---

Heir To The Throne

“Mr. Krychev, your presence is requested in the study.”

Kolrabi stood ram rod straight in the doorway of the bedroom, wearing the same outfit he wore everyday, a formal butler’s tuxedo. Kolrabi was a lean, wiry old man – nothing at all like the vegetable he shared a name with.

Anton Krychev, son of the recently deceased Sergei Krychev, billionaire and general not so great guy, was nothing like his father. A small, effeminate young man, with thick glasses and a love of Keats, he lay on his bed with Hyperion held over his face. He turned to Kolrabi, placing the antique book flat on his chest.

“Now?”

Kolrabi did not move a single muscle without forethought. Anton had been wary of his father, but he always feared Kolrabi, despite knowing Kolrabi’s devotion to the Krychev family was unparalleled and unquestionable.

Kolrabi’s every breath confirmed that fear was warranted.

“Now, young sir.”

Anton placed a small silk strand in his Keats, taking a final moment to finish the lines he was in the middle of:

And thy sharp lightning in unpractis’d hands 

Scorches and burns our once serene domain…

Anton couldn’t help but feel providence in those lines. He got up and followed Kolrabi into the study.

Officially, Krychev Industries was an energy company and import/export titan. In reality, Anton had only recently discovered, it was the largest criminal syndicate in the eastern hemisphere.

When Kolrabi opened the door to the study, the “board” sat at a long ebony table, each with their own entourage of armed guards. To a person, they viewed Anton with disdain, their mouths all but drooling at what they saw as a ripe opportunity to cede control.

Nearest Anton, on the right, was Gregory Malikov, the CEO of the legitimate businesses of Krychev Industries. He wore a business suit and tie, and his guards were discretely armed, hands behind their backs. At a glance, Malikov would appear to be the least dangerous of the group, but his ties to legitimate business disguised a ruthless climber of social hierarchy.

Malikov locked eyes and Anton nodded curtly at Malikov’s shit eating smile.

To Malikov’s right was Serbina Lozo. When violence needed to be carried out on a state level – destabilizing a country or spiking the prices of a commodity through regional conflict, Serbina Lozo was the worldwide authority. She had connections to every extremist group on the planet and was ready to use them at the drop of a penny if she saw future profit in it for her. She wore a slim cut suit, her hair in a mohawk, her right ear more earrings than skin. Her two guards carried assault rifles and eyed the room suspiciously.

Across from Lozo sat an old man, older than Kolrabi, and fat as a turnip. Jakob Hetzer. Hetzer had once been the head of a competing syndicate, wiped out by edict of Sergei Krychev, an edict carried out almost single handedly by Kolrabi. Hetzer’s entire family – both criminally and by blood – were eliminated in a single night. Sergei wanted Hetzer’s legitimate assets, so he left the pathetic creature alive and merged Hetzer Corp into Krychev Industries.

Finally to Hetzer’s right sat Malek The Madman. Malek was the undisputed king of plain old local thuggery. There was no street game without Malek, no drugs were slung, or gambling dens maintained, on three continents, unless Malek was included in these board meetings. But he really was a crazy fuck.

Kolrabi introduced Anton. “Sirs, Anton Krychev.”

Anton took a seat at the head of the table, trying to exude a certain aggressiveness, and failing utterly. This was the first meeting of the board since Sergei’s death, and the room already had the barely muted energy of a pack of hungry hyenas.

When Sergei died, Anton knew he would inherit substantial assets, but he assumed they would be unrelated to his father’s business. Sergei never said a word to Anton which would indicate otherwise, and frequently chastised what he perceived as weakness in Anton’s character.

So when Anton discovered he had been left everything – and then discovered in a separate meeting with Kolrabi, exactly what everything meant – he was astounded. Anton had his suspicions about the true nature of his father’s business, but the extent of it was unreal. The largest drug cartel in the East, the most widespread price manipulation in Russian history, and, to Anton’s disgust, the largest network of human trafficking in the world.

That was the business Sergei absorbed from Hetzer, the business Anton refused to remain involved in, and one of two problems he intended to solve today.

Malek broke in before Anton said a word.

“You’re baby Sergei, huh? I hear you like to read books.” Malek’s eyes bulged out of his head when he spoke. “Want me to read you a bed time story.” Malek took out a hand grenade and petted it gently. Kolrabi tensed, but did not move. This was just Malek being Malek.

Anton almost laughed out of sheer anxiety at the sight of the grenade. It was one of the old fashion American pineapples like in the movies. He cleared his throat and spoke. “No thanks Malek. We have business to discuss.”

Malek’s right eye twitched, “business,” he repeated, spitting on the floor and rubbing the grenade on his forehead, “okeedokee.”

Anton cleared his throat. “As you are all aware, my father is dead.” Here was the first gambit, which Kolrabi agreed was an important stroke. “I killed him.”

The room was shaken by that, even if they didn’t fully believe it. Lozo stood up in anger. She and Sergei had been lovers once. “You killed your own father? Your blood?”

Anton remained seated, forcing his face to remain calm. Beside him a pistol had appeared in Kolrabi’s hand and was pointed right at Lozo’s head. Lozo would know how close she was to death, but she remained standing.

Anton took notice, and continued. “I did.” He said simply. “Now I am in control of Krychev Industries, and therefore in control of all of you.”

To Anton’s right, Malikov tapped the table. Lozo slowly sat down and Malikov leaned forward. “Anton, the board has its doubts about your capacity to lead – both this board” he gestured to the other three blood thirsty murderers at the table, “and the legitimate board of Krychev Industries.” Malikov rarely made eye contact with anyone, but when he did, Kolrabi explained, it was usually a dangerous moment. Malikov looked directly into Anton’s eyes again. “What assurances can you provide?”

The table went silent. Kolrabi stood straight as a steel rod again. Here was then second gambit, the one Anton was not sure he was up to.

Anton stood up, awkwardly moving the heavy wooden chair backwards, scratching loudly on the floor, causing everyone to cringe. Great start.

Starting to the right Anton walked around the table in silence. He walked behind Malikov and stopped for a moment, did the same behind Lozo, glanced pointedly at Malek has he continued around the table, and then stopped behind Hetzer. Hetzer’s body guards tensed, hands on their pistols.

Anton gave them a small smile, his insides roiling like a shit hurricane. He squashed his roiling guts and spoke. “Hetzer, you’ve been quiet so far.”

Hetzer was a sly man, conniving. Of course he longed for revenge against the Krychevs, and no doubt he felt this was the best possible moment. But he had not anticipated the public questioning. He coughed and croaked out. “I have the utmost…uhm…belief in your capacity as a leader Anton.”

Silence again. Anton nodded.

The two bullets slammed into the far wall, covered in the brains of Hetzer’s guards before they could even unholster their pistols. All eyes turned to Kolrabi, but even the fastest of them just barely caught sight of his pistol returning to the hidden spot inside his tuxedo jacket.

It was Anton’s turn. He pulled out the small gun Kolrabi had given him and placed it squarely against the back of Hetzer’s skull. The blubbering trafficker began to beg, just as Anton commanded his finger to pull the trigger. Brains showered the ebony table, splattering onto the sobered guests.

Anton stood there a long time in silence, trying to keep a calm exterior, internally shattered. He spoke without being conscious of what he was saying.

“This first meeting is adjourned. We will meet again next week, and I expect a different tone.”

Silent assent. Slowly, Anton left the room, Kolrabi following close by. Anton managed to walk tall and straight until the thick door to the study closed.

Then the hurricane burst from his mouth and he was sick on the carpet, the line from Hyperion ringing in his head.

---

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