The next afternoon, Howard sat in his office, flipping through a slim report handed to him by one of his spies. His sharp eyes scanned the details briefly before passing the document to Harry, his eldest son and most trusted aide.
"His background checks out well enough," Howard said with a faint smile. "We couldn't find any records on him in Russia, but he's been officially logged into customs here, and he's staying at the Hilty Hotel downtown."
Harry skimmed the report, nodding thoughtfully. "A man staying at a place like that isn't short on money. Even if he's a fraud, there must be someone powerful backing him."
"Exactly." Howard's smile grew sharper. "Whether his story is true or not, we don't need to pry too deeply. We'll play along, act as if we believe him, and collect our dues when the time comes. As for everything else, well, ignorance is bliss."
At that moment, the gatekeeper Alfred appeared at the door and leaned in, speaking in a low voice. "Master, Rock Balboa has arrived."
Howard nodded. "Good. Take him to the living room on the first floor. I'll be down shortly."
Alfred bowed and exited, leaving Howard to turn his attention back to Harry. "Have you finalized the arrangements with the 'family'?"
"Yes," Harry replied. "They've agreed to the deal, but they want to meet Rock Balboa first and inspect the goods he's bringing."
"As expected." Howard nodded. "The 'family' wouldn't take someone at face value. They'll want to test his credibility."
Harry hesitated for a moment before asking, "Father, didn't you always forbid us from dealing in opium? Why allow this now?"
Howard chuckled darkly. "There's a difference between us getting our hands dirty and letting someone else take the risks. Besides," he said, his voice hardening, "this Rock isn't selling to our people, he's selling to the Americans."
The older man's tone turned bitter. "Consider it poetic justice. These people forced this poison into Mexico and other nations in South America. Now, they're the ones rotting from within. Let them drown in the degeneracy they brought upon us."
Harry nodded, though he wasn't entirely convinced. Still, he respected his father's pragmatism. "Understood, Father."
Howard gestured toward the coat rack. "Enough talk. Let's meet our guest."
Harry fetched a leather jacket for his father and helped him slip it on. Together, they descended the stairs into the opulent living room on the first floor. The space blended traditional Chinese aesthetics with modern Western touches. Antique wooden furniture sat on a floor adorned with geometric patterns, while vases filled with fresh orchids lined the cabinets, casting a serene aura over the room.
Ivan was seated at an octagonal table, sipping Coffee and admiring the painting. As Howard and Harry entered, he rose with a warm smile.
"Howard, good afternoon," Ivan greeted, bowing slightly. "You're as spirited as ever. May prosperity continue to favor you."
Howard returned the smile. "Rocky, you seem to be in high spirits yourself. I trust business is treating you well." He chuckled and added, "But where's that little boy of yours? He was quite the character."
Ivan laughed softly. "Ah, I couldn't bring him along today. I prefer to keep children away from business dealings like these. But don't worry, I'll bring him around again, it's good for young ones to see a bit of the world."
Howard nodded approvingly. "Wise words, Rocky. I should've thought of that myself."
Turning slightly, Howard gestured to the young man beside him. "Let me introduce my eldest son, Harry."
Harry stepped forward with an easy smile. His sharp features and composed demeanor gave him an air of quiet confidence. "I am Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you, Rocky."
Ivan extended his hand with a polite nod. "Harry. The pleasure is mine, Brother Harry. I'm grateful for the effort both of you have put into helping me these past few days. Please accept this small token of my appreciation."
Reaching into the pocket of his navy coat, Ivan retrieved a red envelope and handed it over. Alfred stepped forward, opened the envelope discreetly, and inspected its contents before giving a subtle nod to Harry.
"Harry, you're far too generous," Ivan said, his smile deepening. "Your thoughtfulness is appreciated."
"The vehicles and boats are ready," Harry added. "Shall we head to the dock now?"
"Lead the way," Ivan said with a gracious gesture.
---
Outside, a sleek black car waited at the curb, its polished surface gleaming in the afternoon light. A servant opened the back door as Harry and Ivan approached. Howard remained behind, watching from the doorway of the small Western-style building as the two men climbed into the car.
As the vehicle pulled away, Ivan glanced out the window, his mind racing. The pieces were falling into place, but the road ahead promised no shortage of challenges. If he was to make it through this, every move would need to be calculated, every word chosen with care.
The vehicle rumbled to life and began its journey toward the pier, weaving through the vibrant, chaotic streets of the city. Ivan sat by the window, gazing out as the scenes of everyday life unfolded around him. It was the workers' meal hour, and the roadside was a tapestry of activity. Makeshift food stalls lined the streets, their owners calling out to passersby. Crowds of laborers, faces weathered by the sun, squatted in clusters, eating hastily with their hands or using disposable chopsticks.
