“Finally got one of them to sing, huh?” Chesh grunted appreciatively. “Very good.”
“That friend of yours will fill the role of butcher perfectly,” Sullivan hummed in agreement. “And the attacks? Are they random then, or is there a method to that idiotic form of madness as well?”
This was the part that had had Baikal rushing over instead of dragging his feet like he was wont to do now that his father’s health had deteriorated so noticeably. He was no coward but…No one wanted to see their dad, the person they’d looked up to the most and idolized their entire life, wither into nothingness right before their very eye.
“There’s a mole,” he announced, keeping his gaze on his father, noting out of the corner of his eye that Chesh finally looked up from his tablet.
Chesh was constantly on that thing, bouncing back and forth between work for the company and work for the Brumal. It was honestly a wonder Baikal could recall the color of the man’s eyes—muddy brown—for how many times he could count they’d actually been aimed in his direction and not straight down at a screen.
He was younger than most of the others in his father’s inner circle, only in his early forties, and would be kept on once Baikal took the throne in the same capacity he was in now. Thank Light, since none of Baikal’s satellites—what the close followers who were considered trusted by the next in line for power were known as—had studied law.
“We think the main leak is lower level,” he continued. “A soldier at best, but most likely an associate of some kind. I have people looking into it.”
“What makes you think a mole is responsible?” Chesh asked.
“The locations hit all appeared random at first, but once you place them on a map there’s a noticeable pattern.” Baikal walked over to the blank wall to the left and aimed his multi-slate at the project hanging above. Then he opened an image file he’d saved and sent it to the other device, causing it to appear across the entire expanse of the wall.
It was a map of the city with several pins dropped in different places. They were in different parts, some closer to the same areas than others, and only two of them had been homes.
“Those are all places Kor’s men like to hang out,” his father said, scanning the image.
Kor was a group boss that on more than one occasion had made his dissatisfaction with the way Sullivan ran things known. He believed the Brumal should renegotiate terms with the Imperial family, that they had every right to push their harder substances to the people of Vitality and shouldn’t be expected to put in all the work of packaging and shipping off planet. He was a balding man in his late sixties who had no claim to the throne and no real position of power, a fact that had always irked him.
“Aside from the house fires, no one was ever really put in danger and there weren’t any real casualties,” Baikal said. All that made sense if it was a setup put together by Kor. He would have warned his people or at the very least, ordered those attacking to make it look real but not to push things too far.
“He’s a moron with a big mouth,” Chesh frowned, “but I must emphasize the truthfulness in that first part. He isn’t smart enough to plan acoup d'état. And while I see him needing to test the waters since he isn’t high enough to know our response plans, all of this seems like a massive waste of time for everyone involved.”
“It’s not the attacks themselves that’s the point,” Baikal informed them. “They’ve been trying to frame the Shepherds.”
“The who?”
“A small fry gang that formed a couple of years ago,” Sullivan said. “They’ve been toeing the line since, but haven’t overstepped yet.”
“We thought it was them in the beginning,” Baikal nodded, “but we’re pretty certain it was a setup. Kor wanted us looking in the wrong direction.”
“Meaning he’s planning something that he doesn’t want us to be aware of.” His father started coughing, a deep phlegmy sound in his lungs turning into hacks that had both Baikal and Chesh tensing and alert.
Sullivan had been officially diagnosed with zohs disease a little over a year ago. A death sentence, and a slow and painful one at that. It wasn’t hereditary, and as of now doctors still hadn’t figured out why certain people contracted it seemingly at random. Before, the Dominus had been the epitome of fit, strong enough to lift a grown man over his shoulders and toss him several feet even. At fifty-five, he still had decades he was meant to rule, and now…
The coughing stopped as quickly as it’d started and he swiveled in his chair, leaned toward a metal trash bucket three feet away, and hacked a mixture of saliva and blood into it with a scowl.
“Pass this to Whim, tell him to put eyes on Kor,” he picked up right where they’d left off, referencing his underboss, “and keep with what your guys have been doing. I want irrefutable proof it was him and him alone because Chesh is right, he’s not smart enough to come up with anything even this sloppy by himself.”
“We could just destroy his entire segment,” Baikal suggested. Each segment of the Brumal was made up of five to fifteen people, with a group boss set in charge of them. The group boss took their orders from the underboss and those orders trickled down to the foot soldiers. He’d already taken the liberty of looking into Kor’s segment. “It’s eight guys total. None of them seem clean.”
Chesh let out a low whistle. “Always so blood thirsty, Master Kal.”
Sullivan thought it over before waving his hand in the negative. “We cut off the head too quickly, we risk leaving bits behind for another to grow in its place. For now, we watch. Let’s be certain there’s no one else around pulling his strings before we make our move.”
“And if I’m able to find this other person, or prove there isn’t someone?” Baikal asked.
“Then you’re free to do with them as you see fit. This will be your seat soon enough. May as well start getting used to what being in charge is all about.” He patted the arm of his chair and then motioned to Chesh, clearly changing the subject. “This is why I called you. You need to sign.”
“Right here,” Chesh turned the tablet toward him to show a document with two lines at the bottom. One already had Sullivan’s signature and an image of his thumbprint next to it, the other was blank.
“What is this?” Baikal didn’t have a good feeling about it.
“I’m transferring all of my company shares over to you,” his father replied, “effective immediately. There won’t be a public announcement until your graduation—or I die, whichever comes first.”
