Chapter 24

Ipeer through the telescope, watching the street below from my living room window, sneering as the happy rabble leave the community center. Of course, the ginger honeypot will be there for hours, breaking down equipment and finishing up the event.

I’m sure she feels it was a success, and from a standpoint of charitable goodwill, it probably was. Too bad charity is a misplaced effort, a pathetic attempt to level the playing field when, by life’s very nature, there are leaders, followers, those who achieve, and those who are sacrificed.

The greater good for the many? No.

The greatest good for me. Earned through strategy and manipulation. And it will be mine.

I’m growing impatient, ready to move past the small annoyances to the large-scale plays that will truly get me to the top of the mountain. King of the hill? I’ll be King of the entire Pacific Seaboard, no matter what it takes or who I have to step on to get there.

Speaking of destroying the weak and useless, I decide to reach out to a resource, one well-placed and with the potential to be exceedingly useful. For a time. They are all only useful for a time, then they are parceled out the same fate as so many others before them.

The fate I will receive too, for none of us escape the Reaper forever. But I will go out on my own terms, cheating him with a golden crown proclaiming that I created this town, and it will forever be mine.

“Hello?” the voice answers.

“Are you alone?” I ask, wanting to be sure I maintain the utmost secrecy for the next phase of my master plan.

There’s some muted conversation in the background, then my pawn speaks again. “My apologies, sir. I’m alone now.”

“Any suspicions?”

My pawn laughs lightly. “No. Not at all. Can I help with something?”

Though they are obviously eager to get off the phone, I’m more than eager to move pawns where I wish them. “Today’s charity event disturbs me. Everyone mingling with smiles on their faces and Goldstone’s ‘hope’ in their hearts. Useless drivel.”

Though I can’t see my operative, I can hear the shrug. “It doesn’t make a difference if people have hope. You’ll do what you want and they’ll be left in your wake, but you’ll still be in control.” Such resignation is in contrast to my pawn’s previous commitment to my goal, but as long as orders are carried out, I can tolerate some flagging spirits.

“I see,” I muse. “You’d do well to remember that as well. When the dust settles, I will be in control. Of Roseboro, and of you.”

The threat need not be more explicit, though I let my mind wander for a moment at the joyous beauty an extra death would bring. Shock and surprise for some, and glorious victory for me.

“Of course, sir.”

The speedy acquiescence pleases me. Most of my minions think themselves strong. And perhaps to the average person, they are. Most of them are self-starters, overachievers who have reached and tried to grasp the proverbial brass ring. But like a Shakespearean hero, they all have that tragic, fatal flaw. Hubris, insecurity, lust for power, it doesn’t matter. I take it, I mold it, and when they think they are free, I show them the full extent of their self-made prison. Only then are they ready to be the weapon I desire, to strike down my enemies like an arrow loosed from a bow.

Even if Golden Boy knows I am coming, it is the unseen dart that strikes deepest.

“I will have use for you soon. Be aware, be cooperative, and you will reap what you sow.” I toss out the promise that has always yielded results, with of course, the irony unnoticed. The wishes aren’t outlandish, merely a life that they’ve been denied. But I can easily repair that discrepancy. That is assured. “And maintain secrecy. No one need know of your motivations. Yet.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

I hang up and sit back, considering the fortitude I require of my operative. Each one has been a wealth of information, insights I wouldn’t have received otherwise, and have successfully completed backhanded actions at my command. But this pawn is dangerous, moldable by me, yes, but also able to be influenced by those around them. I will have to remind them that my orders are paramount, even more than friends, family, or conscience.

I might need to advance my timeline, not dilly-dally and allow questions to take root. I am ready to proceed and will do so as soon as possible.

One other area of my schedule to address. I make another call.

“Yes, sir,” he answers, all business.

“The preparations, are they complete?” I say, not letting my urgency color my words but instead feigning mere interest in his progress.

“Nearly, sir. We were delayed ever so slightly because we do have to actually do the upgrades Mr. Goldstone requested to his systems or our presence would be noticed. But I’ll do my final assessment to sign off on the completed work and will make the special adjustments you requested.”

“Excellent. And when it’s completed—”

“You will be in total control.” I do not appreciate that he interrupted me in the least, but his promise of control is an exhilarating one. Another step in the direction I will take Roseboro.

I smirk at his choice of words. “Aren’t I always?”

He chuckles, agreeing, and hangs up with a promise to notify me when the job is complete.

My mood lifts from the dark pall today’s events brought over me. Because it’s true. I am always in control, and this time, there’s nothing Golden Boy can do to stop me.

I will take it all. His money, his friends . . . but most importantly, his life.

And Roseboro will once again be mine alone.

I take a piece of stationary from my top drawer, heavyweight linen beneath my black ink pen. It is an old tradition of sorts. A declaration of war, an opportunity for surrender. But there will be no mercy given by my hand.

Not now. Not ever.

My hand flows surely across the page.

Thomas,

I will admit to you a failing. A breach of the confidence I bore for so many years, heedless of the future and certain of my standing as the rightful creator of this fine town of Roseboro. For it is my town, my creation.

But much like the intrusion of the Black Plague in 1348, you came to Roseboro. I am a bit of a history buff, you see, and much like the Italians attempted to forestall the spread of the destruction, I did the same.

Small movements to slow your progress, underhanded deals to stop you at every opportunity. For your attempts to become the King of the Rose-Covered Throne were unwelcome, most of all by me.

But the time for sacrificial pawns has passed. Checkmate.

My pen starts to flow faster and faster, and before I know it, I’m smiling with mirthless glee at a future he doesn’t even see coming for him, faster than a speeding bullet and more dangerous than he could imagine.

This rough draft might not be perfect, but it will be. Just in time for his ultimate destruction.