“Would you like to join me for brunch, Nana?”
“Fine, you can tell me all about where to find this girl,” she replied, walking toward the double doors to exit.
“Ethan…” Her voice trailed off as she eyed me dangerously, when again I didn’t answer.
“Ricker Hill.”
“PRISON?”
“Didn’t I mention that?” I paused by my door, hand on the handle.
“NO, you fucking did not!” She cursed, and I couldn’t help but smirk.
“And here I thought you didn’t judge, Grandmamma—”
“Well, you were wrong for once.”
“Once out of a million is hardly a bad record. Shall we go?” I held the door open for her.
Her nose flared and she looked as though she wanted to smack me. However, she maintained her composure upon seeing both Toby and Greyson standing in wait.
“This isn’t over.”
How could it be? It hadn’t even begun.
TWO
“Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?”
~ Garth Nix
ETHAN
They all clapped as I stood before them, the camera flashes nearly blinding, and yet I was unfazed, far too used to this: speaking to other wealthy and/or important people, in a luxurious ball room, talking about how much we cared about this city, our beautiful Chicago, and all the ugly people who chose to live in it…myself included. Ugly because we all knew, what this city was built on, and we knew how hard it was to grow up here, how jaded it could make you. And yet we took pride in it.
“It is with great honor and privilege that I stand here before you all. Yesterday, TIME Magazine named me the most influential mogul of the decade, and because I am a Callahan I cannot humbly accept anything,” I said, causing a few of them to snicker.
“Especially when I know it’s not true. A decade ago I stood at the precipice of maturity, savoring the last few moments of freedom before responsibility dawned. Ever presently aware that the shoes I was to step in were impossible to fill for any human. The right foot, a size nine, four inch, white Prada heel with crystal embellishments just because…and the left foot, a size thirteen, custom Paul Costelloe Derby Shoe in leather and never suede because a man should always see his reflection when he looked down…”
Damn this speech. And I knew without a doubt who I had to thank for it.
“My parents revolutionized this city. My father reinvigorated the private sector, which is why, today, Chicago stands as the leading city in job creation. The policies my mother and her administration applied have made not just Chicago, but universities in all of Illinois, find ranking spots within the top five schools in the country, with over eighty-seven percent of its residents holding high school diplomas. A percentage so shocking that Peter McBurg, one of my mother’s greatest critics, wrote this morning: ‘my hometown of Chicago, which was once synonymous with names like Al Capone and the Mafia, has now become synonymous with Mark Zuckerberg and Silicon Valley. I’m not sure if I should weep or sing.’”
More ugliness…now that the city had improved we didn’t talk about that, we talked about the dark ages because they missed the chaos. The old Chicago. The irony of it all was almost too much to bear.
“We should honor the men and women here today, who worked relentlessly to push the vision of my parents long after they had passed and graciously allowed me to take all the credit for it. As their son and on the behalf of my whole family, I thank and applaud you all for your hard work and success.”
Stepping back, I clapped. One by one, they all got up from their seats, whistling and cheering loudly. My grandmother leaned in as I did, my arm around her shoulder for the cameras, her face pressed against mine, causing me to tense, though I was sure she didn’t notice.
“Donatella’s speeches are getting far too self-deprecating for my liking,” I whispered to her, hoping to distract her.
She smiled as we both turned to the cameras. “The girl has a gift. I almost cried.”
I smirked at that. My grandmother hadn’t cried since my father had died and nothing was changing that…she ate nails for breakfast just to keep her tongue sharp.
“Senator Forbes.” She stepped away toward the balding man walking toward us.
It was at that point I felt myself go on autopilot, standing beside her and making small talk I wouldn’t remember with people I could barely stand. Amused at how seamlessly I fit in with them…me, the man who said Chicago was rid of its beasts, while being the most beastly of them all. Amused because I could see it, the cracks in the elegance and nobility they’d all tried so hard to craft for themselves. Chicago was now home to the smartest people in the country…hell, the world…and the media praised us. Brutal, ruthless, Chicago now tamed. Ha. Tamed beasts were far scarier than wild ones…they knew exactly who they were killing and had the patience to wait. Yes, Chicago was still savage. It was just the arena of savagery that was changing.
“Mr. Callahan.” Toby nodded at me.
I fought the grin trying to spread across my lips, drinking the rest of my champagne to mask it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please excuse me. No rest for us moguls, it seems.”
“You’re always escaping us, Mr. Callahan.” Senator Forbes pouted…it was ugly. “My daughter will be here any minute and she’ll kill me for letting you escape.”
“I’m sure I’ll meet her one of these days, Senator Forbes, and if she’s half as beautiful as your wife, I’m sure I won’t be able to miss her.”
“You are as good at lying as your damn father.” Senator Forbes laughed.
“Walter!” Senator Forbes’ wife scolded.
I kissed my grandmother’s cheek, whispering, “Call when you are tired of wasting time with these senseless idiots.”
“Of course, dear.” She smiled, not even a little bit fazed.
As I walked from her and toward the exit, Toby followed along with Grey and two other guards, the rest staying with my grandmother.
“What did you get out of this…Mr. Downey person?” I said once we got on the elevator.
“He still refuses to talk to anyone but you,” Toby replied, pushing the button.
“And here I thought you could be persuasive.”
“If I were any more persuasive he’d be dead.”
I didn’t reply because there was no need to once the doors opened. We walked through the gold and ivory lobby, not toward the front or even the back doors but through the restaurant. The whole place was packed, which I guessed I couldn’t complain about. More money for me. Once in the kitchen, the chefs and staff pretended not to see us as we walked to the back room. Naked and tied to the wall with an actual fish head stuffed into his mouth, was Mr. Downey.
“Welcome to Chicago, Mr. Downey. I hear you’ve been asking for me?”
IVY