Chapter 14 The King Arrives
Richard Hart
The rumors started before sunrise.
By breakfast, everyone in camp was talking about them.
Workers gathered in small groups near trailers and equipment yards. Supervisors moved around with unusual urgency. Administrative staff hurried between buildings carrying folders and clipboards.
Something was happening.
Something important.
Construction camps operated on information.
Most workers could sense trouble long before management announced it.
Today, trouble was impossible to miss.
Viktor heard the first rumor from Walter.
The older worker appeared beside him while he inspected storm-damaged equipment.
"He's coming."
Viktor didn't look up.
"Who?"
Walter snorted.
"The king."
That got his attention.
Viktor straightened slowly.
There was only one person workers referred to that way.
Richard Hart.
The founder.
The chairman.
The billionaire.
The man whose name sat on every company sign from here to the coast.
The man responsible for employing thousands.
And firing them.
The man who had built an empire.
The man whose signature Elias had apparently found buried inside old project records.
The man connected to Luka's death.
A cold feeling settled inside Viktor's chest.
"When?"
Walter glanced toward the administration building.
"Today."
The answer immediately explained the tension spreading across camp.
Richard Hart rarely visited active projects.
People at his level didn't need to.
They lived in offices and boardrooms.
Far away from mud and concrete and exhausted workers.
When executives arrived unexpectedly, it usually meant one of two things.
Something had gone very right.
Or something had gone very wrong.
Given recent events, Viktor doubted anyone was celebrating.
Walter lowered his voice.
"Management's losing their minds."
The older worker wasn't exaggerating.
By midmorning, supervisors had become almost frantic.
Equipment yards were cleaned.
Buildings inspected.
Temporary fencing repaired.
Every visible imperfection suddenly became a priority.
The performance would've been amusing under different circumstances.
Today it felt ominous.
Especially because Viktor knew something most of management didn't.
Someone had been digging into the past.
Someone had found evidence.
Someone had forced powerful people to pay attention.
His thoughts immediately shifted toward Elias.
The younger man had become difficult to avoid.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Everywhere Viktor looked, memories followed.
The kiss.
The betrayal.
The conversations.
The grief.
It all existed together now.
Too tangled to separate.
Too painful to ignore.
He hadn't spoken to Elias in days.
Not properly.
The younger man had tried.
Several times.
Viktor refused.
Partly because he was angry.
Partly because he didn't trust himself.
The truth was more complicated than he wanted to admit.
He still cared.
That was the problem.
The realization irritated him all over again.
By noon, the atmosphere across camp had become almost unbearable.
Workers pretended to focus on their jobs.
Nobody succeeded.
Everyone watched the entrance road.
Waiting.
Speculating.
Wondering.
Then the convoy arrived.
The effect was immediate.
A line of black luxury vehicles appeared beyond the main gate.
Polished.
Expensive.
Completely out of place among construction equipment and temporary buildings.
The contrast felt absurd.
Workers paused what they were doing.
Conversations stopped.
Machinery continued operating, but attention shifted elsewhere.
The vehicles rolled slowly through camp.
Past worker housing.
Past equipment yards.
Past muddy roads still recovering from the storm.
Like royalty touring conquered territory.
The comparison wasn't entirely unfair.
Richard Hart owned everything visible from where Viktor stood.
The land.
The project.
The buildings.
The company.
For many workers, he controlled their livelihoods as well.
Power like that changed people.
Viktor had seen it before.
The convoy stopped outside the administration building.
Immediately, managers appeared.
Smiling.
Straightening ties.
Trying far too hard.
The performance made him sick.
Several men exited the vehicles first.
Security.
Assistants.
Corporate executives.
Then Richard Hart stepped out.
For a moment, the camp seemed to hold its breath.
Viktor stared.
The man looked older than expected.
Mid-sixties, perhaps.
Tall.
Well-dressed.
Confident.
The kind of confidence built from decades of authority.
Silver hair.
Sharp features.
Expensive watch.
Everything about him projected control.
Success.
Power.
Richard Hart looked exactly like the sort of man who expected the world to move aside when he entered a room.
The realization immediately fueled Viktor's resentment.
Because Luka had never received that luxury.
Luka worked.
Sweated.
Risked his life on construction sites.
And ended up buried beneath collapsed steel.
Meanwhile, the man responsible arrived in a convoy worth more than most workers earned in years.
The bitterness tasted familiar.
Old.
Yet somehow fresh again.
