by Ammar Habib
Villanueva smiled upon hearing his counterpart’s words. “Wise words, Ethan.”
Ethan slightly nodded in gratitude.
“Many say that Richardson’s death is what really threw the movement into action. After everyone saw that Crown City’s Guardian would not let any of the corrupt get away with their crimes, they began to join the movement by the thousands. And the corrupt started to feel fear.” Villanueva paused for a moment. “And what are your thoughts on The Guardian?”
“I don’t think he’s just Crown City’s hero. I think that he’s the entire nation of Tripton’s protector. I think he’s the creation of the corruption that was once rampant throughout the nation.”
Villanueva nodded. “This is exactly why I wanted to meet with you. Because of the way you think and the things you stand for.”
“And what is it that you want?”
Villanueva glanced down at his computer screen. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, Villanueva Technologies is developing a new product line. One that we expect to do very well right out of the gate.”
“I saw a report about that.”
“Good, good. But I can assure you, what I’m about to tell you next is not in any report. At least not yet.”
Ethan leaned forward in his chair a little.
“It is my desire that the entire profits from this product line be given back to the populace of Crown City.”
Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. For a moment he thought his ears had deceived him. He sat quietly for a minute as he tried to process the words that had just been spoken. “You want to donate all the profits?”
Villanueva nodded. “And I wish to do it through your charities, especially through your charity’s orphanages and shelters.”
“My charities?”
“Because of who you are…I’ve done my homework on you, Ethan. You’re more than just David’s grandson. You’re more than just my good friend’s heir. You’re an honest and brave man. Somebody who stands up for those who cannot. You’ve never allowed yourself to be bullied by bureaucrats that come in with their threats and muscle, and try to push people around. You’re a rare breed to come by, Ethan.”
Thoughtfully, Ethan resumed his previous position. “I’m flattered, Mr. Villanueva. I really am. But I can’t help but think that your board of directors is not too excited about this idea.”
“That’s why they don’t know and won’t know until it’s announced to the press.”
“That could complicate things.”
“It would be if we were a corporation. But being a privately held company, their involvement is not needed in making decisions.”
“But why do you want to do this? Why now?”
Villanueva took a deep breath. “Over the past two years since the revolution began, it has been gaining traction. Every day, marches are happening in the heart of Crown City. These marches and many prominent businesses are doing things that are putting pressure on the nation’s economy. And because of this, one of the temporary downfalls is that a lot of people are hurting. I feel responsible, Ethan. I’ve been one of the biggest proponents and supporters of the revolution; I feel responsible for those that are in need, and want to do more to give back to them.”
Ethan slightly smiled. Maybe Villanueva was the saint that everybody said he was. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Villanueva. Let me go and speak to some of my people about this. See what they think. I’ll get in touch with you soon with my decision.”
“How soon do you think?”
“Depends really…but it will be as quick as possible.”
Villanueva nodded. “Fair enough, Ethan.”
They both rose to their feet and shook hands.
“By the way, Ethan, I was in Zimba recently for a technological convention and ran across a friend of yours: Boris’s granddaughter, Katrina. You and her are close from what I understand?”
Ethan froze. In an instant, his heart filled with a thousand emotions at the mention of her name—sadness, longing, fear, hope. “Yes…yes, we are.”
***
The parking garage was full of vehicles, but empty of any life. Only the clattering sounds of Ethan’s shoes could be heard as he made his way through the garage and toward a sleek yellow Lamborghini. The polished vehicle perfectly shimmered under the garage’s dim, orange lights. Its black tinted windows hid any of the interior’s contents.
Ethan’s thoughts reflected back to earlier that day. He had found a note that had been written by David when Ethan was born. David had mentioned it to him before, but Ethan had never seen it with his own eyes. And moments before leaving his house to meet Villanueva, he had finally stumbled upon it.
Clearing his head, Ethan pulled out his phone, punched in a number, then waited for the person to answer. A voice finally came on.
“I’m almost in position, Ethan.”
“Good. Contact me when you see the new arrivals.”
“Will do. It’ll be in an hour if my Intel is accurate.”
“Alright. Be careful.” Ethan arrived at his car.
“I’m always careful.”
“Whatever you say,” Ethan replied with a slight smile, now sitting comfortably on the interior’s leather seat.
“Will you be on patrol?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. I’ll contact you soon.”
***
Marcos, the unofficial leader of Tripton’s revolution, looked out of his high-rise office’s large window and down at Crown City. The controversial businessman’s hands were both clasped behind his back as he let his thoughts wander.
The heavy clouds completely blocked out the sun. There was a strong breeze blowing through downtown; the branches of the trees tilted with the gust, the dicey winds only adding to the already frigid air that had encompassed the city for weeks now. Almost all of the grass was covered in a layer of white snow. The citizens of Crown City were used to this dreary weather by now, and it would be weeks before all the snow disappeared.
