Justice: A Billionaire Romance (2 page)

"
W
e've been hearing
that name too much recently,
Mr. Clean
," I said, sitting in the entertainment room. It was the
de facto
meeting room as well for our family, as it was the only room in the house that was big enough for everyone involved to sit down comfortably while also having the ability to display the information we needed. "But even with Andi's information from last night, we don't know anything useful."

I looked over at my Uncle Mark. A man of enough aliases to confuse even the CIA, the entire family had gotten used over the years that I'd been alive to just calling him Mark. It was easier than remembering that his birth name was Riley, he had been Mark Snow, then Marcus Smiley, then Mathew Mark Bylur. To Andi of course, he was just Dad. No matter what name he went by, on the streets he was the Snowman. When Andi and I had first started, they were still telling stories about him, even though he'd been semi-retired for nearly a decade.

Mark looked up at the video replay of Andi's interrogation of the street thug she'd put down the night before. He was chewing his breakfast slowly, thinking while trying to jam this quick thought-sharing session in before going down to City Hall for a ten o'clock meeting with my Dad on the city's new waste management system. "And you said that Riley heard something similar when he went out last week?"

I nodded. "This is hardly the time for this to be happening, either. I mean, Andi and I are getting married in two weeks."

"There never is a proper time for this sort of stuff," Mark said. He pushed his fork through another waffle, and chewed it while he thought of his next words. "What's your plan?"

"Well, Riley is going to be in town more often on the weekends now I think," I said. "He's cruising at Harvard, it's summer vacation, and that new girl. She's really got his attention."

"You think?" Mark said with a laugh. "What's your impression of her?"

"I've only met her once," I said, "the night of Dad's victory party. She seemed nice enough. Reminds me of Aunt Sophie, at least in the one or two old pictures I've seen of her. Riley sure has taken a shine to her though."

"Stop trying to copy my Southern, Carter," Mark mock-growled, then nodded. "Does Riley have the focus to help out sometimes?"

"At least a few patrols a week, I think so," I said. "If not, he can at least help out around here. Not that I don't mind when you or Sophie do it."

"We'll see. It’d be good to get all three of you out there sometimes," Mark said. "If there's a new big player in town, we need to know who, and fast. The city's still struggling from the effects of the recession. That and with the Spartans leaving town, there's a huge economic hole that MJT can't fully compensate for yet. Speaking of which, what are your work plans for the day?"

"Mom has me coming in after noon," I said. "I'm going to do my workout, help out Sophie for a little bit, then head into the office. There's a community group that’s approaching MJT about charity funds, and Mom wants me running point on this one. She says it's good experience."

Mark nodded, and I felt warmed by the fact he didn't ask me any more questions. He was the invisible partner in MJT, whose money and financial wizardry had allowed him to amass a fortune. A fortune that he used to grow MJT to the point that it was now one of the ten richest non-publicly traded companies in the United States. That he was trusting me so much was encouraging. "Just don't forget, there are things more important than MJT."

"Like patrols," I answered, confused when Mark shook his head. "What?"

"Like the fact that you're marrying my daughter in two weeks. Don’t forget that regardless of what happens in the streets, or with MJT, or anything else, Andrea should always be the most important thing in the world to you. Remember, you two chose each other. The rest of us you were just born with. Even Mr. Clean and the rest of the city can wait. Riley can carry the load for a bit while you two take a week to go on a honeymoon. If he needs help, he might find that his Dad isn't too old to go out there and give him a hand."

"Snowman and the Blizzard both on the streets at the same time?" I said with a chuckle. "The ER's won't know what hit them."

"And what do you mean by that?" Mark asked with a smile of his own.

"I mean that Riley takes after you a lot, and happens to be just a bit more rough than Andi or I," I said. "Not that I can ever fault him. He just happens to be like his Dad, that's all."

"All right, well, in the mean time, have a talk with Riley when you can, get him out there with you tonight. Let Andrea handle things here. Your ankle is okay?"

I nodded. "It was fine last night, but Andi wanted me to be sure. We weren't expecting her to have actual contact with anyone."

"That happens sometimes. Don't worry about it, I checked up on her before she went to City Hall with your Dad. Not even a bruise." Mark finished his waffles and stood up, smoothing his shirt before buttoning the top button. Mandarin collars had been in fashion for the past few years, and Mark embraced it, forgoing the now quaint idea of a tie in favor of the flat fronted shirt. In winter he wore tunics that were Mandarin collared even, at least at City Hall. "Give your Mom a kiss when you get into the office."

