Hunter Hearst Helmsley considered himself an honest man. He kept his head down, on straight, and did his work, never raising too much conflict. And here, today, he thought perhaps all that hard and honest work would pay off. As a representative of McMahon Co, son of the previous 2nd in command, he was no stranger to Vincent McMahon. However, to gain a private meeting with the head of the company was no small feat, it certainly wasn't anything easily attainable. His father had gone, leaving a hole in the company, for sure. Who better to take that spot than the man's own flesh and blood? Therefore, it had to be good news when he found he'd been summoned for personally. His knuckles rapped on the door, but the young woman next to him did not seem nearly as thrilled to attend another boring meeting with her cousin's boring friends. The young woman, unaware that the sigh she heaved had been quite audible, was interrupted from her pouting by the clapping of hands before her face. Her attention shot up to the man beside her.

"Now!" Mr. Helmsley nudged the girl. "Keep your chin up, can't be having you bring Mr. McMahon down during our meeting. You'll have a better life too, you know."

Somarya said nothing, only nodded.

"And try to smile." His fingers pinched at the sides of his mouth at her to make Ms. Espinosa understand his words, proceeding to roll his eyes at the cheesy grin he was rewarded with in response. Somarya Espinosa, ward of the Helmsley family, came to them at the tender age of 6, her mother unable to care for her, so ill she needed New York Doctors. She barely made the trip, barely lived through the doctors trestments. But her life didn't cone without a price, that was for sure. Her mother didn't want her back, said she was a curse. The Helmsley sister, Martha, took her step daughter, more than happy to care for the girl. That is, until the cotton industry collapsed and again, here was Somarya, under the care of Mr Helmsley once more.

The polished oak door creaked open, a man larger than Mr. Helmsley had ever seen, could even imagine, poked his massive head through the crack. He possessed a physique only told of in Homeric Epics, until this moment.

"Hunter Helmsley?" The beast growled, huge meaty paws gripping the door frame to bend down. "He'll see you now."

Exchanging no more greeting than this, he lumbered off to open the foyer door. Quickly the young visitors discarded of their coats and hats in said foyer, Mr. Helmsley taking this moment to straighten out his ascot, Somarya to fluff her hair back out. The two finally crossed the threshold from the foyer to the office, soft thanks muttered to the substantially sized greeting committee.

"Hah!" A new voice snapped the newcomer to attention from the empty depths of the lavishly decorated office space, the jolt of his suprise catching the eye of young Ms. Espinosa, who also soon saw the source of Hunter's flinch. "Mr. Helmsley, so very glad you came!"

Mr. McMahon rushed to meet them, an older gentleman, tall, but not remarkably so. Today he held a kindly expression, but with eyes that looked like they held a secret.

"Mr. McMahon." Hunter stiffened, reaching out a heavy hand for a shake and a formal greeting. "Pleasure to see you once more."

"Likewise, likewise!" The elder man exclaimed, taking Mr. Helmsley's hand almost too firmly, vigorously shaking it up and down. "I see you've met Kane, my bruno."

Mr. McMahon looked over to the creature, which had moved to the boss's side, arms crossed and face locked in a permanent scowl. Mr. McMahon clapped Kane on the shoulder, exclaiming. "And what a bang up job he does as my muscle!"

Hunter laughed nervously, holding his hand out to the taller man as well. Kane simply huffed, chin tilting up. Mr. Helmsley retreated his hand immediately with a muttered, "Okay..."

"And who " Mr. McMahon all but lept forward to catch Somarya's hand in his, raising the knuckles to his lips. "Might this ravishing creature be?"

Young Ms. Espinosa's discomfort was apperent, she gave a tight-lipped smile regardless, shifting and looking helplessly up at her cousin.

"This is my father's ward, or, rather, I should say she is my ward now. Mr. McMahon, please meet my step-cousin, Ms. Somarya Espinosa." Hunter stated matter of factly.

