The Collection (21 page)

Mia thought about having children with Grant. A shudder made its way through her body.

“Keep in mind these people were living in a very different time and in a harsh environment. The capital could barely keep them fed, let alone clean,” Sarah said. “It was a better choice than living out in the world alone, where you could get attacked at any moment.

“Slowly all the women were matched and the country started to pick up a little,” Sarah said. “The government offered free housing and work to all single men who wanted to reenlist in the military, and most did.

“Then as the years passed the government asked that all daughters be turned over to the system,” Sarah said. “It wasn't like these girls could go on dates. It still wasn't safe for them outside. Things were better but far from perfect. The population was still way overinflated with men. The government asked that daughters as young as twelve be turned over.

“Most parents objected, but the government gave the incentive of splitting the money the young women brought in,” Sarah said. “Between that and the desire to keep rebuilding the population, it was seen as a duty almost. These girls were matched with the next round of rich men, but the military members grew angry because they weren't considered as potential husbands. So it became mandatory that a man had to serve in the armed forces to be eligible as a husband.”

“So if a father wanted his son to land a wife, ever, the son needed to enlist,” Mia said.

“That meant everyone made their sons join the service. But America was still vulnerable to attack. Over a decade had passed since the Great War's end and other countries were starting to rebuild. By this point in time the population was still next to nothing. We had to keep up, to stay a global force. So the enlistment age was set at thirteen, and everyone had to sign up for a ten-year term.”

“The youngest groom was twenty-three,” Mia said.

“Once the men were released from service most didn't bother going home,” Sarah said. “Their mothers and fathers were a distant memory. What they did remember was a loveless marriage where their father treated their mother like property. So they copied what they saw.

“By the time this generation had their sons some fathers started tossing them out like garbage.”

“Why?” Mia asked.

“Well, just because you
could
get a wife at twenty-three didn't mean you were going to,” Sarah said. “They needed to find jobs and make enough money to support their new purchases. The average groom was in his thirties. They saw a baby boy as another mouth to feed that wouldn't come home to them or bring anything to the family. The idea of family was destroyed, along with the notion of falling in love.”

“When did appraisals come about?” Mia asked.

“So far this sounds like a happy coincidence, right? That the Registry was created by accident,” Sarah said. “It wasn't. The first grand commander realized right away that men were paying more for the prettier girls. It was the girls who didn't understand this at first. They were kept in the dark. They didn't meet their husbands until a ceremony was performed at the capital. Some brides rejected their mates.”

“What happened to them?”

“At first they were never matched again, but rumor is they were put to death,” Sarah said. “It's not like any of this is written down anywhere. These are stories passed through generations.”

“So marry this man or die?” Mia asked. “I'm guessing the twelve-year-olds were dragged away.”

Sarah nodded and continued.

“Once it became obvious prettier daughters were bringing in more money, and those with appropriate qualities, as the grand commander saw it, parents started focusing on those characteristics.”

“Like cooking and cleaning?” Mia asked.

“Yes,” Sarah said. “There were a million things the grand commander could have done to rebuild the country. He could have screened these women and men and set up genetic compatibilities; he could have hosted controlled social functions for decent men to mingle with women their age. Instead he sold them right out.

“Once the population rose enough, the rules changed. The marriage and enlistment ages were raised to reflect the rest of the world's standards,” Sarah said. “People became complacent with the way things were done. ‘My parents did it to me so I'll do it to my children.' You teach your little girl to only love her husband and not love you and she will. You throw your little boy out and he'll throw his away.”

“It doesn't make sense that people still go along with it,” Mia said. “That nobody revolted.”

“The military was huge,” Sarah said. “They would crush any revolt and weren't about to turn on their superiors. There is always some discontent. Most of the people who make their way down to us are here because they found someone who loves them. Me and Ernie. You and your men.”

“It was my sister,” Mia said. “Not the guys.”

“I just assumed,” Sarah said. “I'm sorry.”

“I do love them,” Mia said. “More that I thought possible. It's different, too, than the way I thought I would love my husband.”