So much had changed in the two years since he and the rest of the revolution’s leaders had made a deal with their mysterious associate, pledging their allegiance to The Guardian. So much had changed since the plan had been set into motion—things could never go back to the way they were before.
Down below, several military vehicles were visible as Marshall Law continued its reign over the city. The people of Crown City were accustomed to the sight. For the past two years the military and police had regularly promised to fire upon any rioters or violators of their sanctions, but they never followed through with their threats. They knew that firing into the mobs of people would guarantee their own deaths. If they harmed a single citizen, the vigilante they all feared would come after them.
Crime lords had attempted to climb out of the darkness and infiltrate the city while the police were overwhelmed with the rioters. But their plans were short-lived as The Guardian took out all who tried to stake their claims, leaving the rest to run back to the sewers they had crawled out from. All that was left were petty street thugs and a few of the more courageous gangs. But even their backs were against the wall.
Marcos wondered if the criminals who had not retreated were brave or stupid.
Common criminals were not the only people The Guardian targeted. He went after numerous government officials known for their corruption, but protected from the arms of the law by their titles. The Guardian did not discriminate—officers, delegates, bureaucrats—none of them were spared.
The marches across Crown City’s downtown streets consumed the daily news—local and worldwide. The continued marches, and decisions of many businesses, put mounting pressure on the nation’s economy and government. Many predicted that it was only a matter of time before the government gave into the revolution’s demands.
The riots severely hurt Tripton’s economy and in turn hurt the global economy. Most, if not all, of the president’s own party begged him to make a deal with the opposition; give into the revolution’s dema
nds so that the crisis would finally end.
He refused…at least so far.
Hearing a visitor walk in through the doorway, Marcos’s thoughts were jolted back to reality. His assistant stopped a few strides behind him.
“Sir, Tony Hernandez is here to see you.”
“Did he say what he wants?”
“No, sir.”
“Send him in.”
With a nod, the assistant turned and left the room quickly. Marcos remained in his stoic position. He already knew why Tony was there.
Tony had always been clever, planning ten steps ahead. Knowing that there was a chance at the presidency coming up, he was already garnering political allies to help propel him to the nation’s most powerful position.
Everyone knew that Villanueva could easily win the election. Even before the revolution, he was a hero to the common man. Villanueva was a champion of the people. Nearly going bankrupt numerous times in the name of justice, his reputation was known far and wide.
Tony knew he did not stand a chance at winning the election and would need to amass an army of powerful allies to beat the man who was deemed a saint by the entire nation. He wanted this power. He was mad with it. He thought of nothing else.
And he would do whatever he needed to get it.
Chapter 3
Shootout
“Any more questions?” Sitting at the end of the long, polished table, the arbiter looked at the two parties of well-dressed people sitting across from one another.
The windows’ curtains were drawn back, but a thick layer of clouds blocked any sunlight from raying down into the room, mirroring the inauspicious feel amongst the gathered group. The yellow ceiling lights were illuminated, along with the lamps that were attached to the walls. A flat screen television was latched onto the wall adjacent to the windows. But it was switched off, a noticeable difference from the usual noise that would otherwise fill the room.
All eyes were on the leader of one of the parties. She was considered a “pretty” lady by anyone’s standards. Her smile and delicate laughter captured the attention of many. And despite being blessed with eye-catching beauty, Katrina equally possessed a brilliant mind whose thoughts and opinions were well trusted amongst her peers.
Katrina had recently inherited an empire and became one of the most powerful people in the international business world.
Today, however, she was not smiling. She scanned over the notes in front of her. The cheerful mood that Katrina normally emitted seemed lost behind the lines of worry that lay bare on her face. Her long black locks hung freely over her knee-length, short-sleeved emerald dress as she read over her writing. After a few long moments, she again looked up at the young man who sat across from her. The man was smiling at her, and had been the entire time; however, she did not returned the gesture.
Katrina once again spoke rather coldly to the smiling man. “How long will it take you to announce the decision to the press after the contract is signed?”
“Not long.”
“Is there a number you can give me?”
The man looked over at his assistant, prompting the young lady to speak. “Two days at the most.”
“We’ll put that in the contract then.”
The young man looked back at Katrina. “Is that really necessary?”
“Is there a problem if it is?”
He silently shook his head as he kept his eyes on her.
Katrina looked at the four people who sat on either side of her. “Anything else you think we need to ask?”
All her advisors exchanged glances, but no one said anything.
Seeing that they had nothing to say, Katrina’s gaze came back onto the arbiter. “I think we’re all done here. I’ll have my lawyers review the contract one more time. If they see nothing that needs changing, I’ll sign it and send a copy of it to you and another copy to Mr. Smith’s office.”
