Page 35 of Emperor of Corruption
“She’s pretty enough for a couple of fucks and to do a nice profile for me,” I say with a casual shrug, pulling open the grand wooden door.
The foyer is so imposing it manages to swallow all sound. A chessboard of marble lies underfoot, with veins like frost gripping the white squares. The walls are paneled in sable wood, shining with a slight oily sheen. The chandelier is cast-iron, glowering down on us from above. Portraits line the gallery, old-money faces with their eyes lacquered to a mirror shine. It’s eerie as hell here; no matter where I stand, someone’s dead eyes are glaring at me. A grandfather clock ticks without hands. A single vase of calla lilies wilts on an antique table.
A bodyguard pats us down. His movements are slow and methodical—he goes over my palms, ribs, waistband. He taps my breast pocket until my obsidian Lens coin—a token of membership from The Eyes—clinks, then runs a wand along my spine.
Once he gives Silas and I the nod of approval, we head to the ballroom, where a meeting roundtable is constructed.
“Be careful she doesn’t sniff aroundyoutoo much,” Silas says. “The Eyes don’t take kindly to outsiders getting too close.”
“The only thing she’s getting close to is my cock. She won’t find out anything else. It’s not like any of us have physical evidence of the existence of our society.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Silas murmurs.
Most members are already seated in their designated spots, wearing suits or gowns—these meetings are always black-tie. Nameplates shine beside small black microphones on the table, but they don’t showcase given names; rather sigils assigned to members. Mine readsVega, while Silas’ readsWasp.
Silas and I are seated by each other. Although there’s animosity between us and we like to fuck each other over here and there, The Eyes consider us close allies. And, in some ways, we are. Feelings rarely factor into matters of business. Outside of business matters, however, I’d happily put a bullet in Silas’ head.
Paintings of dead society members adorn the walls. A balcony on the second floor lets less-senior members observe the meeting without having the right to intervene. The table’s surface is inlaid with a spiral of tiny eyes cut from nacre.
I was recruited to The Eyes after grad school. I worked my way up its ranks very quickly, cozying up to one person or another. Now, I’m considered one of the most powerful people at the roundtable… and one of the most dangerous to anger.
The ex-director of a three-letter agency, with the sigil Janus, leans forward, tapping his microphone. “Now that we’ve all gathered, let’s begin with our first order of business. As all of you are aware, Raymond left us last year.” The tech industry mogul was a valuable member, but he decided to grow some cumbersome morals that promptedhim to leave. Usually, people don’t leave The Eyes alive, but he was respected enough to be let go… along with a blood vow of secrecy.
“It’s come to my attention that he’s considering loosening his tongue,” the director goes on. “Our first matter of business is to put Raymond’s life to a vote. All those who think he’s not a threat to consider, please sayAye.Those in opposition,Nay.”
The Eyes like to fancy themselves a democracy, though that’s never been the case. Everyone in this room is loyal to someone else; most of the thirty people seated at the table will always follow the votes of the top three.
Since I know it’s expected of me and I’d rather not stir any tension, I vote for killing off Raymond. Silas follows suit, as does nearly every other person seated here.
“It’s decided,” Janus nods. “Who sees themselves as fit to carry out the execution?”
I cut in, leaning forward to speak into my mic. “For obfuscation’s sake, I’d suggest pawning off the job to another organization. I’ve had some dealings with The Nighthawks before; they’re extremely good at what they do, and their fees are both encrypted and reasonable.”
The director nods at me. “Very well. Arrange it. Onto the next matter…” He talks for half an hour on the work of intelligence agencies around the world.
Then, he yields the floor to me.
“Helixon Biopharma’s current focus is on the anti-aging drug we’ve been developing. Early results look strong. There’s still much testing to be done, and a long road ahead, but there’s promise. I expect us to move onto human trials in the next few years.”
“This substance can’t be made available to the public,” a senior woman, known here as Crow, says. “If everyone could get their hands on it, it would lose its value.”
I smile. “I didn’t saypublictrials, onlyhumanones. When the drug’s ready, it won’t hit any markets—not even the black market.”
Crow nods. “Alright. Keep us updated.” Her eyes slide to Silas. “I hear you’ve been having money issues.”
“Just a temporary downturn,” Silas says smoothly. “My investments took a recent—and temporary—plummet.” He glances at me.
“It’s not just your investments that concern me,” Crow says sharply. I hide a smile. “It’s your other assets and holdings. You’re bleeding money. Patch it up or you’ll lose your value here.”
Silas swallows. Nods. Turns a little pale.
Satisfaction bathes me like sunlight.
A media mogul down the table, with the sigil Herald, clicks his mic. “It’s come to my attention that there’s a journalist working on a profile about Vega, set to come out around the holidays.” He pauses, and I try to ignore the way my heart ticks a bit faster. “Do you trust that she’ll write a favorable article and refrain from digging too deeply?”
“Obviously,” I drawl carelessly. “She’s worthless; a passing amusement and a mule to maintain my public image. If she starts behaving in a concerning way, I’ll stop her.”
Crow leans forward. “You understand what’ll be done if she becomes a problem, correct? Whatyou’llbe expected to do?”
