On the rare occasion that there was no social gathering planned, I spent my evenings out on the patio, just waiting to watch Byron collect his last trash can. It always left me with a bittersweet feeling, but it gave me hope and reminded me of my ultimate goal.
By the end of my second week without classes, I actually managed to catch up to date with my recordings. I could now scan through the new footage at a more leisurely pace. This was fortunate, because during my second week I filed my ownership request paperwork on Club Night and the other ten stores. The paperwork had a very quick turnaround, so by the end of the week, I was the proud owner of eleven businesses.
I spent all of the weekend and the following week moving around my stock and selling off the surplus. I made a point of selling it all to non-fast-tracker businesses. I decided to keep the two extra buildings for storage space. Then I filed the necessary paperwork to dissolve all of the businesses except Club Night and re-formed them under the corporate name of Music Box. Mico and I agreed that any appearance of a connection between a blue-level businesses and Club Night would have a detrimental effect on its clientele. Fortunately, once Mico was the CEO of Club Night, I was free to hire him as Music Box’s CEO. So he could run both companies without any financial connection between the two.
Mico was good to his word. As soon as I had the liquid capital necessary, he began setting up the sound systems in all eight clubs. We decided to give each club a different theme, to avoid the appearance of a lame chain-store. Mico even came up with the idea of a fake DJ booth. It had opaque glass so no one could tell it was empty, but clients could still place song requests through interactive tablets. The request would then be forwarded to Club Night’s real DJ.
The first club we got ready for its grand opening was actually the convenience store whose owner didn’t want to be taken over. Luckily his children, Josie and Toby, had convinced him to double his stock and he ended up being quite happy with his resulting check. Once he was content, both his children volunteered to run the club for us. It actually benefited them more than me, because otherwise they were now out of a job. They were young, ambitious and willing to train with Mico, so I decided to give them a chance.
We decided to name the club The Rivers. One of the furniture companies I dissolved had driftwood tables and stone shaped pillows that could be used for chairs. The club was located right where the Croton River and the Hudson River met. So the theme just fit.
The theme also made it the least expensive club to remodel. Wendy came up with the idea of a sand floor. We spray painted the floor with a thick layer of glue and then sprinkled sand over it. One lacquered layer later, we had a floor that looked like a sand riverbed minus the mess, and in the center of it was the midnight blue dance floor river. We all agreed sky blue was definitely not a color to use in a club. So we painted the ceiling midnight blue and lined it with small lights to represent stars. We painted the walls a deep rust color called Mississippi Mud, and then lined the bottom half of the walls with a synthetic tall grass we had found among the fabric store’s inventory.
We were trying for a campy effect, but the end result actually looked pretty good once you dimmed the lights and got the music going. We could have rushed it and had the club ready by the third, but we wanted everything to be perfect and wanted more time to promote, so we decided to give ourselves two weeks and open on October tenth – the following Saturday.
The night we decided on the date, I slipped a note about the grand opening into Byron’s doggy bag. I knew he wouldn’t be able to attend. But as I watched him retrieve the bright pink bag, I knew that wasn’t the point. I had left him the note so I could still feel somehow connected with him.
I had planned on telling Avery and Autumn the next day about my clubs, but it turned out I didn’t have to. I was just coming in from the patio, after watching Byron leave, when there was a loud pounding on the door. Startled, I ran over and looked through the peephole. As soon as I saw Avery’s red face, I pulled the door open.
“What’s wrong?” I asked while he stormed in past me.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” He brandished a crumpled piece of paper in my face. I backed up a step. “I thought we agreed you’d give up on your ridiculous and dangerous business scheming.” He pulled the paper flat and shoved it back in my face. It was a copy of one of my ownership titles.
“I never agreed to any such thing! It’s not my fault if that’s what you assumed,” I yelled. Then I stepped back and placed the kitchen island between us. As furious as I was about his verbal assault, that wasn’t my biggest worry with the state he was currently in. “Don’t worry, I didn’t involve any fast-trackers in the transactions. I attained the financing I need all on my own and I intentionally targeted failing businesses that no one else would want. I was careful.” As I yelled, Avery tried to sidestep around the island. I did the same, moving in the opposite direction.
Stopping his slow pursuit, Avery growled, “If you were so careful and sure you weren’t doing anything reckless, then why did you keep it a secret?” A smug sneer spread across his face, like he thought he had caught me in my lie.
“Well, if you don’t remember, you and Autumn weren’t entirely supportive of my ambitions. In fact, you both seemed quite certain I would only fail. So I decided to wait until I was ready to open my first club before telling you. I figured maybe then I’d get a little support and enthusiasm from you instead of scorn – but I guess I was wrong.” I noticed Wendy was standing in the doorway to her bedroom; she looked poised to attack. I waved her off.
“Of course you’re wrong, there’s no way to grow a business on your own. You’re just fooling yourself. Do you honestly think one club will ever give you the capital you need to expand to a second one?” He looked at me like I was a complete and total idiot.