The arbiter nodded. “Very good, Ms. Weaving.”
Everyone began to rise out of their seats. The sounds of low voices, chairs being pushed back, and the shuffling of papers consumed the room. Katrina heard a few whispers, but did not make the effort to try and listen in. The arbiter quickly pushed his chair back in and headed towards the door. He disappeared into the hallway and was followed by just about everyone.
Katrina left her notes where they were as she slowly came to her feet. Gazing out of the window, her trance was quickly interrupted by the light tap she felt on her shoulder. Looking back, her gaze came onto another young lady wearing a hijab: her friend, Maira.
“It seems that you are running the family company just as good as your grandfather did, Katrina.”
“I wish I felt the same. It’s just…”
“What is it, Katrina.”
“…nothing.”
There was a brief, awkward silence between them before Maria broke it. “I was going to go and get myself some coffee. Do you need anything?”
She slightly smiled at her friend’s concern. “I’m fine, Maira. Thanks.”
“You sure? You look like you could use some.”
Katrina nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Okay then…see you later.”
Finally alone, Katrina took a deep breath. Looking down, she stared at her ring. The ring Ethan had given her that fateful day on the icy bridge, and the one she swore to herself she would wear until they met again.
Today, like any other day, she was not nervous from running the company. Meetings like this were routine to her. What caused her cold and distant demeanor was something else…something that ran far deeper. It was the fact that any day, she could receive the news that Ethan would never return to her. Not because he did not love her, but because he may become a martyr in the war he was waging. His quest for justice may leave him to be another fallen soldier on a battlefield.
And it was those thoughts that kept her awake at night.
Hearing a light knock on the door, Katrina turned in time to see a man enter the boardroom. This one was a welcomed guest. Seeing her long-time friend, Katrina slightly smiled.
Ivan entered the room with a newspaper in hand. The bald, middle-aged Russian who always wore a black suit and tie, made his way across the room. “I have it, Katrina.”
“Thank you, Ivan.”
“This is from an hour ago.” Ivan handed her the freshly printed report and watched her expression as she hastily unfolded it.
Her eyes quickly looked at the picture and the headline. And as she was processing it, she looked up at her bodyguard with a sigh of relief, her smile suddenly growing tenfold.
Seeing Katrina finally smile for the first time today, Ivan returned the gesture. “Good to see you smile again.”
The image of the masked Guardian leaping across rooftops in the distant night was burned in her head. The image had only been captured hours ago and proved that what she prayed for every day continued to be answered. “He’s alive, Ivan. He’s still alive.”
***
The signal had come. It was time to go to work again.
The young, dark-skinned man grabbed his ragged coat off its worn-down hanger and swiftly threw it on over his slim figure. Walking into his living room, he picked up his tattered, brown woolen hat from the rocking chair’s armrest. He put it on his head as he came into the small foyer. Without a second thought, he walked across the broken tiled floor and headed toward the front door. As his hand touched the doorknob, a voice from the staircase stopped him.
“Adam!”
The twenty-one-year-old turned around and looked at his older brother. He stood close to the bottom of the dilapidating stairs, his chastising eyes staring right at Adam.
“Don’t tell me you’re going downtown.”
“You shouldn’t ask questions if you won’t like the answers, James.”
James reached the bottom of the staircase. “I am not allowing you to go to another one of those marches.”
“I have to go.”
“It’s a death wish
, Adam!” James came into the foyer. “You’re ask—”
“Why can’t you see what’s happening, James? Why can’t you see what we’re doing? Every day more people are joining us. Every day, more people are joining our banner. The banner of our hero.”
“Then they are all fools.”
“Where have you been for the past two years? Don’t you see what’s happening?”
“You want to know where I’ve been? I’ve been here, working like a dog so that we don’t end up homeless. I’ve been up every night, praying that you’ll come home safely from your God-forsaken antics.”
“Why can’t you see who is leading us to victory?”
“Us? You really believe anything will change for people like us?”
Without hesitation, Adam spoke with a confidence he did not know he had. “Yes. Yes I do. And yes it will.”
“We have enough problems, Adam. There’s barely enough food in the fridge. There aren’t any jobs anywhere. We owe money to everybody and everything. And here you are wanting to go on these damn marches.”
“It doesn’t matter, James. Nothing else matters right now.”
“Mom and dad are gone because of the police. Don’t you remember that?”
Adam did not say anything.
“Don’t you remember their funeral? Don’t you remember how it felt putting them in the ground and watching them leave us forever?”
Again, there was no reply.
“Do you want me to feel that again? Do you want me to bury you too? One of these days a protest will get out of hand. One of these days, the military will make good on their promises to shoot into the crowd.”
Adam turned away. “No…they won’t.”