The rest of my time was going to my brother’s company.
My brother Russell Moran had managed to convince the High Queen to give him the sole license to import fruit from the Elven homeworld of Kalvarion through the Great Gate. At the time, I had thought it just a curiosity. Russell, though, realized the huge potential market. Humans liked to imitate their Elven overlords, and fruit from Kalvarion was a new and exciting curiosity. And that didn’t even consider the Elven free cities, where Elven commoners lived on Earth away from humans. Many of them had been born on Kalvarion, and they hadn’t eaten the produce of their homeworld in centuries.
Moran Imports grew, and quickly. The Milwaukee metropolitan area had three main grocery chains, and we had orders from all of them before Thanksgiving. We had received a massive shipment of fruit from Kalvarion through the Great Gate in October, and all of it had sold while I had been busy in New York helping out that grateful dragon. Now Moran Imports had orders to fill for every grocery store in Milwaukee and starting next year, we would be shipping fruit to a dozen different Elven cities in the United States.
The growth was astonishing. I hate to say it, but it helped that the Archons had enslaved Kalvarion for centuries. So when the Mage Fall destroyed the Archons, there was already an infrastructure of Elven farmers who needed to sell their crops. Turns out free farmers work a lot harder than slaves (funny how that works), and so the amount we paid for the fruit was more money than any of them had seen in their lifetimes.
It also helped that Russell and Robert Ross did most of the work. I mean, I did a lot of the work, but Russell did three times as much. He interviewed people, he made phone calls, he secured arrangements with trucking companies, and more. All this while he still wasn’t technically a legal adult – I held his share in the company in trust, and I had to approve everything he did.
My old friend Robert Ross joining the company was a stroke of luck. He was a former man-at-arms who had served for Duke Carothrace of Madison, and I had met him a few years ago during that business with the Nihlus Stone and Rosalyn Madero, and again during the Sky Hammer battle in New York. He had a baby who had needed a great deal of medical care, and his wife Alexandra was pregnant with another child. Robert wanted to make more money in the civilian sector to pay for all those kids. He retired from the Duke’s service, and Russell had hired him as our business manager, luring him in with a share of the profits.
Assuming Moran Imports turned a profit next year, of course. Russell had spent all of the two and a half million dollars he had gotten after Nicholas Connor’s death, and I had added a million dollars of my own money. That wasn’t enough to cover our costs, so the company had borrowed nine and a half million more dollars. I didn’t think the bank would lend us that much, but it turns out that if your business is based on an exclusive license from the High Queen, the loan officer suddenly gets way more friendly. Obsequious, even.
So, we borrowed a lot of money.
God. Nine and a half million dollars. My head spins to think about it.
Except if everything went according to plan, by the end of next year, we would pay it all back, meet our payroll and equipment costs, and turn a small profit. The year after that, we would make a much, much bigger profit. Especially if the company kept expanding to new markets.
If nothing went wrong for us, of course.
But on November 4th, Conquest Year 316, things started to go wrong.
Or to put it more accurately, Arnold Brauner, former governor of the state of Wisconsin, made sure things started to go wrong for us.
It was a Tuesday, and I was in Moran Imports’ main warehouse in Waukesha. It had once been a distribution center for a retail chain that had gone out of business about ten years ago, and Russell and I had gotten the place cheap. It wasn’t in the greatest repair, and it was more space than we currently needed, but it hadn’t taken much work to get the refrigerators running. And we would use the space for our expansion next year.
I was working in my office. Well, I say “my” office, but Russell, Robert, and I all shared the same one. It was a concrete-floored room with a single window offering a scenic view of the parking lot. My desk was a folding table with a computer and a lot of paperwork. I was going over a bill of lading we had gotten for the latest shipment through the Great Gate, making sure that a pallet or two of Elven strawberries hadn’t “accidentally” fallen off the back of the truck. I was wearing a tank top, black jeans, and running shoes, because I had just finished helping load a truck since we were short on workers.
