Greywolf

by Brian Cain

CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Something hung over the head of humanity, something with more power than nuclear threats, as much as the now ostracised government bodies tried to find out just what it was, chasing leads got them nowhere. On the streets life went on as normal, money was more liberally spread, as the access to mass advertising and monopolisation waned, local networks began to function more effectively, centralised corporations lost control, they lost many whom demanded preference by lobbying government. The local butcher, baker and candlestick maker gave rise to more direct sustenance, the price of localised products fell, centralised corporate control was silenced, destroyed by its own manifestation, overheads imposed by the rich no longer required finance. The people took control, fear was turned upon those whom had used it as a tool to gain wealth under the name of democracy.

  The planet was not without suffering, but far less suffered as military and corporate control was withdrawn from those whom would use it to monopolise, Greywolf became the law, and his legacy spread. Delegation by the most was not necessary, as so many had become victims, equilibrium manifested itself.

  Sir Maurice Twodington lived in an environment that was about to come crashing down, corporate greed had financed his world since before his distant ancestors, he would be a breed that bore the brunt of change. Residing not far from Greywolf Manor, his world had been controlled by aristocracy, he could be told nothing and operated by making rash demands, threatening peoples livelihood and mixing with the rich and powerful. It was the morning of change.

  Twodington bounced from his manor door, thumping his chest with his hands and breathing in the country air in big breaths. A red tunic, riding helmet, pantaloons and long black boots he wore a grand smile scanning the tree line of the manor grounds. "Ahh, hunt day, my favourite day of the week." He suddenly noticed no one was around, no dogs, no horses and no hunt group gathered as was usually the case. He peered up and down the manor walls, his butler approached from the left, he looked sideways at his servant and wore a sneer, he waited until he could look the man directly in the eye. With a prominent plum in mouth accent he unleashed a verbal attack on his employee. "Where is my horse, and where is the hunt group," he looked at his watch. "I purposely waited beyond time so I was not held up by stragglers."

  "There is no hunt group."

  "Who is responsible for this unprecedented chain of events that would lead to such infamy?"

  "There is no money, you are bankrupt."

  "What are you talking about man, have you lost your mind."

  "Your accountant has asked for your presence for over two weeks, you didn't respond."

  Twodington filled with anger. "No one demands my presence, I will attend when ready, and where is your uniform, someone sees you dressed like that I'll be a laughing stock!"

  "I'm off to Broadstairs, they have asked for my assistance."

  "Broadstairs how dare you, you are fired man, do you hear me sacked."

  "I haven't been paid for a month."

  "And I'll see to it you never are." Twodington chuckled. "The impertinence, summon security."

  The man laughed. "Gone more than a week ago."

  "Has the place gone mad, I must get on the phone and arrange for more staff, I'll let you stay until then?"

  "Bollocks."

  Twodington's eyes became the size of dinner plates. "Remove yourself from this estate or I'll call the police!" The man laughed and walked away toward the motor garage. Twodington watched him, he disappeared into one of the bays and Twodington's wife's car drove serenely out, the man waved at him and drove off. Twodington flew into a fit of rage, he fumbled to find his phone and called his wife. "Elizabeth, Miles just stole your car, he's gone mad."

  "He didn't steal it Maurice, he's on his way to Broadstairs to help out."

  "Have you all gone mad," he half chuckled with confidence. "When I'm finished with this you'll all know who keeps you. And you tell that grimace that owns Broadstairs should he allow you to stay there I'll ruin him."

  "He's dead Maurice, has been for days, taken out by Greywolf."

  "Dead," he stood in silence with a look of reality. "What an earth are you talking about?"

  "Been trying to tell you for a couple of weeks Maurice, you wouldn't listen, many times I asked you to see our lawyers and accountant. Our lawyer's dead, our accountant is building something new with help from many."

  "What an earth is going on, look, you come back here and I'll go and sort this out."

  "Good bye Maurice," she hung up.

  "Elizabeth, Elizabeth," he looked at the phones mouthpiece as he shouted. "Elizabeth!!" The call had ended, he thrust the phone in his pocket, went into the house collecting something from his study, and strode toward the garage. He got in his Rolls Royce, slammed the door spinning the rear wheels as he left heading in a fit of rage for his accountant's office not far from the estate.

  He roared up to the drive of the country property, a large block on the edge of a small village, skidding to a halt outside the door. The curtains moved as a woman looked out to see who it was. "Roland, it's Maurice Twodington," she yelled.

  Roland Wolverbrower entered the room, he looked over her shoulder. "Go into the sitting room, I'll see him in the study."

  She turned and grabbed his shoulders. "Be careful, you have no idea what he's capable of, he's killed and got away with it."

  Roland guided his wife toward the door with his hand behind her back. "Don't worry, just go into the sitting room and wait." Twodington pounded on the door, Roland waited until his wife walked down the long hall and accessed the sitting room. He opened the door and Twodington burst in. "In the study please Maurice."

  Twodington invaded his space. "You're damn right you'll see me in the study," he walked into the adjacent study door just off the main entrance in the hallway followed by Roland. "What the hell is going on, has everyone gone mad?"

  Roland followed him in leaving the door open, walked round Twodington and stood behind his desk facing the angry man. "Calm down Maurice."

  "My sacked butler stole my wife's car and swore at me! I want the man ruined. I want my wife divorced and stripped of any peerage I have bestowed on her."

  Roland drew a big breath. "You're bankrupt."

  Twodington's face turned to stone, he went red, then white. "That's impossible."

  Roland sat down at his desk, he turned a book towards Twodington. "No, the results of the stock market crash and fall of your corporate structure can be traced in this ledger, you have debts of over three billion pounds."

  Twodington picked up the open ledger and looked at the page. He threw it against the wall. "Who is responsible for this, no wait, I hold you responsible."

  "You don't listen to anyone do you Maurice, things have changed, your life at the bottom of the garden with the fairies is over, know how to buy a pint of milk from the local farmer, how to support others in the community that need help and receive help in reply."

  Twodington looked round over his shoulders then at Roland, he pulled a revolver from his pocket. "Time I had a new accountant, I'll make a few calls and this will all be swept under the carpet."

  "Killed before have you Maurice?"

  "Yes I have, on more than one occasion, and there's nothing you can do about it."

  "You're a fool Maurice, Greywolf Manor is only a few miles away, have you been living under a rock."

  "Humph, I'm told Greywolf Manor will be finished in a matter of days."

  "Who told you that, someone you've been paying for years to tell you what you wanted to hear."

  "You impertinent scoundrel," he pointed the gun at Roland. "Another unsolved murder."

  A shot rang out, and another, then another. Splinters from the antique oak desk where Roland sat flew around the room, Maurice Twodington with a look of morbid surprise fell slowly backwards, his heavy rotund frame bouncing of the floor before coming to rest void of life. Roland stood up, he placed his semi automatic pistol on the desk, his wife came to the door
way, she lifted her hands to her face with a quick inhale. "Oh my god, Roland what have you done." He comforted his wife and ushered her to the sitting room. "Roland what do we do."

  "Call the police."

  "They'll have you taken away, Maurice has powerful friends."

  He smiled, sat her on the sofa and activated his phone. "Maurice didn't have any friends, he had accomplices, puppets, systems and enemies that tolerated his behaviour. Should they show their faces they will come under the shroud of Greywolf."

  Roland's wife spoke between whimpers. "Do you think he's real?"

  "If you had asked me six months ago I would have laughed at you, now I say some things we don't need to know." His phone made contact. "Police please."