"Your father took a ward?!" McMahon was suprised, dropping Somarya's hand and wiping it on his pants as if he'd regretted toching her, his confidence faltering, saying guiltily, "So, a minor, then?"

"No, 19," the drop in Mr. McMahon's shoulders of relief was noted. "But deaf. Hoping soon to find a man to take her off my hands. But until she marries, she's under my charge." A long and awkward pause followed, directed a a very uncomfortable Somarya.

"So let's get down do business, eh?" McMahon beckoned Mr. Helmsley over, clapping the ypung man on the shoulder. "Kane, keep Lady Somarya busy, will you, Mr. Helmsley and I have much to discuss!"

Somarya looked desperately over at Hunter, being shuffled quickly away, then with wide eyes up at the present company. She felt at once dwarfed by him, his chest heaved, scowl ever present, before she was grabbed roughly by the shoulder and pushed to another room, every one of her senses alight.

Hunter was ushered, almost forcefully, into Mr. McMahon's study. He plopped down on the chair opposite a wide cherrywood desk. The elder man dashed over to a glass-face cabinet, pulling out a large wooden box, digging out two brown sticks and, turning to Mr. Helmsley offered, "Cigar?"

"Please." the younger man accepted, taking it from Mr. McMahon's hand when it was thrust towards him. He waited for the light to come, igniting the cigar with a small puff of some and giving his thanks as Mr. McMahon lit his own.

"One thing the Prohibition didn't take from us, huh?" McMahon commented, blowing out a thick cloud of smoke. "Ah, what do you think of those Mets?"

There was hardly anything else to talk about, now that the new accessibility of the radio was broadcasting the World Series, and of two New York teams, no less!

"Oh, they are doing well, but..." Hunter sucked the smoke up into his mouth, the taste smooth, this cigar obviously expensive. "More of a Giants man myself."

Mr. McMahon cackled, ashing his cigar on the crystal dish that sat on his desk, almost overflowing with flakes of grey. "Just like your father, you are!"

Hunter smiled in return, reaching across the wood to ash his own, McMahon was friendly, but Hunter was never a patient man: "So, Mr. McMahon, what is it you needed to see me for?"

"Oh, right to business I see!" He seemed delighted by the bluntness that he'd just been confronted with, making a quivering little tent with his spindly fingers. "As you know, your father left quite the hole in this business, and who but a Helmsley could ever take that place? I'l be caught dead before anyone but a Helmsley is at my right hand."

Hunter almost beamed, warmth spreading through his body with the joy of such an opportunity. Standing and extending his hand excitedly, he said, "I'd be honored! It would be a pleasure, Mr. McMahon. I thank you!"

"Vince, please." The elder man snapped and batted the hand away good-naturedly. "That is not all. He also left quite the gap in my... operation."

Hunter's head tilted to one side in great confusion. He was unsure what the boss meant by 'operation'. "Sir?"

"Mr. Rollins!" Vince snapped, a clean cut young man with a neatly trimmed beard and dark curly hair poked his head through the back door of the office, inquiring,

"Boss?"

"Please do fetch a decanter for us, Mr. Helmsley is about to learn quite a lot about his father, and this company." Children were generally left out of these sorts of dealings. But, Hunter was no more a child, and it was high time he knew what else his late father had done in the name of the company.

"A decanter, why, Mr. McMahon," Hunter sat, his voice quivering with a nervous uptick as he leaned in, whispering, "This is a dry country, sir!"

Vince smiled feindishly at his new protege, chuckling lightly at his naivety. "Not for us, it isn't."

Somarya huffed after being shoved unceremoniously onto a loveseat in the sitting room. Kane had growled at her, "Sit."

She, however, remained unaware, beginning to rise, ready to explore the well placed and expensive decor about the room. Exquisite Victorian flourishes donned each chair in the room, a turqouise turkish rug covering polished wood paneled flooring. With little care for whatever Kane had gotten up to, she begand towards the drawn golden curtains, desiring to look outside. Just as nimble fingers grasped the cloth, her shoulders were entrapped once more. An odd squeal escape from her lips, she turned about like lightning, fearful dark eyes looking up at McMahon's beast.