"I will. Take care, Uncle Mark." Despite calling him
Uncle
, we actually weren’t related, but he and my parents are so close it’s almost like we are.

"
Y
ou know Riley
, even though you're on summer vacation, getting up at eleven is pushing it."

Riley Bylur was in more ways than one my little brother. We may not have shared a DNA bond, but I’d been there when he was born. We'd gone to school together, and even though he was six years younger than me, in a lot of ways I considered him my best friend as well. He was going to be the best man at my wedding to his sister, after all.

That being said, Riley wasn't perfect. Of all of us, he was the one most genetically blessed to go into the
business
as we liked to call it. With the right blend of size, strength, speed, height, and all the other characteristics to make him perfect for the role. I was too big, at six-three and two-hundred-and-thirty pounds. My body can't take the beating that amount of size creates for too many years. And besides, I was thinking that when my vigilante days were done, I'd be happy to follow Mom into MJT or Dad into politics.

Riley's biggest flaw was that he didn't take it seriously enough. He treated everything like it was some sort of grand game, not to be taken seriously. In a family of people that ran by a strict time schedule, he was always the one that would be late, showing up five minutes or so after we were supposed to leave, acting like nothing was wrong. Even when he went on patrol, he was the one who was most likely to break the rules that our parents had worked so hard to drill into us. Sophie says that Riley takes after my Mom, as apparently my mother was that sort of party girl when she was younger, but she’d grown more serious as she got older. "It was just before meeting your father that Tabby grew more serious," Sophie had told me after I complained once when Riley was in high school. "She had her heart broken very badly."

"Pressman?" I asked. Sophie had looked at me, surprised. "Mom told me the basics. She left out the gooshy parts."

Perhaps that was what Riley needed, I thought as he came into the gym. As opposed to the old layout of the house, where the gym had been located in what previously had been the sanctuary of a church, our gym was located in a custom renovated building that had been part of the mental hospital that made up our Mount Zion estate. From the outside it looked normal, but inside the first floor and basement had been joined, all the flooring in between removed to expose the steel structural beams. It had been my playground, my sports field, and my training center for almost my entire life, and I knew every nook and cranny of the room. I’d been inside for nearly ten minutes, warmed up and stretched when Riley sauntered in. He was still wiping the sleep from his eyes, his blond hair still twisted up in the remnants of sleep.

"Chill out Carter, it's not like Tabby is going to fire you if you show up for work ten minutes after noon," Riley yawned. "Besides, we're just doing barbell work today anyway, not jumping around in the nest overhead."

I glanced up at the network of bars, cables, wires and other obstacles that comprised most of what had been the first floor of the building, my lip lifting in frustration. Some of those gaps, ones that Riley, Andi, or even my sister Barbara could fit through with ease were just too damn small for me. "Lucky for you. I noticed that you're getting a bit of a frat boy look to you, Riley. Forgetting your roots, are you?"

"Fuck you, Carter," Riley shot back. I had gotten to him, which is what I wanted. Riley did better when he was slightly pissed off. "Just because I wanted to go to Harvard instead of staying in town like you and Andi doesn't mean I've forgotten where I come from. Now let me get stretched. Load the bar."

I did as he asked, setting up the squat rack while Riley started doing jumping jacks, then burpees to warm up his hips and legs for the workout. We were doing safety bar squats that day, and those need a good warm up. I took my time setting up the bar, then did a quick fifteen reps with the empty bar to let myself get into the groove. "You ready?"

Riley went over to the wall, where we had weight belts hanging on hooks. He took down his favorite and cinched it in, and I noticed he was cinching it tighter than when he'd been living at home full time. "How much weight are you down?"

"Only ten pounds," Riley said. "Just trimming down the stomach."

"Trimming down what?" I asked as I put the first set of forty-five pound plates on the bar. "You had a six pack last time I checked."

"Yeah, but a thirty three waist," Riley complained. "That is so not suave with the girls."

I rolled my eyes, biting back my criticism. We'd been taught since birth, we train for performance, not for looks. If we were at our athletic peaks, the fact is, we'd look good too. Instead, I turned it back on Riley. "So what about the new girl? What's she think of your new look?"

