UPDATE 13/01/2021: Minor cleaning
[Chapter Two]
Roman approached a very specific car that he's had his eyes on, just for the sake of spiting Junior: the Roys Sylver Spur. The vehicle's vintage exterior stood out from its peers; black paint contrasted the white leather interior. He sat in the back, opened the armrest's ashtray, and waited with the window rolled down. A few minutes passed before Roman noticed a mop of turquoise hair in the rearview mirror, its owner clumsily shuffling towards the car.
"Sorry… so sorry, Mr. Torchwick." He began apologizing as he entered.
Roman raised a brow at the young man's disheveled look. "You look like shit, kid."
"I know, Mr. Torchwick. I'm sorry." He started the car up and turned to Roman, although his eyes were directed more to the car's floor. "I know I shouldn't, but I thought I coulda just slip a—"
"Keep it." Roman blew out a puff. "We're going to eastern commercials: Brightwater Hall."
The Brightwater Hall looked more a proper palace than anything, really. Just at the bank of the upper Vale River. Well, it was once a palace, but the guy that owned it and his family got beheaded after the civil war a century and a half ago.
A little—size-wise, at least—friend of his described it as a grand architecture characterized by complex shapes, extravagant ornaments, and bold contrasts; fenced in and surrounded by at least three-square kilometers of lush greeneries as if a reminder to the extravagant aristocratic lifestyle of the old.
It certainly fits whatever the hell she meant.
These days the place's booked all year round. From operas to galas and awards to ceremonies, and for the next few days, the International Diamond and Jewelry Expo. They were supposedly booked today, completely attended by the cliched rich—nevertheless, his sister was able to make him an extra spot in the list.
"I told them that you're holding a very important piece. That should get a sudden arrival, lickety-split" a feminine voice explained over the call. "I'll have my secretary wait for you at the main hall."
"Alright," Roman snubbed out his cigar. "See you there."
They pulled into the north entrance, nestled in an archway architecture, where a security detail of around two dozen personnel stood guard; each covered from head to toe in gear, carrying a variety of arsenal that could take down fully-fledged hunters in a snap. Who knows how much more were guarding inside the vicinity. To some, it felt more like entering a military compound or an embassy than an exhibition for shiny rocks.
"Who're they, Mr. Torchwick? Don't look like any police I ever saw."
"Private contractors," Roman eyed the four guards approaching them. "Bishop International mercs." He snorted. "Don't call them mercs, though, or they'll go on a tirade about how they're not Rook Island. The navy had a couple of them in my ship back when I was still in the service."
Turk nodded. Glancing at one, he remarked: "They look tough as nails…"
"You have no idea..." Roman muttered through gritted teeth.
"Good evening." One greeted after Turk rolled the window down. "Please prepare your vehicle for inspection."
It couldn't have taken more than thirty seconds. With mirrors going under the car and dogs sniffing around. Afterwards, the gates opened with a low electric buzz.
"Have a great evening, sir." The head guard saluted.
"Thank you." Roman nodded with a smile—rehearsed.
The courtyard could be seen ahead. It felt like a stereotype and cliche, really. Three paths, from all the entrance, leading into a massive roundabout with an over-the-top garden and fountain in the middle. Correction: a freakin' lake in the middle.
The car slowly halted to a stop. A red carpet laid from the driveway all the way to the main entrance. There, Roman could make out many individuals huddled around different groups. The redhead slung Ion's satchel around his shoulder, took a step out, and stopped. He turned back to his driver and produced a wallet out of his pocket. "You smoke Turk?"
"Uh… no, Mr. Torchwick."
"Good. Don't." He held out something towards Turk, a good couple hundred of Lien in his hand. "Go park, have some shut-eye, get yourself a meal or buy something nice for your sweetheart. I don't care. Just come back around when I call you."
"Of course, Mr. Torchwick, but—" Turk tried to form sentences as Roman slapped the currencies onto his palm— "Uh… Mr. Torchwick, I… I can't accept this! At least not this much…"
"What, Junior paying you in the thousands these days?" Roman snarkily jabbed. "Just keep it, will ya?"
"Right. Thank you Mr—"
Roman shut the door and began walking. He scaled up the marble steps, soles upon velvet carpet, with each click of his shoes the putrid stench of the high class intensified, the sound of unintelligible chatter over faint instrumental became more and more audible. Reaching the top. In front of him were a pair of massive wooden doors easily thrice his height.
Two guards stood ready by the doorway. Excluding the ballistic mask, they seemed to be dressed more appropriately than the ones at the gate; with two piece suits and low-profile body armor under the jacket. Though the heat they packed remained identical. They remained static as Roman passed by..
He then was immediately greeted with how extravagant and over the top this place truly was. Roman believed he was in the midst of about hundreds other individuals at the mansion's grand foyer. "Grand" seemed fitting—what's essentially the lobby's probably larger than his own place.
Heels clicked against shiny brown marble. Ahead of him were extravagant twin staircases leading to the second floor; deserted, it would seem. Nevertheless guarded by four guards. A massive crystal chandelier hung overhead, dangling by a thick chain connected to the high ceiling. The dome ceiling itself is decorated by some sort of fancy-schmancy roof painting.
