Alpha Contracts

by Chris Kennedy

  The office door opened, and a bevy of lawyers entered. The oldest among them sat behind the desk and, after unlocking the desk, removed an official looking folder. Everyone waited while he examined the paperwork. Two of his assistants, or maybe junior partners, were women. Lawrence caught one’s attention and winked. She narrowed her eyes in response, and he smiled.

  “Gentlemen and ladies,” the older lawyer said, “we have permission from the court to proceed with the accelerated disposition of the estate of the late Mr. Edward Fran Kosmalski. This is contingent on the fact that all of you signed the advance agreement not to contest the will.” He removed a sheaf of papers. They’d all signed without knowing what was in the will, knowing if they contested, there was a clause where they would get nothing.

  He read more details while Lawrence sat remembering his childhood in Gdynia. Grandfather’s estate overlooked the Gulf of Danzig, and they’d often sat and watched the ships go by. “See that ship,” his grandfather had said one day, pointing at a freighter going slowly by the headland, making way for the Baltic Sea, “that will be yours one day. It and many more like it!”

  The lawyer had continued to ramble on about legalities as Lawrence wandered through his memories, finally coming to the point.

  “And thus, we have the last will and testament of Edward Fran Kosmalski.”

  “About time,” Lech grumbled. For once, Lawrence found himself agreeing with his cousin.

  “First there are a number of great grandchildren,” the lawyer said. He named them off one at a time. “Each are to receive 20,000 euros toward their educations.” He went on to list various younger relatives, nephews, and a few personal friends and longtime employees, giving out amount from 5,000 euros to as much as 100,000 euros to a personal secretary. “There are several people named in the will who predeceased Mr. Kosmalski; the amount bequeathed to them will go to their estates.” He shuffled some papers. “There are a few dozen other minor bequests that I will make available, but none add up to more than 50,000 euros total.”

  He set aside the small stack of papers and picked up the last set.

  “The last three items represent the majority of the remaining assets. There is a set-aside for his wife’s sister, Amelia Burowitz, in the amount of 1,000,000 euros, to take care of her for the rest of her life.” He put that page down. “‘Then to my grandson, whom I hope I have given all the vital skills necessary to succeed, Lawrence Kosmalski, I leave the sum of 10,000,000 euros, hoping he will use them to get the start he needs. The remainder of my estate goes to Lech Kosmalski, including all properties and vessels.’”

  It took a full minute for Lawrence to understand what he’d heard. Only when the cute lawyer he’d been flirting with said his name did he realize she was holding out a folder to him. There was a check paper-clipped to the front of it, and he could see it was in his name for 10,000,000 euros, just like the will had said. There must be some mistake, he heard himself thinking.

  “Please take this, sir,” the lady said. Her Polish was strangely accented.

  “It’s not right,” he said. Over to one side, Lech was shaking hands with the other family members. He looked like the cat which had just eaten the proverbial canary.

  “I assure you it is,” she said. “There’s a complete legal copy of the will inside with the other necessary tax paperwork.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he mumbled, taking the folder and standing up. In a split second, his future was gone. From the company his grandfather had promised him to a check for a few million euros. What was he supposed to do now? The school, the training, the promises. Lech was suddenly in front of him, ridiculous smile on his face, holding his hand out to shake. “You knew,” Lawrence said, his voice full of accusation.

  “Of course I knew!” his cousin laughed. “After all the whining and complaining you did before coming aboard the Wilk, I convinced grandfather you needed to be watched carefully. It took some time to convince him that you really didn’t have the mentality to run a company like mine.” Like mine, Lawrence heard repeated in the back of his mind. “Still, ten million euros is more than I would have given you.” He shrugged and laughed. “Better luck next time?”

  Lawrence didn’t know how he ended up on top of Lech, his fists pounding the sanctimonious smile off his face. Lawrence hadn’t struck another person in anger since he was eight years old. He was surprised at how good it felt, even as he felt the bones in his hands break against Lech’s face, the blood splashing onto his suit, and the screaming of the people in the office.

  Then he was being dragged off his cousin, and he was the one screaming. Screaming in uncontrollable rage. He was still screaming when the police arrived to haul him away.