“Hey, Nadia?”
“Yeah?” Robert Ross leaned into the office, frowning. He was a ridiculously handsome Hispanic man, and when I had met him for the first time, I had thought that he and his pretty blond wife Alexandra would have cute babies. Turns out I was right. I wasn’t the sort of woman to get gooey over babies, but their son Felix was indeed very cute. Right now, Robert wore a sweat-stained polo shirt tucked into cargo pants, and he looked concerned.
“There’s a guy here, says he’s a lawyer,” said Robert. “He wants to talk to one of the owners of the company.”
“That means me,” I said, getting to my feet. Russell was at school, going through an accelerated program so he could graduate early from high school. After our experiences with the Rebels and the Sky Hammer, he had lost all interest in school, but he needed to finish before he could devote his full attention to the company. “I’ll talk to him.”
I followed Robert from the office, through the warehouse floor, and to the front lobby. Six trucks were in the process of getting loaded, and I cast a hard look over the process. Everything was going well, but I would double-check later. Hiring reliable unskilled workers is damned challenging.
We entered the front lobby of the warehouse, a small area with a linoleum floor and an empty receptionist’s desk since we couldn’t afford a receptionist yet. I reminded myself for the thousandth time to have the lobby repainted, or just do it myself.
A man in a suit awaited us. He was about forty, not fat but with the plump build of a man who had never done physical labor and whose doctor hadn’t forced him to exercise. His brown hair had been combed in a neat part, and he had glasses over cold eyes. Right away, my instincts buzzed a warning.
“Mrs. MacCormac?” said the man.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I said.
“My name is Thomas Hawley,” he said. We shook hands. Soft hand, but firm grip. “I represent Governor Arnold Brauner, and I wondered if I could have a moment of your time.”
I grinned my mirthless grin at him. “Former Governor Arnold Brauner.”
Hawley answered with an equally humorless smile. “A courtesy title, of course. But Governor Brauner remains engaged in both the political and business life of the state of Wisconsin.”
“He sure does,” I said.
Which made sense, once you realized that Brauner was basically a racketeer. It had paid off for him. At the age of twenty, he had inherited a dairy farm on the verge of bankruptcy. Forty years later, he was the richest man in Wisconsin. He had served three terms as state governor, a post now occupied by his eldest son Martin. His second son Luke was a US Senator, and his youngest son William was currently the mayor of Milwaukee. Everybody knew that.
What most people didn’t know was that Brauner controlled most of the organized crime in Wisconsin, with the imprimatur of Duke Tamirlas of Milwaukee and Duke Carothrace of Madison. I knew that because back in the bad old days, Lord Morvilind had sent me to steal from Brauner’s organization a few times, and I had sold stolen goods to Brauner’s people (while Masked, of course) since Morvilind never bothered to pay me and I needed the cash.
I had wondered when some of his people would start sniffing around.
“Let’s head to the conference room,” I said. “I bet we have lots to talk about.”
Robert went to supervise the loading of the trucks, and I led Hawley to the conference room, such as it was. Right now, it mostly held collapsed cardboa
rd boxes, a pair of pallet jacks that needed repair, and two dead printers. It also had a pair of folding tables and a coffee maker. I poured two cups of coffee, took one, set the other in front of Hawley, and sat down across from him.
“So,” I said. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Merely to extend Governor Arnold’s congratulations and best wishes on your business,” said Hawley. Since there had been two Governor Brauners, people tended to refer to them as Governor Arnold and Governor Martin. “It is quite impressive what you and your brother have built in a very short time, and the potential for growth is nothing short of amazing.”
I shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “The world’s changing. The Great Gate’s open, and there are no more Archons. There’s a lot of opportunity for people who want to help the High Queen rebuild Kalvarion.”
