The epitome of success, Ambrosius Sidorov had it all.
Money, though didn't need it.
Power, though it bored him.
A lavish penthouse in downtown Chicago.
And the most powerful Throne.
That is, up until the fateful night when his siblings were murdered...
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Washington, D.C.
The bodyguard's excitement filled the air to no end. This was the first time any single one of them had ever been to the White House. And while they were finding it to be quite the treat, Ambrosius could not help but feel out of place. For starters, he was actually on the ground, an unusual sensation since he is used to the feeling of being pulled down by gravity in his sky mansions back in Chicago.
It had been an entire month since he had been anywhere beneath the hundredth floor of his building. He would have preferred step therapy before descending more than a mile in altitude to the level of common peasants. There was also the fact that the White House was not worthy of being used even as a broom closet by the Sidorovs. The ancient architecture, lack of rooms and limited space was not fit to host them by Ambrosius' standards anyway.
Nonetheless it was still the family's alternative home in D.C., whenever the river mansion was in renovations, which seemed to be the fact more often than not recently. Ambrosius hated navigating the claustrophobic hallways. He'd forgotten just how small this place was. It made him feel anorexic to no avail. He made a mental note to remodel the White House some time soon, preferably in the near future.
It didn't matter how he felt. He was here on a mission and with a purpose. And he would succeed. No matter the necessary outcome. Part of him was hesitant when his father first assigned him this situation, but as the adjuster, he had to be willing and ready to deal with any and all complications that might arise in the Administration. Having the Sidorov last name was easy. Keeping it required war and bloodshed.
He reached the end of the hall faster than usual and walked into the Oval Office with total confidence and authority that only belonged to Sidorovs. The president was nowhere to be found, presumably late, though not to anyone's surprise. Ambrosius decided to wait in the room even though it was only about half as big as his shoe closet, making himself comfortable on the presidential desk chair.
-So this is the office that runs the world?- Tim inquired with astonishment as he examined some of the pictures and paintings that were hung on the wall. He'd clearly forgotten who it was exactly that he worked for.
-This is just the theater Tim.- Ambrosius countered with icy distance, crossing one leg over the other on top of the wooden desk. -The real office would be back home.- His expression remained unreadable as the bodyguard attempted to decipher it.
Tim gulped as he remembered his employer's occupation. The Administration had done a poor job in educating the poor bloke, needless to say. Charlotte and Mark found their place on a leather couch, while Nathan and James claimed a corner of the room.
The hidden door burst open and in came the President along with his entourage of bodyguards. Ambrosius' security detail flinched and became alarmed but the scion remained nonchalant regarding the matter. Something shifted in the air and Ambrosius detected the fact in a split second. There wasn't that usual look of submission in the President's eyes as would normally be expected of any other world leader. Kings, Prime Ministers and even dictators knew their role and feared the Sidorov dynasty.
It took Ambrosius another split second before he deciphered the defiance in the President's gaze. He could only hope his suspicions were incorrect. Thomas North's group of men were Tier 4 trained, second only to Sidorov and Administration guards. Their training was brutal, almost bordering on the psychotic, but fortunately the administration had put a fail-safe in place should the Sidorovs ever need it.
-I didn't expect you to be here, sir.- The President half murmured, not conveying the respect demanded of his authority. Ambrosius' facial expressions remained unaffected by the lack of reverence, but his tone was not.
-It's, master, to you.- Ambrosius made certain to emphasize his words carefully and stared at the man heavily. -Or have you forgotten your place, peasant? Because last I checked Mr. President, Chatham Square wasn't always the trendiest neighborhood Chicago had to offer, much less so since my bedroom casts a shadow over it at sunrise.You democrats really need a refresher on the subject of respect. I should arrange for my father to give you a lesson.-
-I haven't forgotten, sir.- He answered arrogantly. -In fact, it's the very reason I will use to justify my actions.-
The President glanced at his men and made a slight nod and within seconds guns were drawn, red laser light pointed directly at Ambrosius' heart. Much to the surprise of the President and the guards on both sides, the Sidorov's countenance was unbothered by the newly kindled threat against his life.
A dark smile materialized on the President's face but soon faded as Ambrosius chuckled. He threw his head back before regaining his composure and staring down the man once again. All laughs were gone now.
-Dad sent me here to convince you to make some amends. But I see that will not be happening any time soon. Make no mistake you will pay for your crimes.- Ambrosius' voice was cold, almost distant. The bodyguards seemed to think it was deeper than usual, almost as if he were a different person.
'Justify this, Neal. Midnight.' Ambrosius declared with iron determination.
Faster than comprehension could have allowed, the guards turned, aiming their Glocks at the President. He didn't even have time to widen his eyes. Because just as fast, in the blink of an eye, his brains were all over the painting of Abraham Lincoln.
Ambrosius' guards flinched heavily, alarmed by the events that had just unfolded in the span of a split second. None of them were expecting this outcome.
A thin line of blood splatter had somehow made it onto Ambrosius' Italian suit. He took a heavy waff of it, and collected it with his finger. He licked the warm liquid while staring blankly at the carcass, savoring the strong, pervasive taste of iron. Blood had spilled all over the hardwood floor and splashed across all directions, landing on virtually everything and everyone in the room.
-It's what I cannot yet understand about you socialists, you come into office thinking you are going to change this nation. You forget that this nation changes you, and to that end, never for the better.- The cadaver was lying flat on the floor, allowing Ambrosius ample space to examine it. The President's bodyguards were staring into oblivion; as if under some kind of hypnotic spell. Ambrosius' assistants and guards remained tense in their respective positions. Not daring to move so much as an inch.
Silence filled every nook and cranny of the room. Nobody spoke so much as a whisper.
-Clean it up, Sedgwick.-Ambrosius asked almost politely to the head of the Secret Service. His words snapped all of the hypnotized guards from their dream like state. Within seconds they began obeying Ambrosius' command with unquestionable loyalty.
-The rest of you, we have a plane to catch.- He stated, looking at his bodyguards and staff icily.