The executives disappeared into the administration building.
Workers slowly returned to their tasks.
Sort of.
Nobody truly relaxed.
Everyone knew important conversations were happening behind those walls.
Conversations that would affect the entire project.
Perhaps the entire company.
Viktor tried focusing on work.
It didn't last.
An hour later, Carl Henderson appeared near the maintenance yard.
The site manager looked nervous.
Actually nervous.
Another unusual sight.
"Novak."
Viktor immediately disliked the tone.
"What?"
Carl hesitated.
Then cleared his throat.
"Mr. Hart wants to meet with several senior workers."
That wasn't entirely surprising.
Corporate visits often involved staged conversations with employees.
Carefully selected employees.
The safe ones.
The loyal ones.
The ones unlikely to cause trouble.
"What for?"
Carl looked uncomfortable.
A good sign.
"Worker concerns."
Viktor almost laughed.
Worker concerns.
The company only cared about worker concerns when public relations became involved.
Still, refusing would create unnecessary problems.
Especially now.
Ten minutes later, Viktor found himself standing outside a temporary conference room alongside several foremen and veteran laborers.
The atmosphere felt tense.
Everyone knew this meeting was theatre.
Nobody said it out loud.
The door opened.
An assistant invited them inside.
The room itself looked ridiculous.
Temporary walls.
Plastic tables.
Portable air-conditioning.
Management trying desperately to create the illusion of professionalism.
At the far end sat Richard Hart.
The billionaire immediately commanded attention.
Not because he was physically imposing.
Because he expected attention.
The confidence radiated from him.
Years of leadership.
Years of authority.
Years of being the most important person in every room.
Workers entered one by one.
Introductions followed.
Names.
Positions.
Years with the company.
Standard corporate nonsense.
Viktor barely listened.
His focus remained fixed on the man across the table.
The man whose signature Elias had found.
The man connected to Luka.
The man who might know exactly what happened all those years ago.
Eventually, it was his turn.
"Viktor Novak."
Richard Hart looked up from a folder.
Their eyes met.
For one suspended moment, the room seemed to disappear.
No workers.
No executives.
No management.
Just two men separated by years of grief.
Years of unanswered questions.
Years of anger.
Richard Hart's expression remained polite.
Professional.
Completely unaware of what stood in front of him.
But Viktor knew.
And as he stared at the man he blamed for Luka's death, he felt old wounds tearing open all over again.
Father and Son
The confrontation happened three hours later.
Elias had expected it.
Ever since Richard Hart's convoy arrived at camp, the sense of inevitability had followed him everywhere.
Workers watched the luxury vehicles.
Management practically tripped over themselves trying to impress corporate executives.
Supervisors suddenly cared about appearances.
About procedures.
About optics.
The performance would have been amusing if it weren't so pathetic.
None of it changed the truth buried inside the files on Elias's desk.
None of it changed Luka Novak's death.
And none of it changed the fact that his father was finally here.
The message arrived shortly after lunch.
A young administrative assistant appeared beside him while he reviewed site sketches near the housing section.
"Mr. Hart would like to see you."
Elias didn't need clarification.
There was only one Mr. Hart who summoned people instead of asking.
His father.
The assistant looked uncomfortable.
Almost apologetic.
Apparently everyone knew this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.
Elias closed his notebook.
"Where?"
"Conference office."
Of course.
The temporary executive suite management had rushed to prepare that morning.
The symbolism wasn't subtle.
Corporate power waiting behind closed doors.
Elias thanked the assistant and stood.
As he crossed camp, dozens of eyes followed him.
Workers.
Supervisors.
Managers.
Nobody tried hiding their curiosity.
Word had already spread.
Richard Hart was here.
Richard Hart's son was here.
And something was very wrong.
The temporary office occupied the administration building's largest room.
Two security personnel stood outside.
Another nice touch.
Nothing said family conversation like hired guards.
One of them opened the door.
Elias stepped inside.
The room looked exactly how he expected.
Expensive.
Controlled.
Artificial.
Temporary walls tried to imitate professionalism.
Fresh coffee sat untouched on a conference table.
Corporate executives occupied several chairs.
Richard Hart stood near the window overlooking the construction site.
His father didn't turn immediately.
For several seconds, he simply stared outside.
At the workers.
At the buildings.
At the empire carrying his name.
Only then did he speak.
"You look tired."
Elias almost laughed.
That was the opening?
Not hello.
Not how are you.
Not why are you here.
You look tired.