“Because it's real,” Sarah said.

She reached out and grabbed Mia's hand. She gave it a squeeze and Mia's body relaxed a bit. Mia thought about love. Corinna did love her, or else none of this would have been possible. Mia would have been someone else's property and happy about it.

Sarah's response was the first straight answer Mia had received. She needed time to process it all. Sarah recognized Mia's angst and leaned over, giving Mia's arm a squeeze.

“Now it's your turn,” Sarah said. “Tell me about your journey here.”

“After my sister left me an article about the way American women are treated, I recruited my best friend . . .”

Mia knew she should follow Riley's advice and stick to the main points, but her common responses overtook her training and she was happy to give Sarah every little detail.

Chapter 50

Rumor: Grant Marsden is wedding the daughter of the grand commander. It will certainly be the social event of the year.

—
American Gazette

The cavernous east wing might have intimidated some, but not Grant. He walked through the giant warren of unused rooms. Sheets covered most of the furniture. He had planned to house his staff here, but so few lived on the premises. Once he was grand commander he would fill it with daughters and secret wives. Maybe even some female employees who could cook and clean for him. After all, he would be part of the government then.

He was getting closer to the occupied room and had to keep his pace normal, or else let Dr. Schaffer see how excited he was for this moment. He turned into the makeshift hospital room and saw the doctor standing over his unconscious patient. It wouldn't take long for Roderick Rowe to awaken, and find himself Grant's prisoner.

The pathetic man who had thrown himself from the helicopter had hit the ground with a thud. Grant was already down, having been kicked by the man's son. The helicopter took off and the sirens came closer.

Two ambulances arrived on the scene. As they loaded up Roderick into one, Grant insisted they ride together. Grant's ribs hurt from where he had been kicked, but Roderick was in far worse shape. He was unconscious and the paramedics were pumping air into his lungs. At first Grant wanted to offer them money to let Roderick die. This man who loved his son so much that he would sacrifice himself, he was responsible for Mia's escape. Then Grant remembered love wasn't a strength, it was a weakness. One he could exploit.

The hospital wasn't busy. Roderick was rushed away on a stretcher and Grant was treated for his bruises. He sat alone in the room until an administrator walked in.

“We received word not to discharge you,” the doctor said. “Escorts are waiting outside your door.”

“What about my friend?” Grant asked.

“He's in surgery,” the man said. “It's looking fifty-fifty.”

Grant reached into his pocket. He ignored the black phone he'd lifted off Rod in the ambulance and pulled out his own cell phone. The doctor looked impressed. Only Grant could have access to such fine equipment. A perk from the work he did.

“Have you seen one of these before?” Grant asked.

“No,” the man said. “What is it?”

“Think of it as a tiny computer,” Grant said. “It can do a lot of things. Take pictures and videos, access the Internet, make bank transactions. I think your hospital is doing a fine job. I'd like to make a donation, and a personal one to you as well.”

“I'm sorry,” the doctor said. “I have strict orders not to discharge you. This is coming from pretty high up.”

Grant punched in a number and showed it to the doctor. His eyes went wide.

“Once that man is out of surgery you will send him and all his belongings to my home,” Grant said. “A death certificate will be issued and no questions will be asked.”

The man looked at the figure on Grant's phone. He smiled. “What's the address?”

A helicopter delivered Rod later that night. Grant already had his personal physician, Dr. Schaffer, at the house ready to greet his new patient. Under Grant's orders the man had been kept in a medical coma since then.

“How's our patient?” Grant asked.

“His brain is responding,” said Dr. Schaffer. “Outside of the two broken legs and fractured ribs, he should be fine. I administered the medication to pull him out of the coma several hours ago.”

“And he isn't awake yet,” Grant said. He crossed his arms.

“Sometimes these things take time,” the doctor said. “I wouldn't want to risk his health.”

“You must be able to give him something,” Grant said. “He's been asleep for over a month.”

The doctor reached for a syringe and readied it to inject the liquid into Rod's IV. “A straight shot of adrenaline might do it,” he said. “But it might also shock his system.”