At one stall, a dough-kneading master worked feverishly, his apron stained a deep yellow from years of grease and flour. When his hands grew too grimy, he wiped them unceremoniously on the fabric before deftly wrapping freshly fried cakes in old newspapers and handing them to his customers. Hygiene wasn't a concern here, yet the workers devoured their meals with evident satisfaction. For many, this was the brightest part of their day, a brief reprieve from backbreaking labor in a world that barely noticed them.
Ivan's eyes flicked to a familiar face. Among the crowd, he sspotted Anton slurping down a bowl of minced meat pasta. The man paused mid-bite, lifting his head as if sensing Ivan's gaze. When their eyes met, Anton hesitated, then offered a quick, ingratiating smile before returning to his meal.
"This guy…" Ivan muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the window.
Beside him, Harry chuckled, catching the interaction. "Rocky," he said with a teasing smile, "you seem to enjoy observing the art. It's an elegant pastime."
Ivan waved a hand dismissively. "Not at all. In Mascow, there are very few such paintings in Russia. Seeing so it seem… novel. And let's not forget, I'm just a lowly drug dealer—'elegance' is a word that doesn't suit me."
Harry laughed heartily. "Rocky, you underestimate yourself. My father holds you in the highest regard. He calls you a young hero, someone selling opium to 'save the country in a roundabout way.'"
The phrase made Ivan smile. It was one he had heard before, a clever way to romanticize an otherwise grim business.
The atmosphere in the car lightened, their laughter mixing with the faint hum of the engine as the car moved toward the coast. Soon, the streets gave way to the quieter docks. Low warehouses lined the waterfront, their faded paint and weathered walls speaking of years of service. Out on the water, boats of all sizes bobbed gently, their reflections shimmering in the late afternoon sun.
The car came to a halt near a wooden pier. Ivan stepped out, carrying his suitcase, and followed Harry down the worn planks. Waves lapped at the shore, their foam glistening white as they pushed against the dock. The faint tang of saltwater filled the air.
A figure approached from the opposite end of the pier. He was lean and wiry, with a leather jacket that hung loosely on his thin frame. His black hair was unkempt, and a hint of stubble shadowed his jaw. Despite his rugged appearance, his smile was wide and welcoming as he spread his arms.
"Harry!" the man called out, his voice carrying a thick Lafite accent.
Harry matched his enthusiasm, stepping forward to embrace the man. "Hared, it's been too long," he replied warmly.
Hared released the hug and turned his attention to Ivan, his dark eyes sharp with curiosity. "And this," he said, gesturing toward Ivan, "must be the new friend you've told us about. Care to introduce him?"
"Of course." Harry gestured toward Ivan. "This is Rock Balboa."
Then, turning to Ivan, he said, "Meet Hared Joaquin Loera, the second son of the 'family.' He'll be handling your business from here."
"A pleasure," Hared said, extending his hand.
Ivan took it, gripping firmly as he smiled. "Likewise."
Hared's smile widened. "Well, as much as I'd love to chat, we should get to business. I assume Rock Balboa brought something for us?"
Ivan held up the suitcase, his expression confident. Inside were samples of the drugs he had persuaded Sheriff Snowden to procure earlier that morning. The arrangement had been unconventional, to say the least, but this was 20th century, laws bent and broke here with startling regularity.
"Hared," Ivan said smoothly, "these are of the finest quality. I assure you, they're as good, if not better, than what you've been using. You're welcome to test them if you like."
Hared chuckled, his demeanor relaxed but watchful. "If Howard trusts you, that's good enough for me. But you know how this works, we'll still need you to come to Oakland. Face-to-face business builds trust."
Ivan's smile didn't falter. "I wouldn't have it any other way. I've been looking forward to seeing Oakland for myself."
Hared's expression remained friendly, but Ivan could sense the wheels turning in his mind. This wasn't just about trust, Hared wanted to gauge Ivan, to see if he was worthy of partnering with the family.
"Then let's not waste any time," Hared said, turning to Harry. "Harry, will you be joining us?"
"Of course," Harry replied.
The three men walked toward a small fishing boat moored at the end of the dock. Its hull was rusted, the paint peeling in places, but the engine sputtered to life as they approached. A crew member gestured for them to board. Ivan stepped onto the deck, noting the surprisingly spacious layout. At the stern was a cabin, its door slightly ajar, revealing the faint hum of machinery inside.
Ivan's gaze shifted to the deck itself, where something dark caught his eye. Kneeling, he saw it more clearly; a pool of dried blood, blackened and cracked with age. His stomach tightened, but his expression remained neutral. The blood wasn't fresh, but its presence spoke volumes about the boat's past.
Ivan stood, brushing off his pants as he turned his eyes to the horizon. Oakland loomed ahead, and with it, the next stage of his dangerous game. For now, he focused on his breathing, steadying himself for whatever lay on the other side of the bay.