.
“I am pairing that with the launch of an awareness campaign, aimed at reforming the diamond industry. For every dollar I made from the mines, I am going to spend ten more to try and bring the suffering to an end. I do have a bit of a revolt on my hands, though; the shareholders aren't happy.” He continued for a few minutes about the fight to shake loose the funds for his vision until suddenly, unable to get the photograph of the woman out of her mind, Kally ventured to question him about it.
“May I ask you about the young lady in this photograph? I've seen her face several time now; she seems to be important to you.”
As soon as she saw Alexandros’ face, Kally was certain she had made a mistake in mentioning it. His eyes grew darker, and he seemed to draw away from her, while something deeper than sadness clouded his features. He bowed his head and shook it slowly, as if he were waking from a particularly bad dream.
“She is my daughter, Ms. Jones, and she is a subject I would very much like to stay away from for now.”
His daughter? Kally thought to herself, horrified at what she’d brought up. At once, the news reports from came flooding back into her mind. The accident happened just over a year ago. Alexandros had been traveling to the opening ceremonies for a new processing plant, when their driver had lost control of the car. It had slammed into a truck, killing the driver and Stratos' six-year-old daughter, who was also in the car. Alexandros had survived, but spent weeks in hospital. Kally recalled seeing reports about the billionaire being involved in an accident, but with all the furor going on at the Republic, it had slipped her mind.
Kally wasn’t sure how to recover the interview, and for a few moments, they sat in silence. Kally wracked her brain desperately for a new topic, but try as she might, nothing would come. She was considering pretending she needed to use the restroom, and excusing herself, but at last, Alexandros spoke up.
“Tell me about yourself, Ms. Jones,” he asked quietly. “What made you want to become a writer?”
“Harriet the Spy,” Kally heard herself saying, glad to be able to pivot away from the awkward moment she’d inadvertently caused. “I read it when I was eight, and by the time I finished, I’d started writing all the things I saw in my own notebook. Eventually, I had a huge stack of them, and even though they said “private” on the front, my mother read one. She told me she didn’t like my “spying”, but she was impressed with my writing ability. Then she encouraged me to do what Harriet does at the end of the book: join my school’s newspaper.
“From the very first word, I knew I was in love. Everything about writing a new article excited me: chasing down the facts, weaving everything into a story,
and finally, seeing my name in thick, bold print. I felt like a movie star the first time everyone read something I wrote, and I knew then that I didn’t want to do anything else.
“When I went to high school, and found out they didn’t have a newspaper, I got a bunch of the teachers together and got one started. That worked so well, it helped me get a scholarship to Howard University, and that’s how I ended up working at the Republic.”
Kally's mood began to lighten as she remembered those early days. Her high school newspaper would forever have a byline that told future generations it had been founded by her when she had been their age.
She went on to explain how she’d been editing the university’s newspaper, when one of her lecturers encouraged her to apply for an internship at the Republic. Dr. Grace Hale was on the board, and she’d been impressed with Kally’s coverage of the free trade agreement with Columbia. A light came into Kally's eyes as she discussed her early days at the paper, struggling to learn the ropes and fit in with the organization's culture.
She recalled how, a few weeks before graduation, her internship had become a part-time job. She talked about her first few assignments, and all the times people had slammed doors in her face. She laughed about all the crazy things she’d had to do to get stories, and smiled when she remembered meeting Beth for the first time. Alexandros was listening with interest, smiling genuinely for the first time that day, when Kally came to a sudden halt. She had come to the part in her story where Alexandros destroyed everything.
“I’m afraid I’ve been rambling,” Kally said, forcing down a rush of anger. Talking about it all again made her suddenly long for her desk at the Republic, and the company of her friends. Her chest ached with a sense of loss, almost as if he had taken it away from her all over again. It was hard to look at the man before her, but she managed it somehow, forcing herself to wear her plastic smile.
“I enjoyed it,” Alexandros replied.
“I’m glad you did,” returned Kally, though she was nothing of the sort. “I’ve heard rumors that you plan to launch a charity organization in addition to your other plans?”
“That is true. It will launch once the memoir is published. I hope that the book will help to promote the charity.”
“I hope so, too. When did you realize it was time to turn over a new leaf? Was it after you realized the truth about what was happening in the mines?”
Again there was silence, and the Greek sadly shook his head. “It was my daughter,” he said slowly. “My daughter, Stefania.”
“The accident? Kally asked cautiously.
“This isn't public knowledge, but it wasn’t an accident,” he replied quietly. “We told the press the driver lost control of the car. What really happened was that an assassin put a bullet through his brain. He died instantly. The car swerved, and the second shot, the one meant for me, went off course and hit my daughter instead.”
“She was murdered?” Kally breathed, horror-struck.
His face tightening, Alexandros nodded. “And every day I wish they had shot me instead. She did nothing!” he cried. “She died because of my mistakes. Just like the children in the mines…”
“What mistake?” Kally nearly whispered. “Who are these people?”