"Sit." He commanded, this time, a little more forcefully, his grasp noticeably tighter than last. She minded the man this time, folding her hands politely in her lap and watching as he moved about the room. Suprisingly graceful, for a man his size, his hands retrieved something Somarya hadn't seen in a very long time. A decanter set of beautiful, solid crystal. Full of liquor.

"That's illegal." She remarked, and they were the first words she'd said all day. The behemoth looked at her and rolled his eyes, bringing it over to where she sat, folded in on herself and trying not to take up too much space after the second time she'd been shoved in a chair against her will. This man, this, Kane, uncapped the decanter, pouring about a half inch straight into a small glass, bringing it over to the woman, setting it down on the coffee table before her with a soft thud.

Returning to the cabinet, he started to put the set away. Somarya made no move for the drink he poured, watching him instead, until his attention diverted and, looking to see what had interrupted his ritual, she saw another man, younger, with dark hair, enter.

"Boss needs that," the new one said, stepping up to Kane. "Does he know you're breaking into it, bud?"

Kane said nothing. He didn't much feel like he owed him an explanation. Eyes narrowed, chest puffed out, his hand simply motioned toward the other body in the room.

"Huh," Mr. Rollins scoffed, regarding the young woman placed politely on the embroidered royal blue loveseat. "Who's the ankle?"

Saying nothing, the beast of a man simply slid the tray holding the decanter set towards the younger man. After a tense moment, the young man slinked away, not wont to keep his boss waiting, casting another glance at the young woman on the sofa, ankles crossed, gazing in interest at the gentlemen's interaction.

Mr. Rollins returned to Mr. McMahon's office forthwith, tray begrudgingly in hand. It should have been him, asked to be McMahon's right hand. This Helmsley boy knew nothing of the world, and nothing tmof the operation. And he deserved such an honor by, what? Bloodright? No matter, Mr. Rollins often soothed himself with the thought that his time would come, and soon. Not too much longer, and he wouldn't have to endure being treated as an overglorified butler. That should have been Kane's job.

Mr. Helmsley shifted in his chair, feeling at once very small in this vast office. What could Mr. McMahon possibly mean? Mr. Rollins returned, delicately balancing the whiskey glasses and vase on a silver tray, setting the drinks down before the two men.

Vince's eyes narrowed at the crystal, remarking, ever observant, "This is missing a glass."

"For the girl." Mr. Rollins placated, taking his leave.

Vince nodded slowly, fair enough. She was just as much a guest in this place as her elder cousin. He couldn't fault Kane for making his guest's stay comfortable.

Hunter's eyes shot open wide, "You mean my cousin is alone, with liquor, and with that beast of a man no less-"

Vince waved off his concern, chuckling at the notion, "No worries, no worries, Kane's doesn't feel human emotion! He's practically an automaton." More cackling laughter could be heard throughout the office at the very notion. Shaking his greying head, the boss poured out two equal libations, one slid over to Hunter, the sound of near-hollow glass skidding on the flat surface the only sound in the room. "Now, young Mr. Helmsley, let's talk about your future, shall we? But first, a toast to it."

As the other stranger left, the final man in the room crossed slowly across the floor, seating himself on the same loveseat he'd forced Somarya into. The woman sunk further into the corner created by the armrest, two cushions were nowhere near large enough for a man of his size, let alone adding her to the mix. He didn't even seem to notice in the slightest how abnormal of a position this was. However, Somarya certainly wasn't about to pipe up and ask him what on earth he was doing. In all fairness, he didn't feel like continuing to follow her around, forcing her to sit everytime she looked out a window.

Being seen through the window of Vince McMahon's office was a very, very dangerous thing, he thought, reminding himself how many of the McMahon's he'd thrown himself on top of while gunfire busted through the windows. No, it wouldn't happen again. They would keep the curtains closed.