"Just fine so far," Riley said. "We're seeing each other again tomorrow night."

"I assume you haven't told her about this part of our lives," I said as I unracked the bar and did my first set. It takes us a long time to work up to anything approaching a challenging weight, so I had a few more minutes before things got serious. "I haven't met her yet though."

"Maybe next week I'll bring her by the house," Riley said. I racked the bar and we changed spots, Riley banging out his first set. "First though I'm taking her out for dinner."

"Nice. Mark wanted me to ask you to take some more patrols while you're home, though. There seems to be a new face in town, someone going by the name Mr. Clean. We're expecting an uptick in street-level action."

We added another set of forty-five pound plates, Riley adding one on his side while I added on the other side. "Okay. When's the next one?"

"Tonight," I said with a grin. "Just you and me. So make sure you have your time in the massage chair, I wouldn't want you to be stiff and unable to keep up. It being such a long time since you and I worked together and all."

"Probably a good thing," Riley cracked back. "I mean, you patrol with Andi, and you always end up stiff."

"That's your sister, man. Come on," I laughed. "Have some class."

"I do. You're the one who's marrying my sister, after all. I suppose after you two get married I'm going to have to cover the entire city for a week while you are on your honeymoon?"

I chuckled and unracked the bar. "Nope," I said, starting down for my first rep. "Actually, your dad said he might be up for it. Think you can hang with your old man?"

"Shit."

By the end of the workout, I noticed Riley struggling. We all have our ups and down in maintaining our fitness levels, but he'd let his slip too much while studying and probably partying at Harvard. I wasn't going to ask, after all, he seemed to be into this new girl, but I wondered just how many sorority sisters he slept with in the past semester. Knowing Riley the way I did, probably enough to start their own separate sorority. There'd be quite a few broken hearts around Harvard if Riley was serious about her.

We both reached our maxes, Riley stopping a good hundred and ten pounds lower than me, spotting me through the rest of the workout before we moved on to the rest. At the end, I watched as Riley walked gingerly across the gym, his legs more tired out than they should have been. "You gotta’ get yourself back into shape, Riley."

Riley looked like he was about to argue, then nodded his head.

"
G
ood morning
, Mr. Mayor."

Patrick chuckled and waved me in. "Andi, the only time you need to call me Mayor is when you might be at a press event. In the meantime, I'm still Uncle Patrick."

I laughed and nodded. "Okay. So what would you like me to do today?"

I was doing my so-called day job, being a political intern. With Carter normally helping out his mother at MJT, Patrick didn't want to leave the family out of his work at City Hall either, and with Dad working as his Chief of Staff, he wanted to know for sure that he’d be surrounded by people who would be on his side. One of the things Patrick had learned in his years in politics, is that friends are more precious than gold in politics, family sometimes even more so.

"Actually, I wanted you heading down to the press pool," Patrick said. "Vanessa could use a little bit of help, and she's been looking forward to working with you again."

"That's just because our personalities match," I said. "Or at least that's what she says."

Patrick leaned in. "She's going to ask you to do a press conference, I'm sure of it."

I blanched a little bit at the idea. It's strange, I guess. Standing in front of a group giving a speech as Andrea Bylur scared the ever living hell out of me. Casual banter and kicking ass as
Ice Princess
though, that was easy. Still, I was marrying one of the most famous men in the city, and had been part of the family since birth. I had to get over it sometime, I couldn't be a recluse. It would invite too many questions. "I'll try my best."

"Don't worry," Patrick said with a small smile. "I hear it's about the rumors of an attack down in the Playground last night. I'm sure you can handle that just fine. Just a few of the local gossip rags, they don't expect much and they're easily dismissed."

I grinned in relief. "Okay. I'll go see what I can do to help Vanessa."

I left his office, giving a wave to Dad as he came in to talk to Patrick. "Down in the press office today. Lunch?"

"Sounds good. I'll text you," Dad said, not breaking stride. I left the outer office and turned right, heading down the hallway. I found Vanessa Montenegro in her office. She’d worked for Tabby at MJT for years before agreeing to join Patrick as his press secretary at City Hall. A self-professed introvert, her biggest skill wasn't so much actually doing the press conferences themselves, but setting up Patrick to make sure he looked good. I’d seen the way she prepped him on the campaign trail for mayor, and she was good.

