Empire of the howling moon

Chapter 1

The fluorescent lights in the convenience store flickered as Stewart Lennox counted coins onto the scratched counter. Forty-seven cents short. The cashier, a tired woman with graying hair, looked at the diapers and formula with something like pity.

"I can cover the rest," she said quietly.

Stewart's jaw tightened. "Thank you, but no."

He grabbed the formula, left the diapers. His daughter needed to eat more than she needed a fresh diaper right this second. The walk home took twenty minutes through streets that had grown meaner over the years, past shuttered factories and houses with boarded windows. His phone buzzed. Unknown number. He almost didn't answer.

"Stewart Lennox?" The voice was smooth, cultured, achingly familiar.

"Who is this?"

"You don't remember me? I'm wounded. Though I suppose it has been fifteen years."

Stewart stopped walking. His heart hammered against his ribs. "Rowan?"

"The very same. I heard you were back in town. I'd like to meet. Are you free tomorrow?"

"I'm not free any day. I have a job." Two jobs, actually. Three if you counted the weekend landscaping.

"Quit them."

Stewart laughed, a harsh sound. "Right. Sure. Let me just throw away the only income my family has."

"I'm serious. Meet me tomorrow at Crestmont Tower. Noon. Top floor. I have a proposition that will change your life."

"Rowan, I don't know what you think you remember about me, but I'm not that kid anymore. I don't have time for games."

"This isn't a game, Stewart. This is salvation. Your salvation."

The line went dead.

Stewart stood on the cracked sidewalk, formula container tucked under his arm, staring at his phone. Rowan Ashford. They'd been inseparable as children, before Rowan's family had moved away to some estate upstate. Before everything had fallen apart. He'd seen Rowan's name in the business section occasionally. Real estate mogul. Self-made billionaire. The kind of success that seemed like fiction.

When he got home, his wife Claire was trying to soothe their crying infant while their five-year-old son Danny watched cartoons on a television held together with duct tape.

"Did you get the diapers?" Claire asked.

Stewart set down the formula. "They were out."

She closed her eyes. Didn't argue. They'd been married seven years and lately every conversation felt like walking through a minefield. He loved her. God, he loved her so much it hurt. But love didn't pay bills. Love didn't put food on the table.

That night, lying in bed listening to his daughter cry in the next room, Stewart thought about Rowan's call. What kind of proposition? What did a billionaire want with a man who couldn't even afford diapers?

"You should go," Claire whispered in the darkness.

"You were awake?"

"I'm always awake. You should meet him. What have we got to lose?"

Everything, Stewart thought. But he didn't say it.

The next morning, he called in sick to the warehouse. His supervisor didn't believe him but Stewart didn't care. He put on his only suit, a threadbare thing from a thrift store, and took two buses to downtown. Crestmont Tower gleamed like a knife blade against the sky, all glass and steel and money.

The receptionist looked him up and down with barely concealed disdain before making a phone call. Minutes later, a woman in an expensive suit escorted him to a private elevator. They rose in silence, his ears popping with the altitude.

And there, standing by the window in a suit that fit him like a second skin, was Rowan Ashford.

He'd changed. Filled out. The skinny kid Stewart remembered had become a man who radiated power. But his eyes were the same. Sharp. Predatory.

"Stewart." Rowan crossed the room, hand extended. "It's good to see you."

The handshake was firm. Too firm. Stewart felt small in comparison, diminished.

"Your assistant said you had a proposition."

"Always direct. I liked that about you." Rowan gestured to the seating area. "Drink?"

"It's noon."

"I know what time it is."

"I've been watching you," Rowan said.

"That's not creepy at all."

"I keep tabs on old friends. You've had a rough go of it. Factory job disappeared. Debt piling up. Family to feed." Rowan settled into the chair across from him, perfectly at ease. "I want to help."

"Why?"

"Because we were friends once. Because I can. Because I need men I can trust, and I trust you."

"You don't know me anymore."

"I know you're desperate. I know you're drowning. I know you'd do anything for your family." Rowan leaned forward. "I'm offering you a lifeline, Stewart. A job. A real job. Six figures to start. Full benefits. Housing allowance. Everything you need to pull yourself out of this hole."

Stewart's hand trembled slightly. He set down the untouched drink. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. I need reliable people. People who understand loyalty. People who've known hard times and appreciate what they have."

"Doing what?"

"Security. Asset management. Various roles depending on your aptitude." Rowan smiled. "I run a complex operation, Stewart. Multiple properties, multiple businesses. I need people I can count on."

It sounded too good. Nothing was ever this easy. But Stewart thought about his daughter's cry, about Claire's exhausted face, about Danny asking why they couldn't go to McDonald's like other kids.

"I'd need details. A contract. Something in writing."

"Of course. My lawyer can draw everything up today." Rowan stood, walked to the window. "But there's one more thing. A formality, really. A medical examination. My insurance requires it for all new employees in security positions. Blood work, physical assessment, that sort of thing."

"When?"

"Now, if you're available. I have a private physician downstairs. It'll take an hour, maybe two. Then you can take the contract home, review it with your wife, and start Monday if everything looks good."

Stewart joined him at the window. The city sprawled below, indifferent to his struggles. Somewhere down there, Claire was changing their daughter with the last clean diaper. Somewhere down there, Danny was probably hungry.

"Okay," Stewart said. "Let's do it."

Rowan's smile widened, showing too many teeth. "Excellent. You won't regret this, old friend. I promise you that."

He placed a hand on Stewart's shoulder and squeezed. For just a moment, Stewart felt something cold run down his spine. Some animal instinct screaming at him to run. But he ignored it.

After all, what choice did he really have?