One Year Ago
ALEXEI JANKOWSKI ISNOTTHE PROBLEM:
No one is sure whatis, but we knowheisn’t.
By The Athlete
When Jankowski stepped off the ice after LA’s last game of another disappointing season, it seemed a little cruel to shove him into a press-conference room to answer for the team’s “crimes.”
He scored four goals on Anaheim and still the Empire lost the game and their last chance to get into the playoffs. Even while dodging accusatory questions (reporters were definitely looking for someone to blame) he still didn’t say one bad word about management, his coach, or his teammates (not even Evan Bojarski, the goalie who let in seven goals, or Girard and Ewing, his two defensive line mates who objectively played horrendously).
Despite only uttering measured PR statements, the frustration he was feeling in that moment wasn’t something he could hide.
There have been unconfirmed reports coming out of the building all season of tension in the locker room, and with the season once again ending without a silver lining in sight, fans are no longer the only ones who are willing to look for someone—anyone—to blame,exceptAlexei Jankowski.
PART II
THE PRESENT
1
Eli Ellsworth
Friday, November 21st
This is so fucking insane.
So, so stupid.
A random person walking by could recognize any of us and all our lives would become hell. We’re just standing on the fucking sidewalk, not protected by the tinted windows of the cars we only ever use to go to meetings, and of course none of our bodyguards are here because theyalwayshave to be left behind when it comes to matters of the Turris.
But it’s not like we have a choice.
No one besides the Chairs and Heirs of the Turris can ever know about our meetings, and our families have been taking extreme measures to ensure this secret doesn’t gets out for literally hundreds of years. We’ve got it down to a science nowadays.
None of us see any daylight on our way to the meetings, no one ever tells their security details where we are or what we’re doing, and the most important rule, no one ever says no when we’re called in—with some obvious exceptions.
Calm as a lake, Harrison Crawford, the Chair of Foundation, walks right up to the security guard standing in front of the brownstone he told us to come to—he says jump and we’re all obliged to ask how high. He doesn’t ask often, though.
“You know who I am?” The bodyguard nods once. “Then you know getting out of my way is the best thing for you.”
Simple as that... though by the frown he gets in return, it’s not simple at all for the tall, muscular man.
Not as muscular or as tall as Lex?—
Nope.
I snap my head down to focus on the tablet in my hands again and see I have full control of the house. We saw the lights come on just a minute ago, and I think the generator must’ve kicked in because the rest of the block doesn’t seem to have any power. That’s probably why it took my software so long to hack into the network of the house.
People are insane for installing those panels that can control everything inside their house. I could turn all the lights off again with a few quick taps to the screen, open the windows, turn on every TV, turn on the AC, blow up the speakers in every room with whatever song I want, but again... Harrison hasn’t told me to, so I resist.
A few seconds later, the bodyguard spins on his heel and walks around the brownstone.
I guess it’s his way of telling us he was never here.
I don’t blame him.
Sure, I’d expect more from the secret service, but then again this is Harrison Crawford.