Grant rolled his eyes. He'd waited on the boy to call long enough. Grant waved his hand, signaling for the doctor to inject his patient.

“He'll be disoriented at first. Then I don't know what he'll remember,” said Dr. Schaffer. “I would be better prepared at my lab.”

“Well, this is all you have,” Grant said. “He must stay here.”

“As always, your requests will be honored,” Dr. Schaffer said.

He pushed the plunger of the syringe down and the beeping of Rod's machines stayed constant. Then Rod's head rolled to the side. The beeping started increasing. Grant smiled as the man's eyes began to open. Dr. Schaffer pulled them open and shone a light.

“Where am I?”

He spat out the question with fury.

“You've been in an accident,” the doctor said. “You're safe now.”

“Where's my son?” Roderick said. He started to sit up in his bed. The doctor pushed him back and adjusted the bed frame so he was sitting up.

“He's fine,” Grant said.

Roderick's eyes focused on Grant. He squinted. “Grant Marsden?”

This wasn't what Grant wanted. He had hoped for some memory loss. He was preparing to inform Rod of his hostage position when the man spoke again.

“You're a billionaire; what would you want with someone like me?”

Music to Grant's ears. It was only his notoriety Rod was aware of.

“So you follow the weapons business?” Grant asked.

“I like to stay informed,” Rod said. “Where's my son?”

“Not here,” Grant said. “He'll be in contact soon.”

“What happened?”

“You were in a terrible car accident,” Grant said. “I pulled you from the wreckage.”

Grant felt his lips slide over his teeth as he tried his best to form a warm smile. Rod did not appear comforted. That was never a skill Grant had acquired.

 

A
fishy smell had woken Grant up. He was seated at a long, fancy table, tied to a chair. He looked around and saw the other captive was already awake. Their host was seated at the head of the table, smiling as he ate his fish.

“It is so nice the two of you are joining me for dinner,” the man said.

“Where am I?” the other man asked.

“You know the answer to that,” the host said. “You broke into my house. Were you planning on stealing something or shooting me? Since you had the gun.”

“Let me go, you sick piece of—”

“Now, now,” the host said. “No foul language, please. That's no way to treat your host. How about you? Do you want to add to the conversation?”

He looked at Grant. Grant shook his head no.

“You're different,” he said. “You don't look scared. Your counterpart, on the other hand, is struggling against his ropes, trying to break free. You are sitting calmly. Why is that?”

“I'm not scared,” Grant said. “Of anything.”

“How long have you been living here?”

“Two weeks,” Grant said.

“You're good,” the host said. “I didn't notice anything out of place, not even food.”

“I know,” Grant said.

The other man continued to struggle. He started to yell again.

“Stop behaving like a boor,” the host said. “Do you know what I do for a living? How I have enough money to live in this lavish home you were attempting to burglarize?”

The man continued to scream. The host stood up and yelled over him. Grant saw a vein in his forehead bulge.

“I create things. I am an engineer. I work hard for my money while you're content to cheat and steal for yours.”

The other man did not stop yelling. The host grew more agitated. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gun. He didn't think twice before firing off two shots into the other man's chest and head. The blast from the bullets rang in Grant's ears. The other captive slumped over dead.

“Now,” the man said. “Where were we?”

 

I
'd really like to speak with Carter,” Rod said. “He wasn't in the accident, was he?”

“Safe and sound at home,” Grant said. “At least a day's drive away I might add.”

“Where is this place?”

“An hour outside the capital,” Grant said. “I assume you were driving to bid on some sort of work—at least that's what your child said.”

Rod looked down at his nose, trying to process the events. Grant needed him alive and conscious, nothing else.

“Well,” Grant said, “I'm sure you have a lot of questions. I'll leave the doctor to answer them for you.”

“How long was I out for?” Rod asked.

“About eighteen hours,” Dr. Schaffer said.

Grant nodded his head at the physician and left the room. His scheme was working and Grant was starting to feel like his old self again.