  * * * * *

  Winged Hussars - 3

  “Lawrence Kosmalski, number 88990-1,” he said mechanically when the guard arrived at his door.

  “Wrist,” the man said. Lawrence pushed his wrist through the slot in the door, automatically pulling the sleeve up to reveal both the tough plastic ID bracelet, and the line of tattoos that went all the way to his shoulder. All in all, there were more than 40 tattoos on his body. He had 10 piercings too.

  “You are to report to the warden’s office.”

  “I’m not up for parole for another six months,” Lawrence replied.

  “I don’t care; report as ordered.”

  “Fine. Are you going to unlock the door, or do I have to crawl through the slot?”

  “Smartass convict.” The cell door buzzed and slid open. The guard took a couple steps back against the railing and watched Lawrence with a wary eye. He had a reputation for being unpredictable.

  For his part, Lawrence didn’t make any sudden moves. Being told to report to the warden’s office when he wasn’t up for parole was strange enough to be interesting, so he went along with it. You didn’t visit the warden for simple punishment.

  Early afternoon in Rakowiecka Prison, the cavernous old brick building rang with the sounds of voices and the smell of confinement. Lawrence had called it home for two years, and according to the sentence, would continue to do so for another five. The prison dated back to the Soviet Union, and despite every attempt, it smelled like it.

  He walked along the open second floor catwalk, where his cell was, to the spiral metal staircase, and continued down it. The guard there scanned his bracelet again to let him through. After that it was a short walk to the main administration building, another scan, and he was up to the warden’s office. The secretary winked when she saw him, and Lawrence winked back. She had a sweet spot for him, and he’d found her sweet spot many times. It was an equitable arrangement.

  “Warden Lebowski is waiting for you, Lawrence.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I can’t say,” she said. He tried to gauge her response and failed. He made a face, and she shrugged as she reached under her desk and pressed the buzzer at the same time she pressed the intercom.

  “Prisoner Kosmalski, Lawrence, here to see you.”

  “Send him in,” the voice called back. Lawrence went in.

  The office wasn’t spartan, but it was plainer than you’d expect when visiting a man with his responsibilities. A few pictures and two chairs in the front of a metallic desk where the warden, a tall and lean former officer in the Polish Army, sat. Lawrence walked in and stood in the little white square painted on the floor directly in front of the desk, and waited. Warden Lebowski ignored Lawrence for a good 5 minutes, looking at papers on his desk and taking sips of tea. Lawrence waited, arms behind his back, eyes straight ahead. He knew the drill. Finally, Lebowski looked up and examined the man before him.

  “Mr. Kosmalski,” he said, “Lawrence Kosmalski, 88990-1. One of my more famous guests.” Lawrence didn’t reply. “Nearly beat your brother to death.”

  “Cousin.”

  “Excuse me, inmate?”

  “Lech is my cousin, sir.” Lebowski frowned and looked down at his paperwork. He ran a finger down the sheet th
en stopped.

  “Oh, yes, I see. Huh,” he said and shook his head. “I always thought it was your brother. Well, regardless, here you are.”

  “May I ask why, sir?”

  Lebowski looked back down at the papers and frowned. Lawrence risked a look as well. It had a seal on it, an official seal. Despite himself, he felt his heart begin to race.

  “Your…cousin, has had a change of heart.”

  “I find that hard to believe, sir,” Lawrence said.

  “Considering how badly you beat him, that doesn’t surprise me.” Lebowski flipped the page and there was a picture of Lech, face bloody and swollen, multiple stiches over his eye, and a broken nose. It took everything Lawrence had not to smile. “But regardless, he has approved your parole.” Lawrence did smile now. “On one condition.” The smile died.

  “What is that, sir?” When the warden looked up, he was smiling.

  * * *

  Lawrence walked through the doors of Kosmalski Shipping, which was something he hadn’t thought he’d ever do again. The building looked unchanged except that over the door it now said “Lech Kosmalski, President and CEO.” It was a sign of the two years that had gone by that he didn’t pick up a rock and put it through the writing on the glass.

