Chapter 6 - Behind the Iron Curtain
The rain began to fall in earnest over the industrial zone, drumming a rhythmic, metallic beat against the corrugated steel roof of Lilia’s administrative headquarters.
Unlike Vitaly’s three-story palace of tinted glass, Italian marble, and gilded corporate fixtures, the NorthStar Rail Terminal office was lean, Spartan, and built for war. It occupied a renovated two-story brick building that had once served as a dispatch office for the Soviet rail yard. Inside, the walls were lined with large-format engineering schematics, digital monitors displaying live satellite feeds of rail progress, and high-resolution topological maps of the regional transport network.
Lilia sat behind a wide desk made of solid, untreated oak. She had taken off her green blazer, draping it over the back of her chair. Her white silk blouse was rolled up at the cuffs, revealing wrists that still bore faint scars from the early construction days—reminders of the rusted barbed wire she had pulled from the ground with her own hands.
Across the desk sat Gavrilych.
The old foreman had arrived twenty minutes after the expo closed, still wearing his work boots. In his hands, he held a heavy porcelain mug filled with strong, black tea.
“The whole pavilion emptied out by four,” Gavrilych said, his voice quiet in the vast, warm room. “Nobody stayed for his anniversary banquet. The caterers showed up with three hundred plates of smoked salmon and roasted meats, and there was nobody there except Vitalya, sitting alone in the middle of the booth with an open bottle of Armenian cognac.”
Lilia didn't answer immediately. She looked out the panoramic window toward the south.
Through the sheet of gray autumn rain, the transformation of Plot 41-B was staggering. Where there had once been stagnant pools of chemical runoff and piles of broken concrete, there now stretched three thousand yards of freshly laid, heavy-gauge rail track, lined with automated switching towers and high-capacity gantry cranes that reached toward the low-hanging clouds like iron giants.
A fleet of brand-new, bright orange terminal tractors stood parked in neat, military rows, their engines purring quietly, waiting for the dawn.
“Do you feel sorry for him, Gavrilych?” she asked, her voice soft, devoid of bitterness or anger.
The old man blew across the surface of his hot tea, watching the steam rise toward the ceiling.
“Twelve years ago, Lilia, when we were working out of that freezing basement on Industrial Way, my granddaughter came down with severe pneumonia. We didn't have money for the antibiotics. Vitalya told me that personal problems stayed outside the company gates. He told me that if I couldn't focus on assembling the pump casings, he’d find another mechanic on the street.”
Gavrilych paused, his eyes narrowing as he remembered.
“You stayed behind after the night shift. You drove me to the regional pharmacy in your beaten-up little hatchback. You paid for the medicine out of your own grocery money, and you covered my hours on the morning assembly line so Vitalya wouldn't dock my pay.”
He looked across the table, meeting Lilia’s steady gaze.
“A man who builds his house on another person’s suffering deserves to watch it burn when the wind changes,” the old man said firmly. “I don't feel sorry for him. The shop floor doesn't feel sorry for him either. Forty-two of our best technicians have already drafted their resignation letters. They’re just waiting for you to open the hiring registry here tomorrow morning.”
A soft knock interrupted them.
The door opened, and a young woman in a crisp charcoal suit entered, carrying a thick black leather portfolio. It was Elena, Lilia’s chief operating officer—a brilliant infrastructure attorney she had recruited from the municipal development authority two years ago.
“Lilia,” Elena said, her voice taut with controlled excitement. “The Commercial Industrial Bank has just filed an emergency notification with the registry. Arthur Sterling personally signed it. They’ve suspended Vektor-Tech’s operating credit line due to the loss of commercial right-of-way.”
Lilia leaned back in her oak chair, her fingers interlocking over her lap. “And our acquisition offer?”
Elena smiled, a sharp, razor-thin smile. “The bank has accepted our letter of intent to purchase the debt notes at a thirty-five percent discount. We hold the security lien over their entire inventory of industrial compressors.”
Lilia looked back out the window toward the shining steel tracks stretching into the rain.
May you like
“Then the board meeting on Monday is no longer necessary,” Lilia said quietly. “Prepare the acquisition documents, Elena. Vitaly’s ten-year reign is over.”
***
