Democracy Inc by Joseph John

Author:Joseph John [John, Joseph]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Obsidian Dawn
Published: 2017-12-02T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Three

The room beyond has an air of decadence that reminds me of cigars and whiskey in a smoky room. Bookshelves packed with dusty and faded tomes line the walls. The ceiling and floor are hardwood. In the corners, electric sconces flicker with a fiery glow.

Antonia Two Tone sits in shadow behind an imposing desk in a high-backed red velvet armchair. She’s a tall, thin woman with sleek black hair, high cheekbones, and a hyena’s smile. She leans her elbows on the arms of her chair and clasps her hands in front of her. Her knuckles are raw and bloody, which probably has something to do with the guy we saw being hauled off earlier. But what’s most striking about Antonia Two Tone is why she’s called Antonia Two Tone.

The color of her skin is split right down the middle, from the crown of her head to the hollow of her throat. The left side is a deep crimson red, the right a chalky white. Even her hands are two different colors, and I imagine that, beneath the navy pinstriped suit hanging smartly from her long and lanky frame, the rest of her looks the same.

“Titus Remington,” she says as she chuckles and shakes her head. Her voice is low and husky. “Never in a million years would I have guessed I’d be sitting where I’m sitting while a CEO from our great Corporate States of America stands where you’re standing.”

There are no chairs in the room other than hers. I’m guessing that’s not by accident. Antonia seems to be the kind of woman who likes to be in control, and keeping her visitors on their feet while she lounges behind her desk is just another way for her to maintain it.

I heft the briefcase Zoe gave us. “Got a package for you.”

Using her red hand, she lifts a crystal decanter from the corner of her desk. “A CEO delivery boy, no less,” she says, grinning her hyena grin.

I roll my eyes and shrug listlessly, like this is no big deal. But to be perfectly honest, I’m out of my depth, and I’m scared as hell.

“I’m not sure what the situation is in your Ark, but here, clean water is more precious than diamonds,” she says. “Especially outside of the compounds. But even inside of them, the ultraclass—who don’t want for much of anything—want for clean water.” She idly swings the decanter in a circle, swirling the liquid inside. “The contractual obligations of our water treatment and reclamation plants favor our CEO and his directors. Not that I blame them. If I were king, I’d keep the best for me and mine, too.”

Seems like a wretched thing to do. It reminds me of something Clay Parker said the other day. Privilege is a responsibility, not a luxury.

“What’s your point, Antonia?” I ask irritably.

Antonia plucks the stopper out of the decanter and pours a splash into a glass tumbler. Then she throws back her head and downs it in a single swallow.

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