  The receptionist looked up from her computer when he entered the outer office. Her look instantly went from curious to alarmed as she took in the large, strong man who had just entered her office wearing worn out jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves torn off to expose his prodigious tattoos. He grinned, and she swallowed.

  “We’re not hiring,” she said, clearly hoping that would be enough to make him go away.

  “I already have a job,” he said. Her eyes got even wider. Lawrence sighed and ran a hand through his mohawk. He’d gotten the haircut on the way to the office, including a purple dye job. “Tell my cousin that Lawrence Kosmalski is here.” He saw the light go on behind her eyes, then flicker a couple times. Clearly the name meant something, and she struggled to connect the mental image with it. After a moment’s hesitation, she picked up her phone and dialed a number.

  “Mr. Kosmalski, there’s a man claiming to be Lawrence Kosmalski here to see you?” Lawrence gave her his best, ‘I’m going to follow you home and kill you’ look. Her eyes got wider. Prison time had its benefits, he guessed. She had to ask Lech to repeat himself, she’d been so distracted. If anything, she looked even more surprised as she put the phone down. “Go right in, please.” He winked at her and opened the door.

  “Welcome cousin,” Lech said. He hadn’t changed in two years, except his dress. Instead of the cheap suit or work clothes from the Wilk, he now wore a 1,000 euro suit and an equally expensive haircut. It didn’t do anything to complement the scars from reconstructing his nose, though. Seeing Lech sitting in the chair that should have been his didn’t help, and Lawrence felt a flicker of the flame that put him in prison. He violently crushed it.

  “Why do you want me to work for you? Ego? Punishment?”

  “Necessity,” Lech said. Lawrence had nothing to say. “I like the new look, kind of like punk rock meets that American movie, Mad Max.”

  “Mad Max was Australian.” Lech shrugged. “And I’ve been in prison the last two years,” he said and waved his arms over himself in a flourish, “so this is all you.”

  “After you tried to kill me,” Lech said, “so it’s all you.”

  “After you stole my inheritance.”

  “Considering your response, it looks like I did the right thing.”

  “Fine,” Lawrence said, unable to stop the rage, “fuck you, I’m going back to jail.” He was halfway across the reception area, with the secretary looking doubly alarmed at all the yelling, when Lech yelled after him.

  “I need your help to save the company!”

  Lawrence faltered. “Why should I care? You took it from me, and then you took all the money grandfather left me in the civil case.” He looked over his shoulder, and Lech held up a check.

  “Here’s double—20,000,000 euros. And I’ll drop the initial charges and confirm a full pardon.” Lawrence was both alarmed and deeply curious.

  “50,000,000 euros and half the company.” Lech blanched, but didn’t say no. A tiny smile crossed Lawrence’s face, but then it died as he realized just how dire the situation must be for Lech to not just throw him out of his office after that.

  “I’ll give you 1,000,000 euros and stock options.” Poles loved to haggle. Some would say they lived for it. Lawrence spent a half an hour arguing with Lech until they finally agreed on 5,000,000 euros and 22% of the company. It was far less than Lawrence would have gotten before Lech had torpedoed him, but far more than he’d had just hours ago.

  “Deal,” Lawrence said.

  “Good, now let’s get to work.”

  “No so fast,” Lawrence said, “I want it on paper.”

  “How dare you!”

  “What?” Lawrence asked. “That I think you’d try to rob me? You are goddamned right I do. There are two lawyers on the next floor—you should know that, you pay their retainers. Get them down here to write up a contract.” Lech wouldn’t look him in the eye. “They are still here, right?”

  “No,” he admitted. Lawrence sighed. “We are bleeding money! And they were both a year from being able to draw retirement. It was an easy way to save money.” He shrugged.

  “And now let me guess, you can’t get any lawyer to work for you?”

  “How did you know that?” Lech demanded.

  “Because those two old men went to their friends and spread the word like wildfire, that’s why! You damned fool, we’re toxic to the legal community now.” Lawrence’s mind was spinning, trying to imagine what other damage had been done in his absence. He just couldn’t start without something. “Okay, fine,” he said and snatched a note pad and pen from his cousin’s desk. In a minute he’d written out the contract as best as he could. It would have to do. He slid the pad over to Lech.

