Scumbag Billionaire

Upon leaving the perimeter of Black Dolphin Prison, even the air felt different. Crisper. Fresher. Dad claimed it was the lack of mould. Fair chance he was right about that, but I felt there was more to it.

We took tea in a dilapidated shack down the road, whilst waiting for the hourly bus to grace us with its presence. A rather grim looking woman took our order and returned soon after with a stained tea set, made of some cheap silver metal. It had been shiny at one point and should not require too much polishing to return it to that state, but it seemed the owner did not think her patrons worthy of it.

Her little shop was the only establishment for as far as the imagination stretched, one could reliably assume her clientele were exclusively ex-cons and their visitors. Therefore, she served watery tea and cheap alcohol which was in all likelihood watered down too. Not like felons could tell. I had to think of my grandfather, surely, he had ways to acquire fine things. He had looked skinny but well fed.

Not like the figure cowering in the corner, dressed in outdated clothing, looking very lost and gripping his vodka for guidance. He was the only other customer and looked about as keen on company as us.

Neither Dad nor I was in a mood for liquor. Dad even turned down a shot of something home brewed. I could barely down my tea, swaying the contents of my cup back and forth, making waves. Dad was just staring at his. It was rare for him to be this silent. I wondered if he was having one of his moods again. All these years I believed him to be this happy-go-lucky character, obnoxiously so. It was the first time I had spent enough time with him to witness him withdraw.

As flawed as he was, I enjoyed having a dad around. As far as parents go, he was alright. No one could deny I needed discipline but as a teen with my unique history I would have deemed any attempt at vigorous parenting insulting.

His silence was tripping me up. Usually I was the quiet one, making others feel uneasy. For distraction, I did what every millennial would do and got my phone out of my pocket. Having turned it off when the guards confiscated it, I waited patiently for the jingle to sound and display blackberry on the mildly fractured screen. This was Wyatt's hand me down after all. I wondered if he'd want it back now.

Obeying the ritual, I held the phone towards the window in the hopes of making it catch signal faster. A harsh vibration told me the cell God's were pleased. Then it would not stop buzzing. It was continuous, not like when receiving a call. But constantly replaying the same jingle, like when logging a call. It would not stop. I opened the history, the majority of numbers I had never seen before.

Stomach dropped as the uneasiness settled in. I had experienced this once before. When reporters were trying to reach me.

"Dad."

He lifted his head up, his features looked strung out. Wrinkly and pale.

I held the phone under his nose.

"The press must have learned about my divorce."

Tired, he called out to the tea shop owner.

" Zhenshina, have you got a newspaper?"

The woman grumbled something about this not being a newsstand but agreed to sell my dad one for a few Rubles. Whether that was overpriced or not, I had no bearing of.

My Russian was passable enough to hold a basic conversation, and I knew the characters of the Cyrillic alphabet. But reading did not come naturally. I still had to voice every letter out in my head. Therefore, I was grateful that Dad took it upon himself to browse the paper for anything useful.

"Here we go."

He tipped his finger at a headline in the sports section.

Sports? You would think we would make Art and Entertainment.

He cleared his throat and with theatrical voice read: " Kai Hiwatari. Broken by heartbreak?"

I rolled my eyes.

Him reading for me oddly enough brought on flashbacks of childhood. But this was no bedtime story. It took him a while to get through a sentence as he was clunkily translating the words. Possibly to give me some privacy. I was grateful for his attentiveness.

"The Russian champion leaves Euro-Team when husband Wyatt Smithwright's sex tape emerges. Leaked footage confirms involvement with Serbian contestant Drago Čabarkapa."

Drago? So, Wyatt must have found out I cheated. I could not blame him for getting back at me. It was a free for all from now on.

"He upgraded."

Dad mumbled some nonsense, encouraging me to have more confidence but I snapped at him to keep reading.

"The tape titled "Nepo Baby Bris" is distributed by a Balkan based video production studio and can be bought on VHS or laserdisc. Why Smithwright and Čabarkapa collaborated to produce Jewish Fetish porn remains unclear."

"That is honestly throwing me off too." I admitted, completely baffled.

"Maybe he was trying to stick it to you."

"We are not Jewish. Grandpa sent me to catholic school." I reminded him.

"Close enough. Still an Abrahamic religion. Maybe that Drago kid put him up to it. Serbs have a shaky history with our kind."

"Stop speaking like you're invested in the plight of the Jews all of the sudden." He had been wholly uninterested when Michael was spouting antisemitism.

I was still convinced Dad got it all wrong somehow. Nothing in Wyatt's character signalled he was the type to produce erotic hate speech. If he slept with Drago, then only to spite me. But that made little sense. He could sleep with anyone. Why Drago? The only one that would hurt was Bryce.

Bryce!

Oh no.

Yanking the paper out of my father's clutches I hunched down to study the page. The publisher had included a picture. Ballsy of them. It was the VHS cover, carefully cropped to exclude Drago's genitalia. It did not show much of the person he was clutching between his legs. A backside, and part of the head, turned so that only his ear and tip of his nose was visible, but I recognised that choppy mohawk right away! Despite the fact it was partially obstructed by one of those tiny Jewish hats.

