Chapter 3: Research and Goodbyes
(Kaiba's POV)
Once I made it back to the hotel I was staying in, I was going to take some of Mikoro's advice and decided I would have to do a little research. It shouldn't be too hard to find information on her and her family through public records. I might even be able to find how they were connected to my old man if there was enough of it. I decided to start with the obvious; the company her family ran. If there was a connection to Gozaburo, it would have been business related. The man didn't have any real friend in this world. It went against everything he believed. But to be close enough partners to agree to take on some kid? There had to be motive in taking the daughter. Gozaburo Kaiba didn't do things out of the goodness of his heart. That was kind of impossible seeing I was convinced he never had one to begin with.
Thankfully, American taxation records for publicly held companies like Mikoro Industries were under full public disclosure. I was able to obtain the past couple years of data from a couple information sites and a quick company history form MI's own site.
"So no wonder the old man probably knew them.." I muttered as I read through the products Mikoro was known for. All of it technological and just about every piece of it was weapons related. Did Mikoro and Kaiba Corp work together in the same market before I took over? Would that be why Mikoro seemed to hate me? Were our fathers connected somehow and my pulling KC out of their market caused MI to take some loss? Did MI maybe supply KC with product and with the transition, they lost a major buyer? As if I cared, but it would be good to know. Going back to my computer, I pulled up the financials for the time period right before I would have taken over KC and compared them to the data that would have been afterwards. "No.. That's can't be it..." I wondered to myself. From the looks of it, Mikoro Industries became even more successful following the Kaiba Corporation transition out of the arms market.
With my curiosity peeked, I logged into work and did a search for Mikoro, Even if it was before the transition, the information of if the two companies did any dealing should still be there. I was surprised at the massive amount of data that came up in the result. Mikoro and Kaiba Corp did work together. There were KC products that used MI software and vice versa. From what I could see, the partnership went all the way back to MI's founding not long after Gozaburo would have incorporated the original Kaiba Corp. There was no way KC did this much business with someone and my step-father wouldn't have taken the time to get friendly with them. So I had probably found the family connection, but not the connection that would explain the obvious hate Emily Mikoro had for me personally.
Feeling all was done on that front, I started looking up the Mikoro family itself. Izuo Mikoro, Emily's father, was a Japanese native from Domino City according to the public biography. "That can't be just a coincidence." I muttered to myself as I kept reading. He was an only child from a middle-class family that managed to gain entry into one of the bigger business schools in the country on scholarship. So her father was a hard working man by the looks of it. He graduated and went on to college in Japan where he got top marks and business management and computer science degrees. He worked his way through college and started Mikoro Industries with a software package he worked on throughout his time at university. He met his wife, Jasmine Clark, when her performance group was in Japan on tour. "So she is American as well after all." I thought out loud as I read a little more about her mother.
Jasmine Clark was a professional ballet dancer from Manhattan, New York who attended the School of American Ballet and went on to study at Julliard which landed her a spot in the New York City Ballet Company. Jasmine was well known in her solo and group acts winning many awards and recognition for NYCB. Following her marriage to Izuo Mikoro, Jasmine became pregnant with their first child which is when she formally resigned from the NYCB to be a mother. "Isn't that cute..." I muttered in a little disgust. The woman seemed very successful and had much going for her & she threw it all away for kids.
I did a little more digging seeing that several years later, the family announced the arrival to their daughter Emily. "Now here we go..." Though the Mikoro's kept their children out of the public light as much as possible, I was able to find that their son Devan was a well known athlete as well as carried some of the best grades in his private school. When he entered high school age, he was sent to a boy's private boarding school in Oxford, England where he continued his academics and playing lacrosse. Though I didn't see the point in the sport, it made Devan seem like the 'normal' privileged kid that was going to take over from his old man. He probably had university offers waiting from both home and abroad by the looks of his records.