  The other man read it, then read it again. He started to read it a third time.

  “For God’s sake, what’s the problem?” Lawrence demanded.

  “I don’t see anything about salary beyond the five million euros we agreed upon.”

  “That’s because it isn’t there. If things are as bad as you say, we need to limit the losses.” Lech gave Lawrence an appraising look, making him wonder if the other man was reconsidering, then he grabbed a pen and signed. Lawrence signed as well, then called the secretary in to witness as they signed it a second time. About as good as I can do in this situation, Lawrence thought as the woman signed the paper while simultaneously trying to watch the scary guy.

  Lawrence took the signed document and asked the secretary to make three copies. He gave her a real smile which she didn’t return. He hadn’t been laid in two years and was now regretting the level of evil he’d laid on her. She wasn’t half bad.

  “Alright,” Lawrence said, keeping the original and a copy, “I’m going to get to work.” He turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?” Lech demanded of his retreating back.

  “I need an office, and since you fired the lawyers, I’m taking one of those.”

  An hour later he’d appropriated almost everything he needed, including Lech’s beleaguered secretary named Moisha. “Take her, I can find another one.” Stacks of files sat on the desk, contracts and financials. Moisha wheeled in a cart with a plasma screen on it. Lawrence didn’t look up as she plugged it in and efficiently added the device to his desk’s computer system, then left. He nodded; she was good at her job. Lech shouldn’t have been quite so quick to give her up. He used the computer to find a news channel and send the video to the new monitor. He wanted to watch a show on stocks coming on soon. Lech had allowed their portfolio to languish.

  He had to wait, though; first, there was some news story about happenings in the United States. Lawrence watched with only part of his attention as a strange ship fell out of the sky and landed on a ba
rge. “I hope those don’t replace ocean going ships,” he mumbled to himself, and went back to reviewing files.

  * * * * *

  Winged Hussars - 4

  It had taken Lawrence almost two months to stop the hemorrhaging, mostly, and next month they might actually see a tiny profit. The two items killing them were Lech’s doing. One was a ship he’d ordered to be constructed, new, from the CSSC, the China State Shipbuilding Corporation. It was to be the replacement for the Wilk, but the problem was there wasn’t any work for the Wilk even if they replaced it. Thus, they were bleeding 2 million euros a week as the ship was built. It was due to be completed in six months, at which point they’d owe CSSC another 98 million euros.

  The other big red line was the original Wilk, which still sat at pier in Vladivostok. That one was another 500,000 euros a week. It wasn’t the moorage so much as permits and port-side assistance. The ship had lost all internal power and was only staying afloat thanks to a Russian engineering crew rigging pumps and monitoring the condition of the ship to make sure it didn’t sink.

  Lawrence sent yet another email to Lech reminding him of the hemorrhage. Their buyer was out of business, and there were surprisingly few customers for promethium in the Russian Republic. Plenty of them thousands of kilometers away, of course. Towing the crippled transport to them, though, would likely be impossible. The aging ship’s structure was probably compromised from sitting for two years. There was a breaker right there in Vladivostok which would buy the ship for almost one million euros, and Lawrence had stopped him from just walking away several times. Even now, the promethium ore was valued at more than 10,000 euros per ton in the quality they possessed. Adding 650 million euros to their bottom line would save the company over night.

  Lawrence used his large media monitor, a benefit of the former lawyer’s setup, to pull up a news feed and let it run in the background. While the talking heads droned on in Yiddish, a language most Poles were at least partially fluent in, he ran through long lists of contracts pending approval. As a senior partner, one of the things he’d clarified in the formal contract was his approval on contracts worth more than one million euros. Lech had pitched a right good fit over that one, but Lawrence had dug in his heels and eventually won. It was a damned good thing, too, because, while his cousin was good at ship management and day-to-day operations, he was shitty on long-term contracts. It had taken Lawrence most of the last two months to rid them of contracts that cost more than they made. He’d gotten a lot of angry calls from customers who’d been screwing the company for some time while Lawrence rotted in prison.