Web of the Weaver Book III: Financial Matters, Chapter 1

As I left the PRT building, I could see Dad’s truck. It made sense. The only reason the PRT would let a young teen, leave, unaccompanied, would be if there was something about her that made her safe, even in a city that had just suffered a disaster.

“Taylor,” Dad said. “What happened.”

“Aisha,” I told him. “She nearly got herself killed rescuing some kids.”

“She was there?”

“I believe the plan was that she would work through her Numbers, but Aisha…”

“Doesn’t stick to the script.” He nodded. “The Association lost some people.”

I blinked. “What? But—“

“Never enough work, and the company hired a fair number of day workers.”

I fell silent for a moment. “Day workers that would not ask questions?”

He blinked and glanced at me as we turned onto the road heading home. “Taylor?”

“I had a discussion, As The Investigator. There is some belief that corruption was involved.”

“Belief? Everyone knew it.”

“Did you?” I didn’t want to ask but…

“Officially? No. Unofficially? You don’t hire day workers like that if you’re not cutting corners. And they talked.”

“Why didn’t yo—“ I bit off what I was about to say.

Dad didn’t say anything for a moment, then sighed. “Let’s wait until we get home. I’ll need all of my attention for this.”

Unlike Mom. I knew what he was thinking.

We waited until we got home, walking up the familiar driveway as bugs moved around me. There was nobody watching us. There were still sirens in the distance, but the smoke plume had finally dissipated, and there wasn’t any warping of space. I guess the danger was past, and they could stop using Vista.

The degree of power she’d shown… I’d never seen that hinted at before. Move streets, warp distance… but reach out and suddenly isolate an entire neighborhood? Powers like that were associated with the true heavy hitters.

Had Vista been concealing her power, or had the Protectorate been doing it for her?

It didn’t matter. I expected she was on a number of radars tonight.

But we got in, and Dad sat down at the kitchen table and sighed.

“Yes, we knew.” He shook his head. “In that part of town, there wasn’t a single major business that wasn’t cutting corners.”

“And the men who worked there were…”

“Participants? Sure. They paid.” He looked…tired. “But Taylor, the association…” He leaned back. “There’s work in this town. Good work. The neighborhoods on the periphery keep growing and they have good schools. For college graduates. But the DWA and the people who came before… They mostly came from a time when you didn’t need a degree. You didn’t even need to graduate from high school. Just get some work under your belt, say find a member to vouch for you and could raise a family.”

“And then the ship graveyard.”

“I…” He sighed. “People like to blame the graveyard, but if the port had been successful… you could have had ships down here from Boston and dredged everything out in a month. Even without the issues with trade, the Bay was falling behind. The market was getting more automated, and there was more competition. Guys were staying in, but… You couldn’t just walk in out of high school and get a job.” He shook his head. “The graveyard was a windfall for the investors. Those ships, the lost business, the docks, all insured. Sometimes I wonder if they were behind it, but no, you get enough pissed-off people… So they took the money, put it into Boston and New York, or hell, their private accounts.”

“And then there were no more jobs.” I knew part of this, but Dad had lived it, and this was the first time he was talking to me about it, really talking to me about it.

“Not the kind a former dockworker could take. Guys with twenty years in… and no paper to show it. No degrees, or official training. The ones that had that got jobs out of the city. Meanwhile, all the good neighborhoods…” he sighed. “I don’t want to speak ill of people just trying to make a living on their own, but it made things more expensive.”

“So the dockworkers…”

‘Take what they can get. We have some work, but a lot of day jobs, temporary work, and you don’t, well ask, not if you want to get hired, and even if you do…”

“Yes?”

“I guess you haven’t had a chance to research this.”

“No.”

“There was the Grand Formula Chemical company. Some whistleblowers revealed lots of issues. The company went bankrupt, and the whistleblowers ended up broke—completely blacklisted. One even got sued for libel, and since he didn’t have the money to defend himself... I don’t know what happened. But about three months later, the factory reopened. Care to guess the name?”

“Stanson Chemical Engineering?”

“Got it in one. Grand Formula was bankrupt, not even enough money to pay damages in the settlement, and suddenly we get Stanson Chemical Engineering, a completely distinct entity, with a bunch of suspiciously familiar members of the board and oddly enough, about as much money as Grand Formula didn’t have.”

“And everything continued on as normal. Because everyone knew what happened to whistleblowers.”

My Dad had been complicit in this but…

If there’s no work, what do you do? Tell them to eat justice? Maybe sign up with the Merchants? But…

“That will happen again.” I paused. “Maybe not in the same way, since there’s no factory any more but…”

“It’s already happening,” Dad said. He gestured to my phone. “Check what’s being said by the holding company.”

It didn’t take me long to find the information.

“We find this disaster heartbreaking.” A man stood in front of cameras. “And we have found evidence of malfeasance among the workers, and be assured, we will investigate this…”

“And they will, won’t they?” I said. “Workers without credentials. Managers ignoring safety procedures. Enough to muddy the waters, to have people looking at the obvious cause, but not what is behind it.”

Dad didn’t say anything.

How much are they taking from the city? This was victimization, no less than what the Empire did. Hell, it was helping  the Empire. And the ABB. And every group that benefitted from desperation.

Which explained why Director Piggot wanted me. Oh, she hadn’t told any lies and believed everything she said, but less desperation would mean fewer opportunities for the gangs, and if I failed…

She lost nothing.

“Taylor…” Dad sighed. “These people can be very dangerous. Not just physically.”

I nodded. A minor like me, there would be many things that could be done. And as The Investigator… well, a parahuman who wasn’t bulletproof might fall to a simple assault.

Still…

“The factory is gone. People have died and lost their homes. It is only fair that those who are truly responsible make the damage good.”

“And can you get help, if you need it?” Dad asked.

“I believe so.” From the PRT or, well, my better side.  Hopefully I wouldn’t have to use Orb Weaver, not for this. Orb Weaver suddenly taking interest in a completely new type of crime would…

Well, send up entirely too many clues for the clever. But meanwhile.

“Will you help me, Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Then I had better start my research. I have been remiss in exploring the full degree of this city’s issues,” I said, falling into the Mannerism of The Investigator.

Meanwhile, my bugs started to cover monitors and started typing out requests. I would have to do research. A great deal of it. Fortunately, that was something I could do.