“They call themselves The Army of the Nine,” Alexandros said. “There was a village near my hometown, where my father built a chemical storage facility. When I took over Kerzoil, the people who lived there petitioned me to either move the facility, or make it safe. I did neither, thinking that both options would waste valuable time and company resources. Eventually, inevitably, there was an explosion, when a natural gas pipeline ruptured. Nine children died in the explosion, and the resulting fire burned up much of the village. When the people asked me to do something, I reminded them that natural gas pipelines were controlled by the government; that it wasn’t my responsibility to sink money into trying to rescue people.”
“You did nothing while the people of the village suffered?”
“Nothing,” replied the Greek with obvious regret. “The villagers never forgot it, either. The air was thick with noxious smoke for days. The river became polluted, and toxins seeped into their crops. All the people knew was grief and anger, and no one was helping them, least of all me. So they formed a group. They swore to hunt me down, wherever I go. They took Stefania a year ago,” he said, indicating the picture. “She's the only person I ever truly loved.”
“What about her mother?”
“I barely knew her. We had sex a few times, but there was no relationship. I never had the time to commit to a person; I barely even knew how. The way I was raised, caring for other people was not a skill I acquired. I only knew she'd got pregnant when she abandoned the child on my door, just wrapped her in a blanket and pinned a note to her clothes. She said she wanted nothing to do with the child, and that I shouldn't try to find her again. So I took her in, and suddenly, I could commit to someone. I loved her instantly and deeply, something I'd never felt before. But she is gone now, all because I failed to fix my mistakes.”
Kally’s heart was in her throat as she looked at Alexandros – a billionaire, a titan of industry – struggling not to cry. There was no denying he'd done terrible things in the past, but it was clear now that he was truly repentant. And no punishment anyone could conceive would be worse than the one he was suffering: losing the only person he had loved. She couldn’t do it; there was no way she could hand him over to Don.
A worry began licking at her bones. Don Lewis Jr. was not a person who took the word “no” lying down. He had a pack of lawyers ready to be summoned at any minute, as well as a plethora of unsavory connections. Over the years he’d been accused of corporate espionage, character assassination, sabotage, insider trading, and patent infringement. No one had yet found a way to make the charges stick, but Kally had covered many of the cases during her tenure at the Republic, and after reviewing the evidence, it was hard for her to doubt his guilt. She would have to handle the man with tact, or she could end up in trouble.
EIGHT
Suddenly an earsplitting whine tore through the room, causing Alexandros to sit bolt upright in his chair. Kally was shaken out of her reverie, and her heart suddenly felt as if someone were squeezing it as hard as they could.
“What the hell is that?” Kally said, startled.
“A security alarm,” Alexandros answered her calmly. It's probably nothing.“
Seconds later, the office door burst open. Eight security guards poured into the room dressed in full riot gear. One of them ran to Alexandros and hurriedly began whispering something in his ear. The Greek’s face visibly soured the more he heard.
“Speak of the devil,” Alexandros murmured to himself. “Seal the building,” he ordered calmly, “and sweep the premises.”
“What's going on?” Kally asked, her panic mounting.
“It’s probably a false alarm,” Alexandros said, “but you’d better follow me, just in case.”
Kally’s heart started to beat faster as she took Alexandros’ hand and followed his lead. He walked over to the far wall, and pressed his hand to the wallpaper. A blue beam, clearly a scanner, panned across it, and part of the wall slid aside to reveal a concealed staircase.
Even in her growing terror, Kally marveled at the secret door, which looked as though it belonged in Wayne Manor.
“We’ll be safe downstairs,” he said, leading her through the door and away from the screeching of the alarm.
The stairwell was narrow and dimly lit. Alexandros walked in front of Kally, who was now shivering with fear. Terrorists. Real live terrorists might be trying to break in to the house. She had, of course, covered similar events as part of her old job, and spoken face-to-face with dozens of experts, victims, and perpetrators, but she had never seen a person hell-bent on murder up close before, and she wasn’t in any mood to meet one now. She looked ahead of her, wondering how Alexandros could be so calm. After all, the killers were here for him.
After going down for four flights of stairs, they came to a huge door that looked like it belonged in a bank vault. Alexandros opened it using another security scanner, and led Kally into a sparsely-furnished room. There was a couch, a door that led to a small bathroom, a well-stocked bar, and nothing else. The heavy door swung shut, sealing them in, and Alexandros went to the bar. Grabbing a couple of tumblers and a bottle Kally didn't recognize, he swiftly poured them a round of drinks.
“Vodka; you look like you need this,” he said, offering a glass to Kally.
“Thank you, Mr. Stratos,” she replied, taking it with a shaky hand.
“Terrorists are trying to break into my home and kill me. I think it’s safe for you to call me Alexandros now,” the Greek remarked.
Kally laughed weakly, and took a long drink. “Okay then, Alexandros,” she intoned. “I guess it’s safe for you to call me Kally now.”
Kally took a moment to take in her surroundings. It certainly wasn’t the Batcave she had expected after fleeing through the hidden passageway. Whoever had stocked the panic room had forgotten to pack in anything in the way of entertainment. Kally could see neither books nor magazines. There was no television, but the bar, by contrast, looked fully stocked.