I stomped across the room and grabbed a flyer from my desk. “The only thing I’ve been foolish about was believing that you thought I was smart,” I sneered. “I don’t have just one club. I have nine. One was already a club when I took it over. The others will all be up and running within the next six months. I was planning to tell you all about it tomorrow.” I shoved the flyer in his face and leaned back and glared at him while he read it.
Finally, he asked, “How?” Suddenly he sounded surprised, not angry.
“Do you honestly expect me to give up a trade secret? Let’s just say I found a glaring loophole in the law that allowed me to get exactly what I needed without a fast-tracker’s help.” I sat down at the table and gave him a smug satisfied look.
“It still hurts that you didn’t come to me. I would have helped if you had just asked. I thought you knew that by now.” He walked over to me and gave me a sad pout.
I tried not to look too annoyed as I explained, “To help me you would have asked your father for help. I didn’t think that was a very good idea seeing as we’re still trying to get him to fix what he did to Byron.” Avery’s face turned an even deeper shade of red than it was before.
“Byron? This is all still about him. He’s the reason you’re always so busy working and researching and keeping secrets from me. And when we are together you always seem distant and insist on just being friends. It’s all because of him, isn’t it?” He slammed his fist against the table. A vase toppled over.
I jumped back. “I was honest from the beginning with you, Avery. You knew how much I wanted to save Byron from being sunk. Did you honestly think I had just forgotten about him? He’s been my best friend since I was a kid.”
“I’m starting to wonder if it’s more than just friendship you shared with him,” he snarled back.
“He’s my best friend and he’s suffering. How can you expect me to be focused on anything else? If you could get your father to change his mind, or maybe even just get him to transfer him to a better job, then maybe I could focus my attentions elsewhere.” I knew it was a lie, but I needed to calm Avery down, and if it helped Byron in the process, it was that much better.
“Well then we’re at an impasse. Until I can fix what happened, Byron will remain my motivation for what I do.” I tried to soften the blow with my tone, but he had to understand where things stood.
“Fine.” He stood and walked out of the apartment without so much as a glance back in my direction.
I let out a long sigh and walked across the kitchen to pick up the discarded flyer and ownership title.
“That went well,” Wendy called from behind me.
I shot her back a warning look. I knew she didn’t like Avery. In fact, her feelings bordered on hate, but the last thing I needed right now was her I told you so attitude.
Chapter 18
Fortunately with all of my new clubs to prep, I was too busy to dwell on Avery’s attitude. Wendy and I spent the next few days posting flyers throughout the blue districts announcing The Rivers’ grand opening. We had decided to cover all blue areas within an hour’s tram ride – which was an absolutely huge area. It also overlapped into areas that would eventually have their own club, but we figured if they liked The Rivers, they’d be even more anxious to try out their own club when it opened.
It sounded like a good plan, but executing it proved to be daunting. We came home each night with our feet aching, utterly exhausted. The second night we didn’t even make it home for dinner, and I had to quickly heat up leftovers before taking Lariet on his walk. I felt guilty that night as I watched Byron retrieve his bag. There was so little he’d allow me to help him with right now that he at least deserved a freshly cooked meal.
The next day we managed our time better and got back in plenty of time to cook dinner. The night was surprisingly warm, so Wendy and I ate on the patio while I waited for Byron. But by the time we finished dinner, there was still no sign of him. Wendy could tell I was worried, so she told me to rest outside while she cleaned up. After she finished cleaning she brought out a foot bath for me to soak my feet. I started to chastise her for waiting on me like she really was just a servant. But she refuted my argument stating she was just being a friend and had her own foot bath waiting for her inside.
“What time is it?” I asked, even though I already knew it was well past eight.
Wendy dodged the question. “He probably had to adjust his schedule for some reason. Some fast-tracker probably complained that there was actual garbage in a bin and wanted it changed earlier in the day so he wouldn’t have to see it. I’m sure he’s fine.” She gave me an encouraging smile, but I still couldn’t shake the sickening feeling that had planted itself in my stomach.
We ended up cutting the next day short. I had barely slept the night before, and was dragging along the entire day. Besides that, I wanted to get home early enough to see what time Byron came by.
I sat and waited impatiently, unable to enjoy the vibrant shades of fall now offered by the park. Sure enough, Wendy had been right about the change in schedule. It was just after six o’clock when I saw the familiar orange jumpsuit approach. But as the person came closer, I realized he had dark brown hair, and a mustache. It definitely was not Byron. Wendy had to block the front door and talk me down so I wouldn’t charge after the worker demanding answers he couldn’t provide. But I had to find out. If Byron wasn’t here, then where was he? What had happened? Horrible scenario after horrible scenario bombarded my thoughts.
I wanted to track down Avery and demand an answer from him. If he didn’t know, I’d somehow force him to find out for me. Luckily Wendy snagged and hid the tablets before I could use any of them. Initially I was livid with her, and I started to remind her of everything I’d done for her, but the hurt look in her face stopped me in my tracks. Even distraught I couldn’t be that cruel and hateful.
Once I calmed down enough I apologized for my actions and thanked her for hers.
