The Other Side of Greed by Lily Zante

Chapter Seventeen

BRANDON

What the fuck am I doing here? This is the question I ask myself as I walk up the stairs a few days later. Going undercover, putting up with this ploy when I could so easily strongarm my way in and get my hands on the land. I could serve my interests better that way. I have the

means and the contacts, and the ear of certain city officials.

But as I peruse my cell phone to check for the local news, I’m reminded why I’m going in stealth mode. I find myself staring at a photo of Kyra and the rest of the crew. The write-up is glowing. Kyra is portrayed as an angel. The savior of this city. The Mother Teresa who empowers these people to rise up and fend for themselves.

This is why I’m undercover. Because when it comes down to me—a businessman and the face of capitalism, someone who wants to make more money—versus her, I’ll be labeled as the greedy capitalist pig. I will lose to the good people of this city who will hate me and what I stand for. Getting into a fight with Kyra, in a blaze of publicity, means I will lose.

I have absolutely no problem with greed, or making lots of money, but going into an open fight with someone like her would damage my reputation in the eyes of the many who live in the city.

It sucks that many people have morals.

After mumbling a ‘Good morning’ to both women, I stroll over to my desk. Simona tells me she has some things for me to do. Paperwork, light work, she reassures me with a friendly smile, and then she makes small talk, asking me how my evening was, and how I’m settling in.

Kyra sits at her desk, her eyes on her screen, looking extremely focused. Or maybe she’s trying damn hard to block me out. I can’t even recall if she acknowledged my morning greeting.

For the rest of the day, I don’t hear a peep out of her, and she’s in and out of the room, checking on things on the factory floor. I’ve watched her from a distance, and she has good rapport with her staff. She knows them all by name, from what I’ve seen. I barely know people outside of Neville, Emma and my management team.

“She’ll be okay,” Simona says, after she catches me eyeing Kyra leaving the room. “You’re like bulls in a ring, you two, locking heads over everything.”

“I was offering my opinion.”

Simona tilts her head. “She has a vision, and she’s passionate about what we do here. You didn’t need to rip it to shreds.”

I’m flabbergasted at this. “I didn’t rip it to shreds.” I didn’t come across that strongly, did I? I recall trying to rein in my response, because no matter which way you look at it, her idea and her vision are nothing short of crazy.

“You did.”

I rub my neck. “I didn’t mean to.” So, that’s why she’s mad at me. That’s why I’m getting the silent treatment.

It’s food night again and, unfortunately, Fredrich is still away. It’s going to be a hard night with more lifting and carrying and back-breaking work. I wish Fredrich would hurry up and get well and return.

Simona leaves at the end of the day and informs me that she will be back later to help set up. Kyra is nowhere to be seen and when I ask, Simona tells me she’s gone to a meeting and she’ll come back later.

There’s no point me going home, or to my office, and then returning later. I sit around, checking business emails on my cell phone and dealing with any urgent concerns relating to Hawks Enterprises.

A short while later, Kyra walks in. “Can you help unload the food from the van?”

“You already got it? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come with you.”

“I managed.”

Clearly, she has, and she also wants to keep her distance from me. I get up and help her. She’s distant the entire night, even when we set up the tables and get everything out.

The food line is longer than last time and even though Kyra seems to be at home in this filthy environment, I shudder to think what Jessica or Neville would say if they could see me now.

I watch her as she moves around quickly from table to table, making sure everything is running smoothly.

At seven o’clock on the dot, we start serving. I look at the bedraggled faces of the people expectantly waiting for food, but I see something I wasn’t expecting, something I didn’t take notice of the last time. They’re happy, grateful when we hand over boxes filled with food. They pass along the line, murmuring their thanks, saying ‘God Bless’, smiling.

It’s alien to me, that they have anything to smile about. The rest of the evening passes in a blur. I rush from the van to the tables, refilling empty serving containers, and getting things out of the store room as and when needed.

I’m about to walk out of the storeroom with a box of plastic cups when Yvette’s two kids stare at me. “What are you doing here?”

“Mommy said to get some napkins,” the girl answers. The boy looks at me silently.

Jesus. Why is their mother allowing them to help out at something like this? “Take this.” I shove the box at them. It’s light and they can manage. “I’ll get the napkins.”

