Chapter 2 - The Price of Land
Three men filled the narrow doorway of the tiny room. The leader was a broad, neckless brute wearing a greasy leather jacket, a heavy steel crowbar swinging casually in his right hand. Behind him stood two younger thugs holding iron pipes and a sawed-off shotgun.
This was Hector, the chief enforcer for Vance Enterprises—a notorious shell company that bought up tax-delinquent industrial plots to lease them illegally to desperate, unhoused families at extortionate rates.
Hector stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes fell on Alexander Morgan.
Even without his cashmere coat, Alexander’s tailored suit, gold cuff links, and posture of absolute authority stood out against the rot of the room like a broadsword in a pile of ash.
"Who the hell are you?" Hector spat, squinting through the dim light of the oil lamp. "This is private property. Trespassers get thrown in the river."
Alexander didn't flinch. He didn't step back. He simply adjusted his watch, staring at Hector with eyes as cold and gray as winter Atlantic waters.
"My name is Alexander Morgan," he said evenly. "And you have precisely ten seconds to turn around and walk out that door before your entire life unravels."
Hector barked out a ugly, rasping laugh, glancing back at his thugs. "Alexander Morgan? The billionaire from the TV news? What's a high-and-mighty suit doing down in the gutter with the rats?" Hector sneered, stepping closer and tapping the crowbar against the concrete floor. "I don't give a damn if you're the Pope, mister. This block belongs to Arthur Vance. These illegals owe three months of back rent. And dead bodies are bad for business."
"How much?" Alexander asked flatly.
"What?"
"How much back rent?"
Hector grunted, narrowing his eyes greedily. "Five thousand dollars. Plus ten grand for the removal fee."
It was a ludicrous, fraudulent number—a sum designed to bankrupt a destitute family fifty times over.
Alexander reached into his jacket pocket. Hector’s thugs flinched, raising the shotgun, but Alexander merely pulled out a sleek black leather cardholder and a Montblanc pen. He pulled a personal cashier's draft from the pocket, scribbled a figure rapidly, and slapped it against Hector’s broad chest.
"There is fifty thousand dollars," Alexander said smoothly. "That covers the rent, the land, and the silence of every parasite working for Arthur Vance in this district. If I see your face near this boy or this woman again, I won't buy the land from Vance—I will buy Vance’s debt, foreclose on his home, and have him sitting in a federal prison by Friday morning. Do we understand each other?"
Hector looked at the check. The crisp paper bore the embossed seal of Morgan Global Financial. The sheer audacity and cold conviction in Alexander’s voice paralyzed the thug.
"Get out," Alexander added, his voice dropping an octave into a terrifying whisper.
Hector swallowed hard, backed out of the doorway, and motioned for his men to retreat into the rain.
Inside the small room, the silence returned, thick and suffocating.
Grandma Elena sank back onto her wooden crate, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks, her frail chest heaving with silent, ragged sobs. Tommy wrapped his small arms around her neck, burying his face in her shoulder.
Alexander looked over at the two figures beneath the white sheets.
"Maria," Alexander spoke into his phone, which he had silently dialed during the confrontation.
"Yes, Mr. Morgan," his assistant’s voice came through the crisp speaker, perfectly calm despite the late hour. "I listened to the entire exchange."
"Call the city coroner’s office—the head of the department directly on his personal line. Tell him I need a private, dignified transport team at the eastern drainage district immediately. No press, no city municipal vans. Send them to the Oakridge Memorial Chapel."
"Right away, sir," Maria replied. "And what about Arthur Vance?"
Alexander looked down at Tommy, who was watching him with wide, tear-filled eyes.
"Buy his lending firm," Alexander commanded. "Buy every mortgage, every lien, and every credit note Vance Enterprises holds. I want him bankrupt by sunrise."
He ended the call and knelt down in front of Elena and Tommy.
"Mrs. Martinez," Alexander said softly, taking the old woman’s cold, calloused hand into his own. "Your daughter and granddaughter will be laid to rest tomorrow in a place filled with green grass, oak trees, and sunlight. And you and Tommy are coming home with me."
Elena looked at him, her eyes filled with disbelief and deep-seated fear born of a lifetime of betrayal. "Why? Why would a man like you care about us? We are nothing to you."
May you like
Alexander looked down at his clean hands, then at the small bucket of Italian soil sitting near the doorway.
"Because, Mrs. Martinez," Alexander admitted, his voice cracking slightly as a crack finally formed in his icy heart. "Until this morning, I thought I owned the world. But your grandson showed me I was living in a palace built over a graveyard. Please... let me fix this."