"What are they called?" I asked Dad, who seemed all too keen to flex his Abrahamic identity.

"Kippot." He said confidently.

But it wasn't a kippah. Using MS-Paint or an equivalently basic editing software, someone had painstakingly obscured Bryce's bold spot. There was one right at the crown of his head, I knew so for a fact, having done my best to blend it into the mohawk. The picture was in black and white, but my bet was that the culprit had tried to match it in colour, and failed, resulting in a unicoloured blob.

The true title dawned on me.

"Nepo Baby Bryce." I read despondently.

Oh Drago! What did you do?

"Bryce? As in Wyatt's mousy little brother?" Dad made a whistling sound.

I zapped through my messages hoping to find a text from Wyatt amongst the countless interview requests. Even just a small "where are you?", heck, I'd even take a "Fuck you!" but there was nothing. Well, I did get one message.

"Kai, this is Wyatt Smithwright. Heidi and I are working with our publicist to contain the situation, but we need you in Serbia, with our son portraying a unit; or your grandpa will remain behind bars. There is a charter waiting for you at Orenburg airport until 8 pm."

Only a posh prick would use a semi colon in a threat; it was almost sexy how bossy Wyatt's Dad was. He wasn't letting us have much input here. 8 pm. Was that even possible?

"Papa, what time is it?"

-x-x-x-

Once the bus finally dropped us off at the hotel, we had to rush to grab our belongings.

Luckily, I had not unpacked much but Dad had splayed out several outfits across the bed to find the one that would leave Grandpa maximally disappointed. Unlike myself, he did not care for his clothes' integrity, stuffing them unceremoniously into his bag.

The phone rang to signal our driver had arrived.

We rushed downstairs so fast; I lost my step once or twice but managed to catch myself before landing at Yuri's feet.

Wait. What was he doing here?

"We have to talk."

He was one of the few people left still considered me cool, and I did not want to let him down. I straightened my back and puffed out my chest.

"No."

"We are talking." He decided.

"No time, our charter is leaving in an hour."

"Then I'll take you to the airport."

"Oh, are you our chauffeur? I thought you were one of Kiki's friends." Dad asked as he extended a friendly hand.

Yuri glared at him.

"I'm your chauffeur." He specified. Ouch.

He led us outside, where a shabby Volkswagen bus covered in rainbow painted flowers stood parked in front of a wall of snow.

"Nice ride."

"It's second hand. But I don't blame you for being unfamiliar with the concept." Yuri said patronisingly, and for the first time, I spotted the hint of a grin on his lips. It was more unsettling than his scowl.

When he ignited the engine by hot wiring it, I questioned if he had his own definition of "second hand".

"Is this legal? Not that I mind, I'm asking for bragging rights." Dad inquired but Yuri refused to acknowledge his presence.

"What's his problem?" Dad whispered.

"It might be me."

There was a tangible possibility we were being kidnapped.

My hunch was confirmed when he did not merge onto the motorway, instead turning down an unpaved road, into the woods. Good grief, was he planning on freezing us to death?

"Short cut." He said, doing nothing to hide his smirk.

Why did he even bother? Guess he liked playing with his prey.

"No offense, but your friend gives me the creeps." Dad muttered.

"I'm no friend."

"Yuri, I understand you are cross with me, but you have to understand why I left. Boris was just using us."

"Boris was not the master mind here."

He stopped the car in a meadow and made us get out. We were surrounded by a dense forest. Then I saw it. The thin twiggy shapes were not trees, they were people. Children, each with their arms poised, ready to launch their blades at us. I swiftly cocked Dranzer.

Dad shifted nervously on his heels. I positioned myself in front of him, he was my only weak spot, and they knew it.

"Don't you try anything, Dranzer can take you out in one go." I bluffed.

"Are you sure about that?"

That voice punched the air out of my gut. Shit. Not him. Sergei.

He took a few steps towards me, blade raised and launcher pointing straight at us.

"If I recall correctly, you lost our match."

"What do you want?" I hurled, straining myself to keep my voice from shaking.

If Sergei was here, Bryan and Ivan would be too, likely lurking in the foliage somewhere.

"How did you family reunion go? Was granddaddy happy to see you?"

That taunt came from Bryan. I spun my head around, scanning the crowns of the trees, but no luck.

What did he do to them? Their anger was justified. "I'll tell him it was me. I'm the whistle blower."

"Rich kids, always hogging the credit. Do you really think you were the only one?" Yuri spat at me.

"The only one to face no consequences." Sergei mocked me.

"It's not that I didn't, I was kicked out of my home."

"Oh, shut up, you did fine, and you know it. You weren't living on the streets, roasting rats over a benzene fire."

Moaning about losing access to my mansion did not seem quite appropriate anymore.

"I'm sorry. That should have never happened to you guys."

