Delmar Swan had always had ambition. The son of a fisherman and a chemical worker, he'd spent his early years in a hut by the beach. He'd survived seven years of reaping with his name in the mix forty-seven times, the consequence of too many mouths to feed and not enough money to do so. Bedtime was five bodies shoved into one tight space, was the scent of bleach and worse as it clung to his mother's skin.
At eighteen he'd decided he wouldn't live the life his parents had.
He wouldn't have too many children or allow himself to make foolish decisions blinded by love. His choices would always be pragmatic. Simple. Having the ability to compartmentalise and plan ahead made him indispensable to the shipping vessel he got work on. A rickety terrible old thing with rusted winches and nails sticking out of the woodwork. To say he'd loved the boat would've been a generosity. He had accepted it as a means to an end. It introduced him to his Gillian at the transfer yards, their flirting as they traded cargo growing bit by bit until it resulted in a marriage. It gave him enough food to put on the table so that his little sister and brother didn't need to work themselves to the bone.
When the captain of the boat, a woman named Eline, had decided to retire – it was Delmar that made the play for her contracts.
He'd done the math.
He knew what it would take to win over the Capitol investors, to convince them that he was the man to bring them into the next century. There was no concern overfeeding the people of Four. No concern for the masses of people that he called friends and allies and co-workers. He'd boxed that away and whittled down the business to its core essentials. The Capitol wanted fish. Enough of it to roll in an excess. The Capitol wanted Four subjugated. Enough to know there wouldn't be another rebellion.
For the person smart enough to combine the two, they offered wealth. Success.
A file sat on his lap, his suit too expensive and constrictive. The other men and women putting forward their bids for lotteries looked exactly what they were. Poor people in their Sunday best. Playing at being successful. Delmar had no intention of playing.
He'd spoken to no one of his intentions. Not even his wife, who was home nursing their young son and infant daughter. Instead, he had sat and calculated and written out a ten-year plan. A means to mutually benefit the Capitol and himself. Four, naturally, would profit too but that mattered less. What he wanted above all else, was to never feel as grubby and small as he had while growing up.
When the call for submissions came, he'd entered his plans and been called to the lottery. Formulated how to present his ideas. Decided he would walk into that board room with his head held high and success already settling on his shoulders. It didn't matter that he othered himself in the process. That was the point.
He'd done the math.
"They wish to see you now Mr Swan."
Delmar took a breath and followed the woman with the pinched mouth down the hallway in the town hall. Towards a room where he had a goal. A plan. A method for success.
Expecting the panel, he stumbled over the threshold to find only one man waiting for him. A man in a three-piece suit that immediately made Delmar self-conscious. His own suit had been cobbled together as second-hand items, stitched and dyed into fitting him uniformly. He looked well, but the fair-haired man standing at the table opposite him looked better.
"Mr Swan." A faint smile curved the man's mouth and he made a gesture for Delmar to sit. There would be no handshakes. No invitation to speak until spoken to. This, Delmar, realised quite quickly. "Thank you for joining us today."
Us.
There was no us. Just a man speaking as if he held the fate of Delmar's upward trajectory within his palms. Speaking as if he was a person of power. Which, ultimately, he was.
"It's my pleasure." Mind running frantically, he debated what to do. Did he slide his files across the desk to the other man? Did he demand to know who he was working with here? Clamping his tongue between his teeth, he took a seat and decided not to speak yet.
The other man was staring out at the sea. The town hall had three floors, and Delmar was on the third. It afforded the best view. It was offered only for the Capitol visitors so that they could see what Four had to offer. Down low, all that would be seen were slums and drudgery. No one wanted that. To look at it. To live it. Delmar instinctively checked his nails for dirt. They were spotless. Just as they had been fifteen minutes earlier in the waiting room.
Silence echoed and there were voices from an adjacent room. A committee meeting another of the hopeful lottery applicants.
"The Capitol," It was uttered with a quiet that shattered the silence like a hammer to glass, "Have reviewed your application, Mr Swan. We have decided to offer you terms that will be mutually beneficial."
