The Last Ten Days, The Apocalypse Countdown

The blueprints

Chapter 4

Nick set up a makeshift nest in the kitchen using a shoebox lined with cotton towels. He filled a bottle cap with water and placed it beside the box, then went out to the garden with a flashlight.

It took twenty minutes of digging through soft soil near the hedges before he had a handful of grubs, beetles, and small worms. He carried them back inside and sat down at the kitchen counter.

"Alright, little guy," he murmured, holding up a small grub between his fingers. "Open up."

The chick tilted its head weakly, then opened its beak. Nick placed the grub inside, and the bird swallowed it whole with a tiny, satisfied chirp. He fed it three more grubs and a small beetle, each one placed gently on the bird's tongue with the patience of a man who had nowhere else to be.

After the fifth bite, the chick stopped opening its mouth. It blinked twice, tucked its head under its stubby wing, and fell asleep.

Nick watched it for a long moment, a soft expression crossing his face that would have surprised anyone who had seen the cold, calculating look he wore during the will reading just hours ago.

His phone buzzed. Michael Romano had confirmed the morning meeting and added a note: "Bringing my sister along. She's got a sharp eye for design work. Hope that's okay."

Nick typed back a quick confirmation and set his alarm for seven.

At nine the next morning, a white SUV pulled through the estate gates and parked beside the Brabus. Two people stepped out. The first was Michael Romano, a broad shouldered man in his mid forties with a deep tan, calloused hands, and the kind of firm handshake that told you he had spent more time on construction sites than in conference rooms. The second was a young woman in her mid twenties with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, round glasses, and a leather portfolio bag slung over one shoulder that looked like it weighed half as much as she did.

"Mr. Marchetti," Michael nodded. "This is my sister, Isabella. Graduated top of her class from Lakeside Art Institute. Architecture and sustainable design. I figured she'd be useful on a project like this."

Isabella adjusted her glasses and extended her hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Marchetti. Michael says you want a full property overhaul on a very tight schedule."

Nick shook her hand. "Call me Nick. And yeah, the timeline is aggressive. I need everything done in about eight days."

Michael let out a low whistle. "Eight days for a property this size? Nick, that's not aggressive. That's borderline impossible."

"I know what it sounds like." Nick opened the front door and gestured them inside. "Let me show you what I need, and then we can talk about what it costs to make the impossible happen."

They spent the next two hours walking the entire property from attic to basement. Nick laid out every modification in detail. Triple layered insulating glass on every window. Eight additional inches of foam core insulation on all exterior walls. A coal burning boiler system in the basement with ductwork running to every floor. The pool converted into a sealed, insulated water reservoir with a recirculation pump. An independent diesel generator with solar panel backup. And the perimeter wall raised to twelve feet with razor wire and reinforced steel gates.

Isabella's eyes grew wider with every item on the list. But it wasn't confusion or skepticism on her face. It was excitement. Pure, undisguised excitement.

"Do you know what this sounds like?" She flipped open her portfolio and pulled out a tablet, her fingers already flying across the screen. "This sounds like a doomsday fortress. I wrote my entire senior thesis on sustainable shelter design for extreme climate scenarios. Post apocalyptic architecture has been my obsession since I was sixteen."

Nick stared at her. "You're joking."

"I am absolutely, one hundred percent not joking." Isabella turned the tablet around and showed him a rendering of a fortified mountain shelter she had designed as a student project. "I've dreamed about building something like this my entire life. If you're serious about going all the way, I can make this place survive anything except a direct nuclear strike."

"Then go all the way," Nick told her. His voice was calm, but his eyes were dead serious. "Treat this estate like it's your personal dream project. Whatever materials you need, whatever designs you want, I'll approve every dollar. Just make it survive."

Isabella looked at her brother with eyes the size of dinner plates. Michael shrugged and crossed his arms with a half smile that said, the man's paying, so let the man pay.

"I need tonight," Isabella said, already sketching furiously on her tablet. "Give me until tomorrow morning and I'll have a complete architectural plan with an itemized cost breakdown."

"Take as long as you need."

She didn't take long. She worked through the entire day at the estate's dining table, barely stopping to eat the sandwiches Nick put in front of her. By midnight, she was still going. Nick went to bed at one in the morning and left her hunched over her drawings with three empty coffee cups beside her.

At seven the next morning, a knock on the bedroom door woke him up.

He opened it to find Isabella standing there with dark circles under her eyes, her hair slightly disheveled, and a thick stack of architectural drawings in her arms.

"It's done," she announced with tired pride.

They spread the blueprints across the dining table. Every wall, every window, every pipe and wire and bolt was accounted for. The insulation layout was color coded. The generator placement was optimized for noise reduction and fuel efficiency. The water reservoir conversion included a three stage filtration system that Isabella had apparently designed from scratch at four in the morning.

Michael arrived at eight, reviewed every page, ran the numbers twice, and turned to Nick.

"Complete renovation. Top tier materials. Rush labor rates. Full scope as designed." He tapped the final number on the last page. "Thirty million dollars."

Nick looked at the number. Then he looked at Isabella, who was trying very hard not to fall asleep standing up.

"Done," he said without hesitation.

Isabella's tired face broke into a grin so wide it almost knocked her glasses off.

"I'll have crews on site by tomorrow morning," Michael extended his hand.

Nick shook it. "Make it happen."