Which was why the High Queen had given Russell the exclusive license to import fruit from Kalvarion and sell it on Earth. I think she wanted to use human companies to rebuild Kalvarion, which would prevent the Elven nobles from amassing too much power, provide an economic stimulus for Earth, and repair the damage to the Elven homeworld. It would also create a group of powerful human businessmen dependent on the High Queen for their power and wealth. And it gave the High Queen another means of keeping me under control.
I hadn’t been Tarlia’s shadow agent all that long, but more than long enough to realize she never did anything for just one reason, and that her plans had layers upon layers.
“It’s an exciting time for both the state of Wisconsin and the city of Milwaukee,” said Hawley. “With the Great Gate to Kalvarion open just outside of the city, it means both big changes and big opportunities are coming to Wisconsin, the United States, and the entire world.”
“Yep,” I said, wondering when Hawley would get to the point.
“But change can be disastrous if it’s mismanaged,” said Hawley. “Governor Arnold is concerned about the impact these changes will have on the working families of Wisconsin.”
“We’re going to add a lot of jobs,” I said. “And not just Moran Imports. I think in another ten years Milwaukee’s going to be twice the size it is now.”
“That’s the reason for my visit,” said Hawley. “First, to see if you and your brother would consider making a donation or an ongoing contribution to the Brauner Foundation. The Foundation’s charitable work will be of great value in these unsettled times. Second, Governor Arnold has friends in a lot of the state’s major businesses. Construction, trucking, commercial HVAC – all things your business is going to need as it grows. The governor would be happy to help you network with his friends in the businesses you will need.”
Ah. This was a shakedown.
The Brauner Foundation did a lot of charitable work, that was true. It was also a slush fund for the Brauner family and its political ambitions. The charitable donations tended to get delivered to the constituencies of people who did favors for the Brauners or who could deliver votes when one of Governor Arnold’s sons was up for reelection. As for the companies, the Brauners had shares or controlling interests in a lot of construction and utility companies in Wisconsin.
It wasn’t hard to see why Hawley was here. The Great Gate had shaken things up, and new companies were starting to trade with and do business on Kalvarion, companies that Brauner didn’t control. If he wanted to preserve his power and pass it on to his sons, he needed to get his fingers into some of the new pies.
“That’s an interesting offer,” I said. “I’ll have to discuss it with my brother before we come to any final decisions.”
Hawley nodded, calm and reasonable. “Of course. But, Mrs. MacCormac, it would be better to come to a decision sooner rather than later. Moran Imports is a young and growing business, and new businesses have all kinds of growing pains. Governor Arnold has a lot of experience with that, and he might be able to help you through them.”
I smiled, and a pulse of pure fury went through my head.
That had been a threat. I had no doubt that if Russell and I refused to play ball, Brauner’s “friends” would start inflicting growing pains on Moran Imports until we knuckled under.
In that instant, I thought about killing Thomas Hawley then and there.
Most people have violent thoughts but don’t act on them. For those who do act on them, if they have an iota of self-control, they plan them out. People with violent impulses and no self-control tend to end up on Punishment Day videos.
But for me…
I could kill Hawley in five seconds, and I would never get caught.
It would be easy. A sphere of fire to drill a tunnel through Hawley’s skull. Then I would open a rift way to the Shadowlands and dump his corpse through it. Some wandering anthrophage or wraithwolf would devour his body, and that would be that. No one would ever know what happened. We didn’t have working security cameras in most of the building. Hawley’s car was in the parking lot, true, but I could dispose of that as well. The High Queen wouldn’t approve of casual murder, but so long as it didn’t cause problems for her, I doubt she would stop me.
Because it would have been so easy, I didn’t do it. I didn’t want to be a monster. Maybe I was already a little bit of a monster. I had helped Morvilind kill millions of Archons, though none of those Archons had been innocent. I was pretty sure that a lawyer working for a racketeer like Arnold Brauner didn’t exactly have clean hands, either.