I was taken back when I realized the amount information on his sister was scarce compared to how much could be found on Devan. Emily Mikoro wasn't listed as attending any private schools past the primary years. From what I could tell after age eleven, she entered more of a home schooled program and was rarely seen in public. What I did find was information of her being a dancer like her mother. The only times the girl was seen in public, was not with her family, but on stage dancing. Her teacher was a well known local man that trained several of the newer names of ballet, according to the page. Emily seemed to be no exception other than she never transitioned into a professional school like other dancers her age. Did something happen? I couldn't find any note on a possible injury that would result in the lack of progress which was odd. I was able to find a list of awards and competitions she placed or won in over the years as well as posted video of her work.
I decided to check social media and see if there was any more on Emily. Like school information, the two siblings were like night and day. Emily had little to nothing online about her. "So maybe she's just a private person like me, and doesn't want to deal with it." I thought out loud. Devan was the opposite. He seemed to be popular with social media. Many of his posts were school or sports related with a couple about his family here and there. One of the more recent and last posts was a little haunting knowing the result: Packing up to visit home! Can't wait to see my baby sister Emily and giver her the big hug I know she deserves after this win! Check it out! You won't be disappointed! Grats Em! The post had an article attached about the results of a state dance meet where Emily had taken several of the awards in her solo work as well as videos of her performances. With my interest grabbed again, I decided to watch the material and just see what the talk was about when it came to Emily Mikoro.
(Emily's POV)
Today was the day.
It had been six days since I got news of the accident, and the day had finally come that I'd bury my parents and brother. I had spent the past two nights at the funeral home with the visitations. It had all seemed to pass by me in a haze. The many faces that came by me the past two days all seemed to just go by in one silent reel. I knew they were speaking to me. They were all giving condolences, prayers, or words to help ease the pain. I didn't hear a damn one of them. The mouths moved, but I heard nothing. There was nothing they could say that would make this easier. There was nothing they could do that would ease my pain. I could only force a smile and nod shaking hands when they were offered until the line of visitors stopped and I was once again alone.
Today was the day I did it.
Three pearl black boxes were lined together at the plot I had acquired in a small cemetery outside the city on the Newark side overlooking the Hudson. Mom could see her old home, Manhattan, from here. My father would be next to her as he'd always been. Devan. I paused as I came to the box that held my brother. The box was smooth and cold to the touch. This was nothing like Devan. He was warm. Devan was always warm and inviting. He always had a smile for me or words to brighten my day. Devan was nothing like this damn box!
I could feel it. The pain, sorrow, and anguish rearing its head. I had to stuff it down. I had to hide it. Emotions were for the weak hearted. This was only death. It was natural. It happened to all. Crying and letting my emotions get the better of me would not bring my family back. I had to push through it. I would push through it. No one would see me break. I didn't break all these years when things were hard, so there was no way I was going to break now!
The first of the guests started to arrive for the service, so I did as my parents would make me do. I turned from the box that would no longer matter after today and took my place on the front row of seats.
Today was the day I cracked.
The service and the guests went by like the visitations except I heard things here and there. Many of the guests were young like me. Old friends of Devan's. His current and former school mates were here. His Lacrosse buddies were here. When they spoke to me I heard them through the haze. They all had the same to say. Devan always talked about you! Devan loved you! Devan was proud of you! Devan showed us your routine! They all seemed to come together, the new and the old friends, and just talked about things Devan had done. Things he had said. Jokes and stories they had about him. Evan in death, my brother didn't stop trying to cheer me up. Even in death, he made people smile. Even in death, Devan was... Devan.