A groan escaped his lips, followed by a sigh. He asked himself, Where the hell to?
"Pardon me!" Roman snapped his head to the call out of a masculine voice. "Mr. Torchwick? I am the madame's secretary."
Well, that's a fortunate turn of events. He proceeded to be led through various rooms and hallways. They reached the main show area, and amidst all the other premium brands, Roman saw a familiar one in the distance: its logo a flamboyant, black cursive on an orange background. As he neared the show booth, the secretary suddenly stopped him.
"Please wait, sir." He motioned with his free hand. "The madam's with an important guest."
He could make out a familiar face in the midst of strangers ahead. Of course, how couldn't he when it was as if looking at a mirror.
The smooth oval of her face, with a pair of slanted dark-green eyes, just like his, and an orange hair on the darker note tied into a prim ponytail that reached her upper back. She wore an orange turtleneck beneath an unbuttoned suit jacket, black business slacks, and high-heels. The dimple on both her cheeks showed as she smiled at a raven-haired couple.
The man, large and bulky, dwarfing the woman. They let out a different air than their fellow attendees: nobility, weirdly enough. An explanation presented itself to Roman in form of five, rather conspicuous men and women standing in a perimeter around those three.
Green eyes flicked over to his and blinked several times. She put up one finger and retreated into the show booth, returning to the height-challenged couple with something in hand.
"No, my lady, I insist." She pushed a rather shiny necklace towards the woman. "Think of it as a… sign of friendship."
The couple looked at each other, the woman giggling. "Well," she dropped her hands, "if so, then who am I to deny!"
She locked the necklace around the woman's neck and their conversation seemed to continue on for a bit longer. Now, Roman didn't consider himself an impatient man, he was certain of that as a matter of fact. But being surrounded by the chatters of ass-kissing and flaunty dickheads wasn't helping his case. That's why he breathed a sigh of relief when the pair seemed about to leave.
"Thank you, Mabel." It was hard not to overhear the man's deep voice. "I believe we indeed should talk about the mining deal soon."
She slightly leaned forward. "Better me than the SDC, my lord." The jab earned another laugh from the couple before they left with their suits.
"Madame, I've brought your brother over."
She turned to Roman with a smirk. With open arms, the female redhead began walking towards him. "Hey, Hotshot~"
Roman smiled back at his sister. "Hey, Mabel."
"Give me a hug." She slithered her arms around Roman's torso. "That's it; big ol' hug."
The male redhead rolled his eyes. Mabel was about a head shorter than him. He returned the hug back with a few pats on the back. They both pulled away not long after and she stood to Roman's left, an arm still keeping Roman close.
"I made it, R…" Mabel playfully shifted her weight, forcing Roman to shuffle around and face the Scarlatina's booth. "I made it."
Roman rested a hand on her shoulder, the two staring at the logo; Mabel's. "Was there ever a doubt?"
Mabel turned to him with a deadpan and they snorted. The siblings began walking into the large open booth, passing sets of glass cases displaying Mabel's latest and finest designs. Behind those were employees who gave court nods as they passed. Roman and Mabel sat face-to-face back of the booth, separated by a round coffee table.
She began talking: mostly about what has been recently happening. The family, the business—a little sibling catch-up considering they haven't been in contact for almost a year. Obviously, Roman had briefly mentioned Ion at the beginning of their call. Now he was just retelling the whole ordeal for the sake of context; Mabel's somberness remained all throughout.
The female redhead lowered the letter with a sigh. "Oh, this poor boy."
This whole situation hits close to home for the siblings. More Mabel than it did Roman. Unlike the older of the two, Roman doesn't remember jack about them—but Mabel? Two years ago, she apparently overheard a pair of Junior's men talking about it—Brothers know how they found out—and she flipped.
"I know." Roman took the paper from Mabel and folded it back.
"What's your plan then?"
"Well, preferably getting him home." His sarcasm did not amuse Mabel.
"His home or some home?"
What? What the hell was that supposed to mean? How's he supposed to answer that? Roman left her question up in the air for a bit. Fixing his fringe, Roman let out a sigh before continuing.
"That's why I need your help." Keeping it ambiguous. "I… I still ain't completely sure on what to do. It's only a hunch, but I think, somehow, his folks wiped any trail that could lead back to them."
Mabel gave him a dirty look, but it softened after a sigh.
"Well, it doesn't sound so far-fetched considering they might've wiped his memory." Mabel rubbed her right eyebrow. She seemed to be in deep thought, then her expression took a sharp turn—determined. "So you're thinking that, somehow, against all logic and odds, there'd be something. Anything?"
Well, it sounded stupid when said out loud. "Something like that."
Mabel hummed. "This the necklace?"
Roman smirked, sliding the box over to Mabel. She picked it up, feeling the material, turning the glittery container left and right. Mabel slowly pulled the lid of its body, a brilliant sheen of blue immediately lit up an expression of pure shock. Closer and closer, her face slowly leaned closer into the box: it was as if the gem had hypnotized her.