For several tense beats, neither moved, until Kane's fingers pushed the glass of liquor closer to the table's edge wordlessly. Somarya, with shaking hand, reached for it. She'd never tried any of it, after all now that she was an adult, it was illegal to have such contraband. These business men, in their expensive suits and grandiose sitting rooms seemed not to care about its legality. She resolved that she would not either. her long, slender fingers wrapped around the lip of the glass, bringing it to cup in her hands.

"Thank you." She offered demurely to her new companion, who gave only a side-eyed look of derision.

Glancing once more at him, she lifted the glass to her lips, taking the tiniest sip she could manage.

It was like fire. From the moment it touched her lips all the way down to her stomach it left a blazing trail on her insides. Not for her, not one bit. She knew she cough and she must have made a face, Mr. McMahon's guardsman stared at her. This time, not with condescension, or contempt, but curiosity.

"Sorry, sir." Somarya shook her head at him. "No." The glass was laid back on the table by the young woman.

A waste of alcohol, he thought, shrugging, he took the glass and downed it in one mouthful, making hardly an expression at all. But the lack of action was too much for the young woman. Gazing about the room, since she so obviously was not allowed to walk about, she saw in the corners a chess set, all grey and pink marble, with finely crafter peices showing great detail, particularly on the kings, and the knights, which were always her favorite peices by far.

Looking over to Kane, she asked, "Do you play chess?"

A simple shake of the head was the only response she received, and she thought again, "Checkers?"

Another no.

"Hmmm... what about... tic-tac-toe?"

The giant man leaned back, his suit jacket opening so he could retrieve from the innermost pocket, a small notepad, and a capped fountain pen. Flipping it open to a blank page his large fingers deftly illustrated a small grid, placing a big, black, X, right in the middle. To the man now holding the paper pad out to her, she couldn't help but smile as she took it from his hand.

"So, you're quite into illicit activity then, aren't you, Mr. McMahon?" Hunter observed, the tales of what his father really did for Vince finally sinking in. Since the start of the Prohibition of liquor, McMahon Co had been a front, and a well camouflaged one, at that. He knew now about the illegal underground booze train, smuggled all around the city, and all the cocaine... the whole thing made Hunter uncomfortable.

"Since the Prohibition started, people have wanted their fix, on all facets, who are we to refuse to provide it? Come now, there's plenty in it for you. And your ward, if you wish. Money, notoriety, special treatment..." Vince went on, attempting to tantalize Mr. Helmsley.

"What about the police?" Hunter's voice faltered with unsurety.

"We are the police." Vince stated simply. Raising his glass of contraband, he proposed another toast.

"How do you know I won't take what you have told me directly to the authorities? Someone you don't have in your back pocket?" Hunter narrowed his eyes at hos new boss.

"You know too much. I'll simply have you killed." The elder man shrugged, saying this with such ease as if it were the simplest fact in the world. Hunter seemed to remain unmoved, and Vince took this cue to lean forward in his chair, over the desk. "Come, now. Don't make me threaten your little cousin, too."

"What are we called?" Mr. Helmsley relented, raising his glass with shaking hand.

"The Authority." Mr. McMahon responded with a self-satisfied grin. The glasses were knocked together by their holders, soft clang echoing through the empty room.

"The Authority." Hunter repeated, tossing the whiskey back and swishing the liquid fire in his mouth before swallowing, setting the crystalline glass back on the desk before him. He considered the name, and the flavor of the liqour before responding, "I like that."

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

Thanks for reading!

As always, I feel like I need to provide a disclaimer to Somarya: I am not trying to discount what it means to be Hard of Hearing. I myself am d/Deaf/Hard of Hearing, and in Somarya, I wanted to created a character that is palatable to both hearing and deaf audiences, even though the time period of the AU proposes some uncomfortable situations and attitudes that were real for that time period.