I’m going to have a word with Kyra about this. Kids shouldn’t be allowed to help. Isn’t it late for them? Don’t they have homework or things to do?

I go back outside and hand the napkins over to Yvette. I think better of saying what I had intended, and walk back to see if anything else needs refilling, and when everything seems fine for now, I take a moment and step back, and watch.

I was too young to know if something like this existed when I was a child, but we would have benefitted from this. I wouldn’t have had to rummage through trashcans whenever we went hungry. I shake my head, hating that this thought has bubbled up from nowhere.

As the queue of people dwindles to nothing, and the area starts to empty, the cleanup begins. Like everyone else, I get on with it, not needing to be told.

“I can help you take stuff back to the restaurants,” I offer when Kyra walks by carrying a large pot.

“Think you can handle it?”

“I can handle it.”

We load up and get into the van. The silence swells like a huge balloon as she drives.

“How long are you going to be mad at me for?” I’m assuming that this is due to me ‘ripping her idea to shreds,’ yesterday, which is what Simona said I did.

She glances at me. “Sorry, what?”

“You haven’t said a word to me all day. I’m sorry if my blunt assessment of your plans for Redhill offended you.”

“I am mad at you, but your opinion is your opinion. It doesn’t affect me. I couldn’t care less what you think because I’m still going to do what I had planned.”

“As in create those units for people who—”

“Yes. Exactly that,” she cuts in.

I look out of the window. This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Sitting here with Kyra, knowing her future vision, and knowing that I’m going to trample all over it. I feel a pang of an emotion I am not familiar with. Regret, or shame, I’m not sure which. It just feels odd. I’m not supposed to care about the effects of my actions, and yet I find myself thinking about what I’m doing. Getting to know her and Simona, and the rest of these people, and what they do, is having an odd effect on me.

“We have different opinions,” she says. “I’ve met many people who have your views, and equally, I’ve met many who share my views. We’re just different people, you and I.”

She’s right about that. We are so different.

“The kids. Yvette's kids,” I say, finding the silence uncomfortable.

“What about them?”

“They were helping out. Why is that even allowed?”

“Because they want to help out. Do you have a problem with that?” she asks.

I do. I have a big problem with that. It's bad enough remembering things, without having those kids in my face. “Don't they have things to do?”

“Like what? After school activities? Do you think their mom can afford childcare and have someone keep an eye on them while she comes here?”

I hadn't thought of that, and it's not my fault. I don't know how these people live.

I can feel the fury burning inside Kyra. Even though I'm not even looking at her face, I'm become a sensitive barometer of her moods.

“Sorry I asked,” I say, my tone sulkier than I intended.

We return everything to the restaurants and then head back to the factory. The doors are still open and I follow her as she heads into the storeroom. A few employees are clearing up and they soon leave.

It’s just me and Kyra.

I am so tired, and I have no idea how this tiny slip of a woman does this and then continues with the day-to-day work as well. I lean against the wall, waiting for her to give the storeroom her final seal of approval. I’m almost tempted to ask her how she does this.

“All done,” she says, heading out. She waits for me so that she can lock up.

“How come you do this on top pf the core business that Redhill is known for, sewing the jackets and blankets?”

“This? You mean the food nights?” She locks up the factory.

“It's extra stuff that you have to do. It's almost like a part-time job on the side.”

“You obviously don't approve but my mom worked hard all her life, to keep a roof over our heads.”

“Our?”

“My sister and me.”

“You have a sister?” This is something new and personal I'm learning about her.

“Penny. She's at college.” We stand awkwardly by the door, neither of us moving. She's opening up to me, and even more surprising, I want to know about her. “And this? The food night? Why?”

“My mom used to take us to make sure we helped out when we could, at soup kitchens and at events like these. It's giving back, that's all it is.”

“You don't owe anyone anything.”

“I don't see it as owing anyone,” she replies, testily. “When my mom died, nine years ago, from pneumonia, I didn't stop doing this.”

“I'm sorry for your loss.”

“It sucks, but...” She shrugs, a sigh making her chest rise and fall. “That's life, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you? Do you have any siblings? What's the deal with you, Hartley?”

I push off from the wall, needing to end this conversation now. Delving into my life is strictly off limits.

“No siblings.” I get out my keys and walk towards my car. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”