But…I had gained immense personal power, and I had the responsibility to use it well. The price of power was responsibility. And could I look at Riordan and Russell and tell them that I had murdered a man for making veiled threats? No.
Instead, I took a deep breath.
Hawley shifted a little on his folding chair. I suppose he had been around enough violent people that he recognized the signs of someone calming down.
“That’s a very kind of Governor Arnold,” I said. “I appreciate that, but I can’t make a decision right now. I need to talk it over with my brother first. This is his company.”
“You have shares in it, I understand,” said Hawley.
“Yeah, but I’m just running things until he comes of age,” I said. “I can’t make a unilateral decision of this significance. I’ll have to talk to him and get back to you.”
Hawley nodded. “I can understand that. Governor Arnold believes family is the most important thing. That was a centerpiece of his campaigns for governor.” He reached into his jacket and drew out a business card. “My number’s there. When you and Mr. Moran are ready to talk things over, you can reach me here day or night.”
“All right,” I said. We stood and shook hands. I squeezed a little harder, just to show that I could. “Thanks for coming down. I think we’ll talk soon, probably before Thanksgiving. Let me walk you out.”
I did, and I scowled at his car as he drove away.
Okay. So that had been the first offer.
Brauner wasn’t the kind of guy who took no for an answer, and I don’t mean that in a complimentary way. Granted, I hadn’t exactly said no, but I hadn’t given an enthusiastic yes either. And I had been telling the truth, I did want to talk to Russell first. Because the hard truth was that we were going to have to come to an accommodation with the Brauner family. They were powerful enough that a business of our size (and our potential size) was going to have to deal with them sooner or later.
Unless, of course, I Cloaked, walked up behind Brauner, and shot him in the head…
Nope. Wasn’t doing that. Not unless he crossed some lines first.
Well, I would talk to Russell, and we would figure something out.
I expected trouble from Brauner if we waited too long.
I did not expect trouble the very next day.
Follow this link to continue reading CLOAK OF WOLVES (https://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=11141).
***
Other books by the author
The Demonsouled Saga
MAZAEL CRAVENLOCK is a wandering
knight, fearless in battle and masterful with a sword.
Yet he has a dark secret. He is Demonsouled, the son of the ancient and cruel Old Demon, and his tainted blood grants him superhuman strength and speed. Yet with the power comes terrible, inhuman rage, and Mazael must struggle to keep the fury from devouring him.
But he dare not turn aside from the strength of his blood, for he will need it to face terrible foes.
The priests of the San-keth plot and scheme in the shadows, pulling lords and kingdoms upon their strings. The serpent priests desire to overthrow the realms of men and enslave humanity. Unless Mazael stops them, they shall force all nations to bow before the serpent god.
The Malrag hordes are coming, vast armies of terrible, inhuman beasts, filled with a lust for cruelty and torment. The Malrags care nothing for conquest or treasure, only slaughter. And the human realms are ripe for the harvest. Only a warrior of Mazael’s power can hope to defeat them.
The Dominiar Order and the Justiciar Order were once noble and respected, dedicated to fighting the powers of dark magic. Now they are corrupt and cynical, and scheme only for power and glory. They will kill anyone who stands in their way.
To defeat these foes, Mazael will need all the strength of his Demonsouled blood.
Yet he faces a far more terrible foe.
For centuries the Old Demon has manipulated kings and lords. Now he shall seize the power of the Demonsouled for himself, and become the a god of torment and tyranny.
Unless Mazael can stop him.
Read Demonsouled (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=880) for free. Mazael's adventures continue in Soul of Tyrants (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=911), Soul of Serpents (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1287), Soul of Dragons (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1727), Soul of Sorcery (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1845), Soul of Skulls (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=2808), and Soul of Swords (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=3599), along with the short stories The Wandering Knight (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=3073), The Tournament Knight (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=3677), and The Dragon's Shadow (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=2635). Get the first three books bundled together in Demonsouled Omnibus One (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=4442).
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