Chapter Twenty-Nine
M athias gave a disapproving click of his tongue as he surveyed the tailor’s handiwork. “You need to take it in here, and the cuffs are too long. He looks like a kid wearing his father’s suit.”
The stooped, white-haired man beside Rayan nodded rapidly.
“And here…” Mathias made a slicing motion with his hand along the hem of the tuxedo jacket. “Bring it up.”
As the tailor went back to work with his tray of pins, Rayan tugged at the bow tie cutting into his neck.
“Stop fiddling with it,” Mathias scolded.
“I feel ridiculous.”
“You’ll look ridiculous if we don’t get the fit right.” Mathias tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Not this one.”
He deftly unknotted the bow tie and yanked it off then selected another—slimmer, the fabric less glossy—from the row of boxes on the table and looped it around Rayan’s neck.
Mathias took an end in each hand and tied it expertly, pulling the knot tight against the collar of Rayan’s pristine white shirt.
He stepped back and gave Rayan a once-over.
“Now we just have to figure out what to do with that mop on your head.”
“I’m growing it out.”
“The fuck you are. Keep this up, and I’ll take Elise instead.”
Mathias was representing Heylen and the company at a European business summit in Copenhagen. The congregation would be joined by the Danish crown prince for the opening gala dinner and had been given strict instructions on dress code.
When Mathias had asked Rayan to come with him, Rayan had assumed he would hang around the hotel, maybe explore on his own for a bit.
Rayan hadn’t anticipated his attendance at the black-tie function.
Secretly, he’d been overjoyed, partly because of the sheer extravagance of the event but mostly because Mathias wanted to share it with him.
“Go ahead,” Rayan said. “I’m sure she’ll make a wonderful impression.” Elise was many things, but poised and muted in company, she was not.
Mathias scowled. “You’re as bad as each other. At least you double as security.”
Elise had taken over Importations Fleurdelisé, and from the little Rayan heard about it from Mathias, she hadn’t yet set the warehouse on fire.
Mathias still got calls from her occasionally.
Some of them, he picked up, using the opportunity to remind her of her staggering ignorance.
Other times, he would glance at her number on the screen and hang up without answering.
Rayan knew Mathias got a kick out of leaving Elise to deal with her own problems. He didn’t want her getting too comfortable.
When Mathias was satisfied with the fitting, Rayan went behind the curtain to change.
He emerged to find Mathias standing outside the boutique, his phone pressed to his ear and a sour look on his face.
“I need to stop by the office to sign some papers,” he said after he hung up.
“It won’t take long. I’ll drop you home first.”
“I can wait.”
Mathias shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
They got into the car, and Mathias pulled into traffic, heading in the direction of the port.
The office Heylen had commissioned for the company in Calais encompassed the top floor of a large operations building that overlooked the outer harbor.
Mathias oversaw a staff of sixty—customs brokers, marine technicians, dock workers.
He’d thrown himself into the partnership with his signature proficiency and blown all of Heylen’s earnings predictions out of the water.
Something had settled in him, the restlessness tamed as his reputation began to grow among Europe’s corporate elite.
“Can you swing past the site on the way?” Rayan asked. “Just for a minute.” They were so close it would barely count as a detour.
“This is turning into quite the compulsion,” Mathias grumbled, but he hit the turn signal and moved into the other lane. “I’ll tell you what’s changed since yesterday—not a fucking thing. Wait until there’s some actual progress.”
Rayan grinned. “I like to see the pieces coming together.”
Mathias parked across the street from the construction site, and they both got out of the car.
Rayan found his gaze drawn first to the sign at the entrance to the site.
It wasn’t anything special, just the name of the building in simple black type printed on a white board held up by two wooden posts.
When Rayan had told Laurent and Asmarina that he’d secured the remaining funding for the build, Asmarina had insisted—despite his protests—that he get naming rights.
Mathias pulled out his pack of smokes. “See? Same as before.”
Rayan angled his head, noting the new framework they’d erected since the previous day. Mathias was wrong. Each time Rayan came, he saw incremental progress, the project one tiny step closer to completion.
Once the city had green-lit the proposal, things had moved surprisingly fast. Mathias had told him not to worry about the mayor, and as of yet, they hadn’t run into any issues from town hall.
