Three rules were seared into my mind long before I ever set foot in this sprawling nation.
1. Never attend a meeting without Eddie Griffin.
2. Steer clear of politics.
3. Never trust the Night Enchantress.
Tonight, I am breaking all three.
There might be time for regrets later, but as the panoramic elevator races downward from the 50th floor, I have no time to dwell on them.
These rules matter only as much as my chances of becoming the heir.
My siblings don't need to break their rules. Their challenges unfold in familiar political environment. I chose greater risk, for greater rewards.
My grandfather, the patriarch of the business juggernaut Hightower Group, has only one son, who, after my mother died, disgraced his name as a naive gambler. It wasn't the gambling itself that was the problem; it was the losing that grandpa couldn't stomach.
My father was cast out with a fixed income, enough to indulge in a life of luxury until his dying day, assuming he doesn't gamble it all away first. The mantle of the Hightower empire falls to one of the three grandchildren. My grandfather, ever the sage, presented us with three challenges. The one who performs best will inherit the throne.
Seraphina, the eldest, chose to remain in the Commonwealth.
Orion, my older brother, ventured to the Pan-Savannah, the backwater continent of this planet.
And I chose the Ruby Republic, to seize opportunities in this populous nation surging in economic might.
Everything went smoothly for a couple of years, until it went too smoothly.
Now, the Night Enchantress is the only person who can help me. It took a couple of long weeks to gather the courage to respond to her, after exhausting all other options. Lyra. That's her name. Yet, somehow, it doesn't make her less intimidating. She is not to be trusted. But it doesn't matter now. After all, she is just a woman, albeit a powerful and dangerous one. I can take her help without giving her anything I'll regret in return. I hope.
As I approach the curb, a gleaming black Zephyr Noir glides out of traffic and stops in front of me. The window descends, and the first thing I see is red—red lips curved into a sinful smile. Then the woman emerges from the shadows within the car. She's dressed in black, but a vast expanse of white is exposed from her neck downward, a plunging neckline disappearing into the darkness beneath the window's edge.
Without her uttering a word, I know who she is. "Lyra,"
"The very one."
I don't know much about her, beyond my grandfather's rants. A young enchantress who threatened everything he held dear. One who tried to seduce and entrap him. Marriage destroyed, family ruined, businesses bought out. If not for his cunning, Hightower Group might have been taken over.
From what my grandfather said, she must be in her late forties, yet she looks much younger. Or rather, she possesses that ageless beauty, forever 31. Her smile widens, though it doesn't reach her dark blue eyes. "Come on. Get in the car."
Getting into cars with strangers was the first rule my security coach warned against before I came to the Ruby Republic. Yet here I am, about to do precisely that.
I lift my chin. "Sure."
A satisfied smile graces her face. She rolls up the window as I walk toward the car, blinking at my own distorted reflection. For a businesswoman, I look impossibly young and naive.
The driver's side door opens, and a tall Black woman with short-cropped hair steps out. She gives me a quick once-over and opens the door for me silently. It's too late to back out now. I climb into the backseat.
When I was small, my sister used to scare me with the Night Enchantress. "If you don't behave, the Night Enchantress will come and take you away." She terrified me as a child. Now, she terrifies me for different reasons entirely. A woman doesn't earn a reputation like hers without some truth to it. But she is only a woman, flesh and blood, just like me. Or that's what I tell myself, trying to shake the image of a mouse nestled against a cat.
Her presence fills the space, squeezing my chest even though she's retreated to the other side of the seat, not touching me.
In the dim interior, I can see that she's wearing a wrap dress with a dark pattern, almost like bubbles on it. It accentuates her curves and is obviously expensive.
She's looking at me the same way I'm looking at her. I don't want to know what verdict she comes up with. I'm definitely not looking my best. I prioritized business attire over beauty today, and those dark circles and puffiness are proving tough to hide.
The silence stretches between us, strangely charged. I can't stop myself from breaking it first. "I don't trust you!"
"You shouldn't." She shrugs a shoulder, the movement sending a ripple through her impressive cleavage, momentarily capturing my attention, and I immediately jerk my eyes back to her face.
Lyra is beautiful, but more than just beautiful. She's powerful. She's not even doing anything other than looking at me, and I'm fighting to draw each breath.
"Why are you helping me?" I ask bluntly.
"I want you to be the heir." There it is again, her wicked smile that does nothing to reassure me. "Not everyone has the opportunity to hold a favor against the future owner of the Hightower Group."
"Did you set all this up?" I narrow my eyes. "We didn't do anything wrong to begin with. We had the top law firm review our plans, and they gave us a clean bill of health."
She doesn't look away from me as the car slides back into traffic.
"Don't be naive." Lyra scoffs, casually taking out a two-page document from the seatback pocket. The ruby-red heading of the document reads, Decision on Regulating and Standardizing the Financial Market.
"Look here," her delicate finger pointed at clause 1.4, any financial services deemed illegal by the central bank.
"This clause grants the central bank unchecked power."
I glanced at the date under the red title. January 12th, 1995. An administrative regulation issued nearly thirty years and six prime ministers ago.
"Is such a regulation even legal?"
"It is in this country. Unlimited power cannot be written into law, but every department needs it. Such a regulation is the way to establish it," she explained as if these were obvious facts, the way one might explain gravity to a child.
Then her smile widened, as if a storyteller reaching the climax of a tale. "Notice it says 'deemed illegal by the central bank.' It's phrased this way for convenience, so the government can take action against any service it doesn't like. But it also gives wiggle room to anyone who can convince the central bank otherwise."
"How does one convince them?"
"Wrong question." Her eyes gleamed with temptation and intrigue. "The real question is: what can you offer the right person?"
"Isn't that bribery? Something truly illegal?"
"In this country, legality is not a fact, but an opinion."