"What…"
"M?" Roman squinted at his frozen sister. "What? What's wrong?"
She blinked a couple of times, then back at the necklace before having a suspicious look around. The woman quickly closed the box back and jerked up from her seat. "Come with me."
Roman was pulled from his seat before he could even voice a complaint. He resented at first. Leaned his weight backward to give Mabel a hard time until she explained what was wrong, but he quickly gave up that idea.
Being dragged deeper into the show booth, Roman noticed a certain door in the direction they were heading; "Authorized personnel only!" it read. He was forcefully pushed in, a metallic thud sounding off as Mabel closed the door behind them.
Giving his sister an estranged glare, Roman turned around to figure out where the hell he was now. It could barely reach four meters by four, with single but nevertheless bright neon light. A wide array of equipment and computers lined the walls. A small, makeshift lab that had an extra person sitting at the large table in the middle.
"Madame?" The woman wore a white lab coat over her clothing: seems like another of Mabel's employees. "What is—"
"Shush. Move." Mabel pushed the lab stool he was on and seated herself on another. Immediately, the woman got busy: she placed the blue box on the table and pulled out a multitude of what Roman could only call "jewelry inspection apparatus". Mabel turned to the employee she had pushed. "You. Take a look at this."
Diamonds have always been his sister's thing. That being said, Roman wasn't particularly clueless about the business either. Far from it. The proper term would be "lacking a deeper knowledge". Looked like a fancy-deep to Roman, maybe a dark? A couple of carats? What about the eight white diamonds around it, those seemed pretty clear to his uninitiated eyes.
Mabel retracted from the diamond after a brief moment of silence, letting out a half-assed "heh" as she leaned back on her chair.
"What?" asked Roman.
"Almost got me there, R." She then laid the pendant on an open palm to show Roman. "I think these are fakes." Roman couldn't help but feel a tad deflated at that. Even Mabel looked disappointed. "I'm eighty percent sure that they're fake. Amazing fakes; have to give credits where they're due."
Roman absentmindedly nodded. "Anything you can tell about it?"
"Well, the pendant's similar to something called 'Seven Days, Seven Ways' necklace that I've seen before. You can change the gems with that one," she lightly tugged at the front and back of the jewelry, "but I think this one's fixed. I've never seen chains like this before; custom made, no doubt about it. Both could be silver, maybe white gold."
"What got you thinking that the diamonds're fake?"
"You remember what inclusions are, right?" Roman nodded. "Well, I could barely make out any through ten times mag. No feathers, no clouds, no trapped crystals. Nothing. Absolutely flawless clarity. And with a diamond this big? What, twenty carats maybe?" Mabel pulled out a measuring tape. "That ain't natural." After this, she handed the necklace that had dangled on her finger to the lab attendant. Mabel smiled as she turned back to her brother. "Here's hoping?"
"Any thoughts on what ya might find?"
"Well, the thing about lab-grown diamonds is that they could easily flood the market," Mabel began. "So we keep 'em in check. Restrictions and papers and all that. No matter how many pull Ion's parents have, they won't be wiping the records out the archives. Domestic or international."
Roman hummed. "So… we just wait?"
She huffed. "Unlucky you, it's going to take longer than usual." Roman narrowed his eyes. "The system's been lagging behind for about two hours now. My friend in the GIR said something about old parts finally giving up and poodlenecking the system or whatever. Literally out of all the times it could happen."
"How long are we talking about?"
"Well, they said it'll be normal again in half an hour." Mabel briefly looked at her wristwatch and pursed her lips. "That was two hours ago… so go figure."
"I guess I'll leave it to you then."
"Where are you heading now?"
"Off to pull some strings. See if I can find anything." He ran a hand through his hair, slinging Ion's bag around his shoulder. "Impossible to have nothing, right?"
Mabel sighed. "Come on, I'll walk you out."
A few steps out of the room and a rather loud audio feedback reverberated. The siblings snapped their head in unison to the right, far at the back of the show area, where a suited man stood on top a decently-sized stage. A rather large crowd gathered around the stage, some were even seated at the front.
The MC launched some sort of a joke and the crowd laughed. "Now, the next items we will be auctioning are actually created by a friend of mine. The rising star herself! Bold, creative, talented! Whether it be bringing new life to otherwise old styles or coming up with her own trend. Ladies and gentlemen! A warm applause to Mabel Scarlatina!"
"I forgot that's now..." Mabel mumbled, running down a hand to her face. Mabel turned to Roman as the clapping continued. "You know the way out, right?"
"Yeah." Roman let out a cheeky grin. "Go sell some expensive stuff to dumb, rich folks."
"That's what I do best. I'll be in touch." She kissed her brother on both cheeks before proudly walking towards the stage, hands open in the air and all—like a queen greeting her subjects.
"Huh…" A thought crossed Roman's head: Going legit… maybe I should accept that spot in labour after all. Turning on his heel, Roman continuously clicked his tongue as he left the manor.