"But it did, and your grandfather is responsible for it."

"Punishing us for sins of my father won't make it right." Dad interfered.

Yuri laughed. "That's big of you, talking about righteousness. It's a funny concept, entirely in the hands of the rich and powerful, yet only expected of the common man."

"Kiki and I don't agree with what my father did. You can let your anger out on me, I'm the only adult here, my son was an unknowing victim, just like all of you."

I wanted to tell him not to tempt them but before I could a blade slashed across his face. Dad let out a high pitch squeal, collapsing to his knees. Based on the angle of impact I could estimate the origin and launched an attack in vaguely the same direction.

"Are you alright?" I inquired. He was covering his eye with his hands, my stomach turned when I saw blood pooling out from underneath.

He lifted a trembling hand.

"I don't know, I can't see."

There was a deep gash stretching from his hairline to his eyebrow, but the blade had missed the vital parts.

Enough.

"Enough." I hollered. "I sympathise with your situation, but you forget who I am. I have the power to end you."

It felt wrong flexing our family credentials at them and had no intention to make true on my threat, but I wasn't going to stand by idly while they let out their blind rage at us.

My words had an immediate impact. The kids were white with fear, looking at Yuri for guidance. He however stood his ground.

"Ah there it is. The mask has slipped, enough of that "I'm one of you" nonsense." Yuri mocked me.

Oh no, I had played right into his hand.

"I'm willing to use my position to help you. Tell me what you want, and we may come to an agreement."

"And what guarantee will we have that you will stick to it? You rich folk weasel your way out of anything, even your due punishment."

"You'll have my word."

"That ain't worth shit."

"What do you want?" I repeated.

He was toying with me, making me beg for it. Seemed to get off on it too.

"We will let you go, if your grandfather stays where he is."

"He's in Black Dolphin, he won't be going anywhere."

"Don't mess with us. We've heard the rumours. Your husband's family is bailing him out."

Not if we were missing this plane. But they couldn't possibly know that. Yuri had no idea how close he was to getting exactly what he wanted by sheer luck and timing alone.

"I'm sorry to tell you, but you organised this little get-together for nothing, we are getting a divorce."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"It's true. There's an article in the paper. If you look in my bag, you'll find it." Dad said, making himself useful for once.

Yuri nudged one of the kids to get the backpack. He emptied it onto the snow, showing no regard for any of his possessions.

"Front pocket." Dad groaned.

Yuri snatched the newspaper from the boy's timid hand. His expression turned smug when he read the article, aloud, to glorious laughter.

"Well, ain't that a shame, my condolences. Props to Drago, I had a feeling we could rely on him."

I perked my ears.

"Is he in on your plan?"

"No, never met the guy. I don't know how you wronged him. But I've seen him blade. He battles like someone who can't afford to lose. He is fighting for more than just his own glory."

How noble. Had to hope that was the truth because we had no time to go digging any deeper.

"Are we done here?" I snapped.

Yuri took a look over his shoulder, at the kids he was managing. Only now did I question if he had been taking care of them this entire time. The abbey team had not been able to afford participation, was it because they had used their money to feed all these mouths?

"For now."

"Don't suppose we get a lift to the airport?" Dad joked.

"The walk will do you well. See how the 99% lives."

In that moment Bryan jumped out of the canopy, only to whisper a suggestion in Yuri's ear. He smiled a foreboding smile.

"Bryan just had an excellent idea." He turned towards the crowd, eyes wondering from person to person. "Ilya, Sasha." Two deeply devoted kids ran into the meadow as he summoned them.

One tall and lanky, the other short and slender. Neither looked well fed, ragged clothes hanging off their loose bones.

"Have you ever heard the saying: walk a mile in my shoes?"

I glanced down at their feet, the soles of their shoes coming loose, one even had a toe sticking out.

"You are joking, there is no way these will even fit." Dad complained, making himself look even more like a molly-coddled rich kid.

Fitting clothes were an unheard-of luxury in the abbey.

The shoes were in terrible state, but they were still walkable as long as the soles were hanging on. All we had to do is reach the motorway and hitch a ride from there. Just count on the goodwill of strangers and hope that carjackings were not all too frequent here.

"Let's just giv'em the shoes." I instructed him.

"And your phones and wallet." A voice, that I immediately recognised as Bryan's, suggested. Naturally, such a twisted idea spawned from his twisted mind.

"Yes, great suggestion."

"Seriously? You guys are muggers now? That's picking low hanging fruit."

Yuri snorted. "You think you're above us? Didn't take you long to lose your integrity and you haven't even been tested the way we have."

Nudging his launcher in my face, he laughed as he watched me swap my shoes, the chap's were wet and cold. Then collected our phones and wallets, and thereby our only chance of communicating with Wyatt's family. He even stripped off my dad's faux-diamond studded time-piece; the watch face was showing a quarter to seven. Unbeknownst to the former abbey kids, their plan was coming together just in time. From a moral standpoint, was it even right to stop them?