Chapter 2 The Assignment #2
Carl handed Elias a visitor badge.
"You'll have access to most sections of the site. Viktor will accompany you throughout the day."
Elias glanced between them.
"He's really doing this?"
Carl smiled.
"He's the best person for the job."
Viktor doubted that.
There were at least fifty people who would have been more suitable.
Unfortunately, none of them had enough leverage held against them.
Carl walked away before either man could object.
A brief silence followed.
Elias shifted his sketchbook.
"So."
"So."
The younger man laughed softly.
Apparently Viktor's conversational skills were not impressive.
Good.
That meant maybe the day would pass quietly.
No such luck.
"What happens first?" Elias asked.
"You wanted a tour."
"Right."
"Then we tour."
The answer seemed obvious.
Elias looked amused anyway.
Viktor turned and began walking.
After a moment, he heard footsteps following behind him.
The day had officially begun.
They started near the residential section of camp.
Workers moved between trailers preparing for shifts. Some carried lunch containers. Others drank coffee while discussing the day's assignments.
Many looked curiously toward Elias.
The boss's son had become local entertainment.
Viktor understood why.
The kid stood out.
Not because of his appearance.
Because he clearly didn't belong.
Everything about him felt different from camp life.
The way he walked.
The way he observed things.
The way he constantly asked questions.
Most visitors spent their time talking.
Elias spent most of his time listening.
That surprised Viktor.
"How long have people lived in these trailers?" Elias asked.
"Depends on the project."
"Months?"
"Sometimes."
"Years?"
"Sometimes."
Elias frowned.
The expression seemed genuine.
Not performative.
Not calculated.
Genuinely concerned.
Viktor noticed.
Unfortunately.
They continued through the camp.
At each stop, Elias filled pages in his notebook.
Measurements.
Observations.
Sketches.
Questions.
So many questions.
Some made sense.
Others sounded like things architecture professors discussed in classrooms.
Still, Viktor answered what he could.
Eventually.
Reluctantly.
Mostly because ignoring the questions didn't stop them.
By midmorning, they reached one of the larger housing areas.
Several workers were repairing a damaged trailer roof.
Elias immediately stopped walking.
"What happened there?"
"Storm."
"Recently?"
"Last month."
Elias studied the repairs.
"Why wasn't it replaced?"
Viktor looked at him.
The answer seemed obvious.
Money.
Everything always came down to money.
Apparently Elias reached the same conclusion on his own.
His expression darkened.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The son of Richard Hart looked increasingly unimpressed by Richard Hart's construction camp.
That couldn't be a comfortable realization.
Around noon, they stopped near a shaded storage area.
Workers gathered for lunch.
The atmosphere immediately felt different from the previous day.
Less cautious.
Less formal.
Word had spread that Viktor was escorting Elias.
If Viktor tolerated him, others apparently decided he was safe enough to approach.
Several workers nodded greetings.
Others asked questions about university.
One older laborer wanted to know whether architecture students actually enjoyed studying building codes.
Elias laughed.
A real laugh.
Not the polite social version.
Within minutes, he was having a conversation with three workers about housing design.
Viktor watched from nearby.
Something unexpected happened.
Elias listened.
Actually listened.
When workers described problems with ventilation, overcrowding, and maintenance delays, he wrote everything down.
He didn't interrupt.
Didn't pretend to know better.
Didn't offer easy solutions.
He simply listened.
That alone set him apart from most corporate visitors.
The realization irritated Viktor.
Life was easier when rich people fit neatly into categories.
Elias refused to cooperate.
The afternoon brought more walking.
More questions.
More notes.
More opportunities for Viktor to discover his assumptions weren't entirely accurate.
The kid worked harder than expected.
He didn't complain about the heat.
Didn't complain about the dust.
Didn't complain about spending hours on his feet.
By three o'clock, most visitors would have retreated into air-conditioned offices.
Elias kept going.
Determined.
Curious.
Annoyingly sincere.
Viktor wasn't sure what to do with that.
They were crossing a supply yard when raised voices caught their attention.
A supervisor stood near a delivery truck.
Two migrant workers faced him.
Neither looked happy.
The supervisor looked worse.
Viktor immediately recognized the situation.
Blame.
Someone had made a mistake.
Now management needed a target.
The supervisor's voice carried across the yard.
"You think I care about excuses?"
One worker lowered his gaze.
The other clenched his jaw.
Neither responded.
The supervisor stepped closer.
"Materials are missing. That comes out of your department."
"We didn't lose anything," one worker said quietly.
"Then somebody stole it."
"We followed procedure."
The supervisor laughed.
A cruel sound.
"Of course you did."
Viktor felt irritation rise.
The workers involved were good men.
Hard workers.
The accusation was nonsense.
Unfortunately, nonsense happened often.
Management rarely apologized afterward.
The easiest option was usually to walk away.
The workers would survive.
Everyone would move on.
That was how camp life worked.
Before Viktor could leave, Elias spoke.
"Do you have proof?"
The entire yard went silent.
The supervisor turned slowly.
"What?"
Elias stepped forward.
"You accused them of losing materials."
The supervisor stared.
"So?"
"So do you have proof?"
Viktor nearly choked.
Nobody challenged supervisors publicly.
Nobody.
Especially not rich college students.
The supervisor's face reddened.
"This doesn't concern you."
Elias remained calm.
"It does if you're accusing people without evidence."
The workers looked shocked.
Several nearby laborers stopped working.
Everyone was watching now.
The supervisor clearly hadn't expected resistance.
Particularly from Richard Hart's son.
"You should be careful."
The warning carried obvious meaning.
Elias didn't back down.
Instead, he gestured toward a clipboard.
"Have inventory records been checked?"
The supervisor hesitated.
Briefly.
But Viktor noticed.
So did everyone else.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Elias continued.
"If materials are missing, there should be documentation."
The silence that followed felt heavy.
Finally, another manager approached carrying paperwork.
After several uncomfortable minutes, the truth emerged.
The shipment hadn't been lost.
It had been logged incorrectly.
The workers were innocent.
The supervisor looked furious.
Mostly because he'd been proven wrong.
Without apology, he walked away.
Coward.
The workers exchanged relieved glances.
One quietly thanked Elias.
Others returned to work.
Conversation resumed.
The moment passed.
Yet something had changed.
Viktor felt it immediately.
He looked at Elias differently now.
Not because the kid had solved some major injustice.
Because he hadn't needed to get involved at all.
Walking away would have been easier.
Safer.
Smarter.
Instead, he'd spoken up.
Risked embarrassing management.
Defended people he barely knew.
And he had done it because he believed it was the right thing to do.
That wasn't what Viktor expected from Richard Hart's son.
Not even close.
As they continued walking through the camp, Viktor found himself studying Elias with renewed curiosity.
Maybe the rich kid wasn't exactly who Viktor thought he was.
Maybe there was more beneath the expensive education and famous last name.
The realization unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
Because assumptions were simple.
People were complicated.
And Viktor was beginning to suspect Elias Hart might be far more complicated than anyone realized.
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