Delmar's heart picked up speed as a manila folder was left onto the desk. It looked too thin to be a contract and yet already his fingers itched to sign the dotted line. An entire fleet had been his request. An entire fleet manned under the control of one business, Swan Fisheries. A business that would strike a clear deal with the Capitol, ninety-five per cent of all the catch going to them and the remaining five going to the district itself. To date, all the fishing business was solely competitive. It resulted in ancient unfit vessels and endless squabbling over fishing grounds. With the system united under one or two key figureheads, they could map out clear regions for their catch. Spend less time trying to outwit one another and more focusing on the essence of the business.
He'd even factored in the Four rebellion. More united vessels meant that the signing languages and colloquialisms would become uniform. Peacekeepers wouldn't have to spend weeks trying to parse out the new dialects when they rose from one source spreading and expanding like wildfire until they were all but incomprehensible.
Of course, Delmar himself would profit. He'd need a cash flow to establish a fleet. An office to run the numbers out of. With increased income, he would gain his family a house in the upper tiers of the district. Offer his children a chance at schools where they could learn to fight and fend for themselves.
Fishing was only one arm of the profit to be found within Four. Even then, it accounted for nearly thirty-five per cent of the total employment of the region. The remainder went to schools where Capitol education was imparted. The merchants who divvied out the spoils. Chemical plant workers who gutted and prepared fish for transport and sale. Divers who retrieved pearls and precious stones for Capitol fashion. Everyday people who had to fulfil positions such as doctors, bakers, cleaners and whatever other kinds of things needed to be done to keep all the movable parts of the district functioning. They were diverse and still fishing commanded the bulk of their employment.
He said nothing as the man watched him, a creak of a chair sounding far too loud as the suited fellow sat. Undid the button of his jacket so as not to cause a crease in the fabric. Delmar's fingers twitched. He should've done that. Alas, it was too late to amend the faux pas now.
"You proposed a ten-year plan. We will give you seven per cent of the working fishing population's worth of vessels. The system will be restructured to accommodate this and your five per cent of the catch suggestion has been approved." Thin fingers crossed over the other man's abdomen, an action that betrayed his lazy relaxed attitude. As if he didn't hold Delmar's entire future in the palm of his hand. A future that was suddenly impossibly within reach.
"You will be suitably rewarded, but as the figurehead for your new venture – there will be expectations. President Snow is keen to avoid another kerfuffle. Losing so many lives," The man tutted softly, as if the twenty-five hundred that had died affected him on some personal level, "What a waste. Therefore, we will supply the ships with a caveat. You will mine each and every worker you gain for information. Secretly. By whatever means you deem necessary. You will turn that information over to us monthly."
Delmar's ears were ringing. What was being asked, what was required – it was… He couldn't even find the words.
"Naturally, we know the task will be difficult. This is why we offer immunity to your children. Ford and Coral, yes?" Delmar's stomach dropped. "They will never be reaped. The Capitol understands sacrifice Mr Swan, and so we recognise that when one sacrifice is made then another should be avoided."
It was clinical.
The suit. The smile. Cold grey eyes were framed in skin that was far too tight and youthful for a man who looked older than Delmar himself. Long fingers with manicured nails, lacking colour.
"If I refuse such terms?" Delmar finally spoke, shoulders too rigid to slump in defeat. He remembered the reaping circus. The fear. The smell of blood on the air. Parents watching with bated breath. Children knowing what it would mean to see their name flash across the screen. Death. Pain.
"Then we never had this conversation. You leave this room and reiterate your pitch to my colleagues and they decide if it's worth their time to invest." From the flippant tone he spoke with, Delmar knew that the decision would ultimately go against him. That all his hard work would dry up and he'd be back to shitty trawlers and scrabbling for fishing grounds. Reaching out and pulling the file towards him, he flipped it open. Inside was a sheet with two little lists.
The first was what the Capitol would give him. The second was what he would offer the Capitol in return. Nothing was free. Nothing was easy. Not in this world.
Swallowing, Delmar grabbed the pen on the outside of the file and sold his soul to the man in a three-piece. Sold it willingly. Without further question.
For a better life. That would benefit his children.
"It's a pleasure to do business with you, Mr Swan. The Capitol greatly values your contribution to keeping our great nation of Panem a safe and prosperous place for all our citizens."
Recognising the dismissal for what it was, he walked from the room. Felt weight lift from his shoulders.
He had done the math.
For success, for his children – he was willing to pay the price.