What's worse, I have to deal with Will motherfucking Grand. The insolent prick is lounging there, his gut straining his dress shirt over his ridiculously large belt buckle. It takes everything I have to clamp down on my demon raging to jam my hand down Will's throat, rip out his esophagus and strangle him with it.
I'm Dmitri Morozov, heir apparent. I can't set my demon loose any longer. Roman and Alexsey are free to rage their way through New York. But not me.
Instead, I smile urbanely, shaking hands with the planning commission. Marian Hargraves is a sharp-eyed woman in her 50's and the only one who knows what the fuck she's doing. She's also the hardest one to crack because she doesn't take bribes.
Then, there's the petulant Frank Kotter, who didn't get the apartment he wanted in our new complex - and fuck you very much, Roman - though I managed to satisfy him by gifting hima corner unit with an arresting view of the harbor. Michael Fernandez, is trickier, he moves easily between accepting bribes and then weaponing moral indignation when it suits him.
Their meeting room is an uninspiring shade of beige that my architect has dubbed, "if clammy was a color, this would be it." The board sits behind an expensive walnut table in comfortable seats. But if you're presenting, you get a shitty folding chair with a sagging padded seat. I suspect they selected those chairs specifically to irritate the billionaire developers who are forced to pay homage to the board.
"How are you doing, son?" Will says with a huge grin. "I was catching up with my friends here, we just finished my presentation. I'd sure like to sit in on yours."
"Ah, Will. I'd sure like it if you didn't." I've always suspected the stupidly wealthy have no sense of self-preservation, because even though the board members are shifting uncomfortably, Grand just settles his ass deeper into his seat.
"Well, that just seems unneighborly," he pouts.
My demon starts throwing itself against the walls of my self-control. Hearing that fucking fake Texas accent sets it off every time. "See," he says with a look of patently false concern, "I've just been real worried about how you're going to handle a project as demanding as the Newton Creek waterway when your own family seems to be putting folks in danger.Includingmy very own wife and daughter!"
Will turns to the board, and every one of them are suddenly on high alert. He reaches up, thoughtfully sliding his ostentatious cross back-and-forth on its chain.
For fuck's sake, the asshole wore across?
"My very own sweet Lula and my wife Lorraine, they were caught up in the middle of a real suspicious organized crime maneuver, a kidnapping when Dmitri's lady friend was abducted right out of a wedding at the Ritz Carlton last weekend," he says with faux shock. "Lula and Lorraine were zip-tied, trussed up like animals! Hell, even Dmitri's own mom got tied to the bathroom sink. It's hard to feel like you could have confidence in a family that would let their own be put in such jeopardy, much lessmine."
He plays with the cross again, making it flash under the yellowish overhead lights. "It makes me concerned that he's gonna be capable of creating a safe new development in such a rough part of town."
Oh, this motherfucker…
When we're finished here, I'm going to have Roman set his new development in the West Village on fire. Just enough damage that his insurance will have to cover it, and then they'll drop the policy and he'll have to start over. The thought gives me so much happiness that a feral grin stretches across my face and even he pauses, unsettled.
"I'm sure you've spoken to the police, right?" Will asks archly.
"Of course," I say with mock offense. "Detectives Marshall and O'Halloran, they were very concerned about thisrandomattack. I'm sure they've contacted your lovely wife and daughter for a statement, have they not?"
He realizes his blunder. "Well, Lula is still real upset and I'm thinking about getting therapy for her. It's a terrible thing for a young woman to feel so unsafe," he says. "I worry that I've sheltered her too much." He turns to look out one of the grimy windows, attempting an appearance of noble sorrow.
Marian just barely contains a snort. "It sounds tragic," she says sharply. "But as far as we can see, it is unrelated to this development."
Frank, who's been lounging his entitled ass in the one and a half million apartment we gifted him, says nothing, staring down at my proposal. He's about to become homeless if he doesn't step up.
With the satisfied air of a man enjoying a Job Well Done, Will rises. "I'll just be on my way, then." Picking up his ridiculous cowboy hat, he saunters out of the room, followed by his bodyguard, Smith. Smith's a cadaverous-looking bastard who puts in overtime as Will's "fixer."
"Now that the posturing is over," I say dryly, "allow me to introduce Polina Novikova, our head architect for the New Creek waterway project."
She straightens her red suit jacket and stands, bringing her PowerPoint up on their monitor mounted on the wall. "Thank you for your time. Our vision for the Newton Creek development is simple; a community that can be created and replicated again as needed, following the same pattern of walkability and sustainability. The key elements here are the ones that create a community footprint, coffee shops, libraries, a park by the river." Polina's PowerPoint is spectacular, stunning visuals, and clear, precise costs and projections that make it easy to visualize what can be accomplished.
Michael leans forward, tapping his copy of the prospective thoughtfully. "Have you budgeted for soil remediation?" he says.
"Absolutely," I say. "You'll find the budget there in the final projected costs along with two grant options for localcommunity organizations to offer input on the park and two recreational centers."
"What about the ratio of low income to high income housing?" Marian asks.
My jaw tightens for a moment, remembering The McManus and the twisted fucking trap offered to young women who were desperate for affordable housing.
"We have. We will outsource the application process to the Manhattan Women's Foundation and the Mara Poverty Coalition. It's been disappointing to find so many low-income units - that have beenrequiredby the city - with such shoddy manufacturing. I've seen the recent reports about the inadequate electrical wiring and plumbing systems built separately from the rest of the luxury building, so that the only problems were in the low-income units."
Marian's eyes narrow. "Are you thinking of a specific building?"
Smiling pleasantly, I go in for the kill. "Will Grand's new build on 27th, The River Royale. I'm sure your own city engineering department can tell you about the complaints. But here's a few reports from your East side division." I drop a thick pile of reports in front of each of them, Michael is pressing his lips together to keep from laughing. "Oh, and his Premium Partners office building…"