We both agreed running to Avery distraught over Byron was not a good idea, considering his behavior the last time I brought him up. So instead I shot him a message asking if we were still going together to Slade’s party on Friday. He called back shortly after to apologize for the other day and reassure me that we were most definitely going together. As much as it pained me, I kept my promise to Wendy and kept from bringing up Byron.
Knowing there was no way I’d get any sleep on my own, Wendy made me some warm milk and gave me two of the sleeping pills left behind from Autumn’s stay. I tried to argue with her, but she reminded me that looking distraught would be just as bad as acting distraught when I finally brought up Byron.
The next day Wendy made it her mission to keep me too busy to think about Byron. It didn’t work, but I appreciated the effort. We spent the day remodeling our second club to open, The Bookworm. Its theme had been Wendy’s idea. Her dad had been a bit of a historian and was really hung up on the idea of information being printed and bound up in books instead of available on a tablet. But his collection never grew larger than a few tattered books in size. Books were uncommon and any worth having were usually in some fast-trackers personal collection. Wendy remembered several pictures of libraries her father once had. We had a bunch of beautiful mahogany bookshelves, desks and chairs, and according to Wendy they looked like they belonged in an old fashioned library. With a little research we were able to pull up some pictures of our own to authentically reproduce the look.
Wendy had also managed to locate a stash of old library books that were just collecting dust in a storage warehouse. We made an offer. Fortunately, the owner had no idea what the value of what he was sitting on was. We were able to get the books for next to nothing providing we took care of relocating them all. During the day, the club would be a café where anyone could grab a cup of coffee and leisurely read from one of the many books available. And at night it would turn into a club.
So I spent most of the day sorting through boxes and boxes of books to separate the interesting ones that were in good condition from the rest. It was late in the afternoon when I came across a beautiful leather bound book entitled Economics of 18th Century France. As beautiful as the book was, I just couldn’t picture anyone wanting to read it. Before I threw it into the discard pile, I leafed through it, hoping to find something worthwhile inside. That’s when I noticed the texture of all the pages didn’t match. Upon closer inspection, I could see that a giant portion of the original pages had been replaced. The color was less yellowed and the pages had a glossier and thicker feel to them. I only had to skim through a few of them to realize they were not about economics. I flipped to the beginning of the new section and located the title page: President Touffe: Savior or Hitler Incarnate.
I sank down onto the floor and started reading. It painted a very different picture of President Touffe than had ever been taught in school. Yes, as I had been taught, President Touffe had stepped in after the economic crash. But according to the author, what he did from that point on was genocide. Whoa. No wonder the book was hidden. I put the book aside to take home with me. Even if it was crazy drivel, this was something I wanted to read.
Wendy seemed relieved that I had found something to help take my mind off Byron. The next day she headed out to distribute flyers and left me at home to read.
The book pointed out that President Touffe had always been a supporter of stronger immigration laws and tariffs, but after the economic crash, he placed the blame solely on illegal workers and overseas production.
The country was quick to support his argument. The crash was a tragedy and someone had to be blamed. By the time the country realized that there was a problem with Touffe, it was already too late. To enforce the country’s borders and protect it from invasion while it was so weak, Touffe quickly built the military to unprecedented numbers. To ensure their loyalty, he fed the soldiers and their families well. Then he began relocating citizens. At first no one noticed the correlation between where you were located and your nationality. Everyone was too concerned with surviv
ing. But over time, a clear pattern emerged: anyone of white Anglo-Saxon descent was either drafted as a soldier or sent to the nicest relocation centers. Their centers had the largest food rations, the best medical care and the easiest jobs. Everyone else had to deal with horrible conditions. When President Touffe was initially questioned about the relocation he simply dismissed it a coincidence. He pointed out how many nationalities worked and lived in the same area, so it only made sense that they would end up in the same relocation areas.
Then people started questioning why the white relocation centers received much better treatment. Then came the revelation that African-American and Hispanic doctors, lawyers and other professors were being located to centers nowhere near where their white neighbors had been sent. These people and their questions quickly disappeared, never to be heard from again.
It was just a matter of time before the horrible conditions, lack of sanitation and food began to kill people. And if by some miracle it didn’t, the hard work assignments they were assigned to had a tendency to finish the job. The book also provided details on the original numbers of each nationality’s citizens, alongside what they had dwindled to after Touffe began to rebuild. It was tough to swallow. They certainly didn’t match any of the history I had been taught. I had been taught that our country had always been comprised of predominantly Anglo-Saxon citizens. Only a small handful of our country had been of any other descent, and they were usually here illegally.
Friday morning I headed to The Bookworm. It was the one place I could think of where I might be able to confirm or disprove what the book claimed. Wendy looked at me strangely as I began pawing through the boxes of discarded books, but she didn’t actually say anything. I couldn’t believe what I had almost thrown out. I found almost a dozen history books written before the economic crash. Their covers were worn, and in some cases completely missing, but they all confirmed the other book’s claim. America had once been known as a melting pot for cultures. Genocide seemed the most likely cause of what our nation looked liked today. I had never seen anyone of Hispanic, Oriental, or African descent. In fact, the darkest skin I had ever seen was due to a tan.
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