The Slum Heirs

One

One

"Our world is changing."

My father's voice rang over the crowd, amplified by the microphone in front of him. I suppose he looked powerful, standing there in his dry cleaned suit, his hair perfectly slicked back and a smile on his face. It was an act I'd seen many times before. Not so impressive to me.

"New avenues are opening up to us, personally and professionally." Robert Clearwater pressed a button on the small remote in his hand, and the screen behind him changed from displaying his company's name, Clearwater Consolidated, to showing a massive photo of Queens, New York. "These avenues could lead us to improving the broken side of our great state."

He was talking about the Slums. An area that took up most of what used to be Queens and the Bronx, now filled with criminals. No one went there unless they wanted trouble.

"What do you plan to do, Mr. Clearwater?" a reporter asked, shoving his recorder closer to my father's face.

My father smiled. "We're a construction company, my friend. We take what we have and we make it better. What we commonly refer to as the Slums has great potential. There's a lot of space out there, waiting for us to use it."

"Are you talking about tearing down the Slums?" a woman reporter asked, taking notes in her phone, her eyes never leaving my father.

"We're talking about building a better community for everyone," my father said with another smile.

I wished I was with my best friend, Tanner. Or even at home. Anywhere but at this press conference. I glanced down the stage at my mother, who sat perfectly straight in her chair with a polite smile on her face. Outwardly, she looked interested. But I knew her. She was as un-phased by all of this as me.

My dad didn't bring his work home with him. Whenever Clearwater Consolidated (often called "CC") was working on new projects, my mother and I knew nothing about them. Until these press conferences, where he invited every major newspaper to come and marvel at his brilliance.

Stifling a yawn, I flinched as my "public relations" boyfriend, Marc, pinched my leg. I shot him a glare, but he just smiled and pretended to chuckle, covering his mouth with his hand and leaning over to whisper in my ear.

"You coming to my place after the conference?"

I forced a smile, knowing that even though my father stood at the podium, people were watching Marc and I. People always watched us. I mimicked him, cupping my hand over my mouth. "Sure. Can we grab something to eat first?"

He nodded and went back to watching my father speak. Unlike my mother and I, he was intrigued by everything CC did. My father was the one who set Marc and I up as a couple. He said it would be good for the press, to see me with such a kind and smart boy. A boy with "potential," he called him. He'd found Marc in a business study, where high school students submitted plans for making the city better. Impressed by Marc's work, my father had invited him over for dinner.

Soon after that, Marc and I were "dating." Sometimes I wondered how long he planned to make us pretend to be together. Other times, I worried he was going to offer me up as a bride just so Marc could inherit his company.

Shivering at the thought, I let go of Marc's hand and pretended to scratch at my leg. He frowned, tilting his head as if to ask if anything was wrong. I shook my own, smiled, and turned my eyes to my father as he wrapped up his speech and waved to the crowd of reporters one last time.

Marc, my mother and I, as well as the business owners and contributors who were on stage with us, all stood as my father jogged down the steps and into the crowd. He shook hands, smiled, posed for pictures. It was always the same thing. Another hour passed before we managed to squeeze our way out of the building and into the early fall air of Manhattan.