It was when the last of the guests departed and I was once again alone with three black boxes that the numb mask I had been wearing started to crack. The cool breeze from the Hudson chilled me. The silence around me was suffocating me. But it was the sight as the grave site workers arriving in their jeans and dirty t-shirts as they began breaking down the bases keeping the three boxes above ground when I felt the crack grow. First my mother. The woman that gave birth to me. The woman that introduced me to my love of dance. The woman I looked up to as a child. The woman I came to hate. The woman I argued with time and time again. The woman I now missed was lowered into the ground. My father. The man that taught me right from wrong. The man who took over my education. The man who tried to force my mother and I to get along. The man I fought with. The man I wanted to see alive again one more time. He too was lowered slowly. My brother. My guiding light. My warm sun on a cloudy day. The light at the end of my tunnel. The boy that was always by my side... until now was the last to be dropped.
I stood there and watched. I watched as each member of my family was lowered into the ground and dirt was shoveled over them until there was no hint of the service that had taken place just before. Only three place marker stones stood at each grave. The official stones would be placed within the week once they got in from the stone smith. Each would be etched with the names and dates of the three people I knew in this life. The stones would be the only things left of them. The boxes would soon deteriorate. The corpses would be eaten and returned to the Earth. The only thing that would remain would be those stones. Three stones is all that was left of my life. Three damn stones were the only things left of the only people I loved. The last words I ever spoke to my parents were harsh and hateful. I would never get to tell them I was sorry. I would never have the chance to ask for their forgiveness. I would never get to tell them I loved them one more time. As I realized this horrible truth, I broke. As much as I tried. As much as I fought it. I could not hold back the pain. I could not hold back the tears. I could not hold back the cries.
Today was the day I shattered to pieces.
"I'm sorry!" I cried as I fell to my knees and wrapped my arms around myself in attempts to keep it together. "I'm so sorry!" I told them as the tears streamed down my face onto the grass below. They didn't deserve this. If someone should have been lying six feet under, it was me. My father ran a business. My mother was at his side. My brother had a future. What did I have besides a dance career that had stagnated? They all had reasons to live. They all had things worth living for. I had nothing. I did not deserve to live! They did not deserve to die! "Mom... Dad... Devan!" I cried wishing that my sounds could reach them. Yet, I knew they never would. They were only empty corpses six feet below where I kneeled.
It was the sound of a car pulling up that broke me from my cries. No one could hear. No one could see. No one could witness that I had been weak. I quickly stumbled to my feet trying to wipe the dirt and grass stains from my knees. I took several deep breaths to hide the quivering in my voice. I dabbed my eyes and wiped my cheeks in attempts to hide the evidence of my tears. Footsteps came from behind as I reassembled the last of my mask. I was strong. I was ok. I was me.
Today was the day I shoved it back in.
"Mikoro..." The deep voice spoke up behind me.
"What is it Kaiba?" I asked looking down playing with my fingers never turning to face him. Of all the people who could not see me like this, he was the top of that list.
"The service ended two hours ago. Why are you still here?" He asked. His tone held no harshness. His words held no malice.
"I do as I please Kaiba. I felt like staying, and so I did." I replied glancing back at him over my shoulder making sure not to let him see much of my face.
He stood there behind me in a black suit, white dress shirt, and a black tie. Like his voice, his face was softer than when I saw him last. No, I must have been seeing things. This was Seto Kaiba. Step-son to Gozaburo Kaiba. There was no softness to them. Only ruthless, heartless, narcissistic assholes. The lot of them!
"Look, if you need a ride home-"
"I drove myself here." I quipped cutting him short. "I'll drive myself home."
"Fine then." He stated as the edge in his voice returned, "We leave in two days. Have your things packed and ready or it gets left behind." His footsteps become only echoes as he walked away and took off in the vehicle from before.
So it was done. It had finally come. I looked over the Hudson at the lights of Manhattan taking in this sight. I may never see it again. I wouldn't see it again. I had no reason to come back. My family was here, but there was no point and coming back to visit some petty grave stones. Looking down at the three fresh plots I made a promise:
"Today is the last day I cry for you." I muttered.
With that promise, I turned and started to walk back to my car. I would go home. I would pack my things like Kaiba pointed out. In two days time, I would be in another country. I would start another life. In two days time, I would he in Hell.
Today was the day I said goodbye.
