Page 162 of Crocodile Tears

“You don’t trust me.”

“No,” Alexander sighed. “I want to, but I’m not there yet. I don’t think you’re ready to hear it yet, either.”

“It’s that shocking?” Josiah gave a little grin.

“Yes.” Alexander gazed at him steadily.

“I’m not easily shocked.”

“Oh, I promise you that this will shock you.”

Josiah frowned, but Alexander was deadly serious. What on earth could he mean by that? He could tell that the indie felt he’d shared enough, though, and no more would be forthcoming. The evening had been full of surprises, and Josiah realised how tired he was.

“It’s late. I’m going inside,” he said. “You should come in, too.”

“I will. Just give me another minute,” Alexander murmured.

His voice was so wistful that it was all Josiah could do to turn away. He still didn’t know who the real Alexander Lytton was, but right now all he could see was a lonely man, lost in a world that was set firmly against him.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

JUNE 2088

Alex

After about an hour, they entered a vast lost zone, the expensive limo duck easily zipping over the large expanse of water.

Ahead, Alex saw a huge artificial island populated by tall, gleaming glass towers that cast long shadows over the water. He recognised it immediately: Ghost Eye Floating City.

He remembered how it contained some of the most expensive apartment blocks in the country, along with fancy shops, restaurants, and office buildings. Only the mega-rich could afford to live on this shiny new floating city, but then only someone obscenely wealthy could afford a £160-million IS.

After landing, the limo purred quietly along elegant boulevards towards a towering glass apartment block with the name Vertexemblazoned in elegant lettering on the side.

The limo stopped outside, beneath a private covered entrance, away from prying eyes. Alex was ushered out and straight into a glass elevator that shot swiftly up the side of the building, treating him to a dizzying view of the fading remnants of Old London – the roof of the Houses of Parliament, the sunken London Eye, and the pathetic remains of old Westminster Bridge.

Arriving at the top floor, he stepped straight out into a massive apartment, beautifully decorated, with floor-to-ceiling windows that afforded breathtaking views. The floor was polished white oak, and there was a massive red leather sofa dominating the room, but his eye was drawn immediately to the walls, which displayed a beautiful tropical sunset, complete with palm trees, moving in the wind. He realised, fascinated, that instead of wallpaper, the walls were covered with a very thin electronic screening fabric. He’d read about smartwalls but didn’t know anyone who had them – they were fabulously expensive, although widely predicted to reduce in price and be as ubiquitous as nanopads before long.

He was told to wait, and he stood with his head down, barely breathing, for what felt like hours. Then – finally – he heard the door open. He kept his head bowed, partly in deference to his new houder and partly because he didn’t dare look up.

“Alexander, my dear boy – you’re here at last,” a familiar voice said. He jerked up his head in disbelief.

“George?” he said hoarsely, relief flooding through him. “You bought my contract?”

“Of course I did. Did you think I’d let you fall into anyone else’s hands?” George Tyler was wearing a pair of black jeans and a plain black shirt – and he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Welcome to my London abode – Vertex Tower. Isn’t it magnificent?” He waved his arm around expansively.

“It’s beautiful. The smartwall is incredible. I’ve never seen one before.”

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Tyler grinned at him.

“I’m so glad it’s you.” Alex scuttled towards him, holding out his hand. “I’m so sorry for what I did, but I’ll work very hard, I promise. I’ll repay you. I’ll make the flying duck happen, and design you new things, too. I’ll work like a dog and do everything you want. Just thank you for buying me and bailing out Lytton AV. Thank you so much, George.”

Tyler ignored his outstretched hand and instead sent him reeling from a backhanded slap to his jaw. Alex landed on the wooden floor and gazed up at his new houder, blinking in surprise.

“It’s ‘sir’ now that I own you,” Tyler said. “I’ve always wanted to hear a Lytton call me ‘sir’.”

“Sir. Yes, of course. I’m sorry, sir.” Alex rubbed his chin, dizzy from the shock.

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