The parcel of public land, not far from the existing camp, had sat empty for decades, and when they’d applied for planning approval, the council had granted it without incident—along with each permit that followed.
A brief announcement in the newspaper had been met with surprising positivity, not just from residents of Calais but other surrounding towns as well.
It turned out they weren’t the only ones wanting to improve the situation for those who continued to flock to Northern France in search of safety.
In the wake of the attention, Durand seemed to have changed his tune.
He lapped up the praise, taking credit for helping facilitate the build.
He’d even held off on demolishing the remainder of the camp in the meantime, so the Jungle persevered, increasingly crowded and dangerous but still a home to many.
Rayan didn’t give a shit about credit. All he wanted was to see the project realized.
And every day, after work, he made the trip from the center or the service office to walk past the site.
“You know it’s just a drop in the bucket,” Mathias said, lighting the cigarette between his teeth. “This doesn’t solve anything.”
“I know. But it’s a roof over someone’s head, temporary as it may be.”
“And you’re not fazed that it’s built with dirty money?”
“I’m not exactly squeaky-clean myself.”
Mathias smirked and exhaled a stream of smoke from his nostrils. “Maybe you have learned something.”
“That I can use what I have to do better?”
“No. Christ.” Mathias’s upper lip curled in disgust. “Never hesitate to exploit a weakness. That’s the real lesson here.”
Rayan laughed.
They stood and watched as several workers loaded a platform with steel beams and attached it to the hook block of a nearby crane.
Once it was secure, the men stepped back, and one of them raised his hand to the operator in the cab.
The cable went taut, and the platform slowly began to lift off the ground.
“You figure it’ll be another six months?” Mathias asked, watching the swinging platform move through the air.
“If there are no delays. Construction’s slowed across the city, so they’re making the most of the work.”
“And the wait-list—has it been finalized?”
“Almost. We don’t want to tell families until we’re sure they have a place.”
“I don’t have to guess who’ll be at the top of that list.”
“It’s not preferential treatment,” Rayan protested weakly. “Farhan’s still waiting on his asylum appeal, and the girls need a stable place to live while they’re attending school. They’re exactly who we had in mind when we envisioned this place.”
Mathias snickered. “Who knows? You could even scale it. The city might just prove accommodating with future projects.”
Trust Mathias to see how to build on an opportunity.
The residence was a promising step in the right direction, but there remained a growing need for housing support in both Calais and the surrounding townships.
There was potential for this to be bigger still.
Rayan had narrowed his focus to good deeds, forgetting that resourcefulness, a dash of friendly intimidation, and a fair amount of tenacity went a long way toward getting results.
The meeting of those two strengths—Rayan’s desire to help and the skills he’d gained from a life spent gaming the system—was actually rather brilliant.
Here they both were, on full display, the conflicting sides of himself merged to create a universal good.
Mathias tapped his ash. “So, you break even yet? Or is the ledger still skewed in one direction?”
“Thought you told me not to think like that.”
“Knowing and believing aren’t the same thing.”
“Considering the murky means by which the funding came about, the ethics of the endeavor are debatable.”
“Think of it as a donation from one criminal to another.”
“Do we still get to call you that?” Rayan took in the expensive suit, the perfectly slicked-back hair, and the air of authority that radiated from the man.
Nothing had changed there. Mathias looked as he had the day they’d first met—yet, at the same time, entirely different.
“Careful, Mathias. You’re in danger of becoming a decent human being. ”
Mathias shot him a dirty look. “That’s why I’ve got you to keep me honest.”
“You always will,” Rayan said with a smile.
The crane hoisted the platform high into the cloudless blue sky, and Rayan’s eyes were once again drawn to the sign: Maison Résidence Samira Ayari.
Maybe, just maybe, she would be proud of him—for surviving, for making it here. And if pride was a swing too far, perhaps she could settle on forgiveness—the way he had forgiven her.
Mathias took another pull on his cigarette and squinted up at the half-finished masterpiece bearing Rayan’s mother’s name. “Take it in, Rayan. This is your legacy.”
“No,” Rayan replied, turning to the man beside him. “It’s ours.”