"Good morning Vanessa," I greeted her. Despite actually babysitting Carter and I a few times when we were younger, I’d never really gotten close to Vanessa. It wasn't that she was cold or distant, just that there seemed to be this inner wall in her that she used to separate herself from the world. "Patrick said I should be shadowing you today."

"Yes, glad you could make it," Vanessa said. "At ten-thirty there's a little Q&A session scheduled about the ruckus in the Playground last night. Did you see the news?"

"Just a bit," I said. It was true, I had seen the report, but considering I was the one who did it, I kind of glossed it over. The reports are usually all wrong anyway. "Anything out of the ordinary?"

"Read up on it on your tablet," Vanessa said. "The only thing different than normal was that it was just the girl by herself this time. What do they call her out there on the streets again, Ice Queen or something?"

"I think it's Ice Princess," I replied. "But I'll double check. Of course, to us she's a vigilante, and vigilantism is illegal."

"Exactly," Vanessa said. "So if the reporters ask, the standard story applies. The police have their best available detectives on the case?"

"And who is that?" I asked. "In case someone should ask."

"Check with the department, but last I checked it was...." Vanessa said, before pulling up the information on her screen. "Ah, Detectives Givens and Mitty. Fine men, both forty year veterans of the force. Very experienced."

"Yeah, and part of the window division," I said, trying not to laugh. It was a long established pattern in the police department. Officers and detectives who’d gotten too far along to quit, whose skills weren't good enough to give them a promotion, and were usually too lazy to really put in a hard day's work, were often assigned to the
window division
. There, they could ride out the last three or four years before they got to retirement doing low stress, low danger cases. Of course if someone in the window division wanted, they could go back out on the streets and try and really crack some heads in their twilight years. However, most were the type who weren't there to rock the boat, so they did as little as possible to justify their paychecks. Givens and Mitty had been on the case since my first patrol with Dad and Mark nearly ten years prior, and they’d never even gotten close.

"Window division or not, we make them sound like Sherlock Holmes if the press asks," Vanessa reminded me. "I'll be there to back you up if you get into trouble, but I don't expect any."

I nodded and took a seat at one of the empty tables that were positioned around the office. For me, being totally mobile with your computer was normal. The biggest piece of hardware on any computer is the screen, after all. I reviewed the public reports on the incident so far, as well as the ones from the hospital. I didn't plan on giving away any new information, and just had to spin it in such a way to make it sound like I was giving them everything City Hall knew.

"So will you be ready?" Vanessa asked after about fifteen minutes.

I looked up and nodded. I had only a few minutes before I had to be ready. "Yeah. This won't be too hard."

"Good. By the way, how’s Tabby? I miss seeing her around all the time."

I grinned. "She's her normal self. Honestly I think she misses having you around. MJT doesn't run as smooth without you there, although Carter is trying his best to help out."

It was time for the press meeting, so I followed Vanessa into the meeting room. Unlike what you might see from the White House or other places, City Hall didn't have a specific press room. Instead, one of the conference rooms was set up whenever the press wanted to do an interview or a Q&A. So the podium was actually mounted on wheels to make it easier to move in and out, and there was only a single microphone that was connected to a recorder for city records. It was up to the press to get a decent copy of my comments for themselves.

There were four reporters in the room, more than I thought there'd be. Vigilante stories popped up just about every six months or so, but with so little to go on, and so many of the city's criminals either scared or unwilling to share information, my family had been an underground sensation for over twenty-five years. Two of them were from minor independent newspapers, the sort that survived by the passion of their owner/publishers more than through actually being profitable business models. There were only a few left, most of them having shifted to the blogosphere or other sorts of online media.

The other two reporters represented two of the media conglomerates that owned most of the rest of the city's news resources. I nodded to all of them, having talked with them in the past on various different stories. "Good morning everyone. Ms. Montenegro asked me to handle the Q&A session this morning, so cut me some slack."

Three of the four chuckled, while the fourth, a crotchety old veteran of the muckraking style who’d cut his teeth in the old George W. Bush days, glowered. Then again, I had never seen the man with anything other than some sort of scowl on his face, so I wasn't that surprised. He was also the one I had to watch the most, as he tended to ask the most off the wall questions.

"Before we begin, I'll make an official statement. Last night, there was a report of an assault on two men in the area of the city known as the Playground. Sadly, this isn’t that unusual, as even with the best efforts of our police and social services, the Playground is an area with a crime problem. As for any additional speculation as to the nature of the attacker or attackers, we are not able to verify anything at this time."

Tim Gass, one of the two network anchors, raised his hand. "Excuse me Andrea, but is City Hall saying that this isn't a vigilante attack?"

"The police are treating this just like any other assault case," I said. "As for any alleged vigilante, well, all cases of vigilantism are treated with the utmost seriousness by the police."

Tim smiled and nodded. Next was Robbie Petersen, who was from the local hippie rag. She was big into activist journalism, but her style was more bombast than actual investigative journalism. She’d gone to university as a journalism major, and had actually gotten herself fired from the campus newspaper for being too inflammatory on her writing. Even when she wasn't being assigned an editorial, she wrote with an editorial slant that made the facts secondary to her predetermined position. As such, it actually made her easier to deal with, she wasn't going to listen to what I had to say anyway. "Miss Bylur, isn't this dismissal of the vigilante claims by the victim nothing more than another example of the classism and dismissal of the claims by young minorities in this city by the powers that be?"

"Thank you for a great question, Robbie," I answered with a grin. "As always, you make a great point. Now, I don’t know how you can claim any form of prejudice as by most of the cases that you claim are being done by this vigilante or vigilantes, there seems to be no correlation among the victims. By the count you used last time, adding in this one, the supposed vigilantes have involved themselves with members of every racial group in the city, as well as most of the socio-economic groups as well. In fact, the only consistent factor amongst the so-called victims is that subsequent investigation by the police department shows that they are engaged in criminal activity. Or at least, they
were
engaged in criminal activity."

"Perhaps by police files they were criminals, but according to my sources..." Robbie began, and I broke a rule and cut her off.

"Yes, your sources, including some of the underlings of the criminals that have been busted. Such as Ramon Esperanza, who was one of the lieutenants in the largest street gang in the city before being busted by the so-called vigilantes. Or perhaps you mean Tyquan Roberts, who was a self-professed
pimp king
, and had a nasty habit of cutting girls who didn't please him. I believe the term for Tyquan's favorite punishment is the Glasgow smile, isn't it?"

I’d busted Tyquan personally, and I had to admit it was as much a pleasure as it was a service to take him down. I'd seen what he'd done to some of his girls, including one girl who had to have her jaw surgically reattached after his
smile treatment
went too deep and cleaved the right upper portion of her mandible in half. Even with treatment and surgeries paid for under the MJT charitable banner, the poor girl was never going to be able to speak properly again for the rest of her life. The cause for such a harsh penalty? Tyquan had suspected her of withholding a ten dollar tip a John had given her on top of her normal fee. My only regret in taking him down was that I hadn't broken more bones in doing so.

In any case, the response shut Robbie up. I looked around, and was glad that the other reporters didn't have anything to say. They'd probably crib some notes from the press release itself as well as re-listen to their recordings to get something for any story they were writing about the issue. I was glad that the vigilante story didn't get a lot of traction within the local media except for the fringe areas. I think a lot of it came down to the fact that a lot of the older media, cops and others in the city remembered what the city was like before Dad and Uncle Pat started cleaning up the place. They remembered the Confederation and the Union and all the other stuff. They didn't want a return of those days. Since the stories of a vigilante or vigilantes traced back to beginning of the fall of the Confederation, it had become kind of a superstition around the city. Don't talk about the vigilantes, or else they might go away.

After the meeting was finished, I caught up with Dad for lunch. "How was your press conference?"

"You guys picked the right girl to handle it," I said with a chuckle. I looked at Dad's lunch, a simple lettuce wrap with tuna and sprouts. "Watching what you eat for some reason?"

Dad laughed and took a bite. "Hey, I'm not as active as I used to be, remember? And I want to look good for my only daughter's wedding. Remember, I get to give you away, and I want to look good doing it. Besides, gotta’ keep your mother's attention somehow."

I guffawed. “Please, you know mom has never had eyes for another man. Are you just trying to make sure you're in shape for when Carter and I are on our honeymoon?"

"Keeping up with Riley is going to be tough," Dad said with a chuckle. "Especially in trying to keep him under control. He reminds me a lot of Patrick back then. The same sort of lack of seriousness."

"Let's hope that you don't have to put him through the same level of trauma to get him to calm down."

Dad shook his head. “Your mother would never put up with that."