"The board meeting is about the budget of the school," Pierre explained, directing Robert to the garage as Callum waved his farewell and leapt over the gate to go home. "The principal is concerned that the budget isn't wide enough to manage the inclusion of psychotherapy for the Staff and students."

"You have therapists on the grounds?" Robert followed the boy as he opened up his umbrella and swiftly crossed the yard to the detached car park.

"Almost all of the students and staff members are charmed to forget their time in captivity— it would be disrespectful not to provide professionals to help re-introduce them into society." Pierre answered casually, stopping at a very expensive black Rolls Royce Phantom. "Charming will make the images in their mind vanish, but it doesn't negate the psychological stress of being trafficked."

Robert nodded in quiet agreement. "So...what am I expected to say? How did you even attain these schools?"

"The first week I was free, I manipulated a multi-millionaire manufacturing and distribution CEO into buying a competitor's chain of private schools. It was simple." Pierre closed his umbrella once in the safety of the shade and opened the back passenger door. "After killing him and dismantling his corner of distribution, I was able to place those who were stolen in a secure environment. Charmed the people working under him to use their skills to protect them."

Pierre filed into the back seat, expectantly staring up at Robert, waiting for him to slide into the driver seat and act as chauffeur.

"You're expecting me to drive this?" He asked. No way. This car is worth more than my entire education— doubled!

"I don't imagine the staff will take kindly to a twelve year old driving a five-hundred-thousand dollar car, Mister Dupont," he answered.

Robert gave him an incredulous look and shrugged. This kid is damn confident, that's for sure.

He slid into the driver seat nonetheless and started up the immaculate vehicle. The man had never felt so out of place in his life— expensive house, expensive car, clothes, everything.
The kid even gave him the entire contents of Hartherworn's closet to 'fit the look'.

"So..." Robert followed the navigation to the school. "What's the verdict? On the school budget?"

"It's not an issue. I've gained access to Hartherworn's fundsq with the help of Callum and added an additional thirteen billion to mine. It will go to the new therapy program as well as the employees pay, and maintenance of the schools. If my calculations are correct— by the night of the auction I will have around ten billion left to buy people out of the ring." Pierre answered, keeping his eyes out the window as they rolled past the fancy estates toward a college sized private school.

"Auction?" Robert pulled through the gate once it opened, following the road toward the main entrance hall.

"Yes, next Friday we will be attending a day auction in Luxembourg." The boy answered, deliberately cutting the conversation short once Robert pulled to a stop in the lot. He jumped out of the car, throwing up his umbrella and gesturing toward the entrance. "It's this way."

Next Friday? What the hell are you—

"You'll be acting as Sir Laurence Mongeau the third," Pierre cut off Robert's thoughts as he led him toward the staff room. "Owner of the schools and the fortune 500 company, Teleste. The schools are your philanthropic endeavors and I am your adopted son. This is the first time any of the staff are meeting you so make a good impression."

"R-right, uh, will you be joining me?" Robert glanced at the heavy door and what was likely a room full of fifty or more people.

Pierre shook his head, his gaze drifting off toward the classrooms instead of staying on his stand-in guardian. "No. I have other business to attend to."

"What sort of..." Robert swiveled around, the boy was already gone. Apparently really important business.

He hesitated at the door, overhearing the murmuring of the staff inside. Their voices grew every few seconds as they argued over things he was in no way qualified to talk about. It's just acting. And only for a bit— make a good impression and tell them the budget is fine.

Robert put on his best billionaire smile and opened the door. "Good day everyone! So sorry to keep you waiting."

"Sir Mongeau!" A plump man in a tweed suit with a large scar across his brow stumbled to his feet and offered an enthusiastic handshake. "It's truly remarkable you could make time in your busy schedule to see us. We'll make this short as possible so we don't eat any further into it."

Robert took the man's hand with a gentle grin and followed him to the center front of the room, trying his absolute best to hide how suddenly sweaty he got. Don't ruin the God damned suit. It's a thousand dollar suit.

"It's my pleasure really," he replied, gesturing to the room full of at least twenty administrative officials. "As— as I'm sure you know, the budgetary concerns for the schools have been a top priority of mine."

One woman raised her hand, "we're worried adding the intensive therapy you're intending might cut into the budgetary constraints on the student's education and care."

Right. Just repeat Pierre. He added what? Thirteen billion? Trillion? A big number— that's all that matters right? Robert nodded and paced a bit, looking more like he were contemplating the worries of the staff instead of silently fretting over how believable he was being.

"I...." he hesitated, "I understand that would be a major concern— your worries are my worries."

A ruffle of ease drifted over the crowded room, followed by a hum of relief. Good. You're doing good. Just keep at it, Rob.

"I want to make you feel confident and comfortable with your roles in this institution. I care very deeply for all of your well-being." He skirted around the answer, hoping his delay was easing them little by little while he tried to recall what Pierre had said.

"It— it won't be a problem." Robert stopped his pacing and glanced at the door, praying that he might be saved by that inordinately proffessional pre-teen barging through. "I've....I've recently came into funds from a previous business investment."

There was an audible breath of relief from the school administration, urging him to continue despite being at a loss on how to do so.

"The new program won't be an issue for the school budget as— as I'm expanding it to cover costs." Robert forced himself to tear his eyes away from the door and look around the crowd. "I'll also be increasing the budget for employee compensation and allowing more funds to be allocated toward the care of the student body and the maintenance of the schools."

"Sir Mongeau, you— what a generous thing to offer, really." The principal stood, offering another handshake that Robert had to wipe his clammy palms before obliging. "Will you be expanding the budget for the schools overseas as well?"

Guy, I have no fucking clue.

"Y— yes, I will," Robert answered, hoping that was Pierre's intention as well. "Now, I'm very sorry, but I'll have to be going now— an— I have another appointment today."

The principal gave a short and enthusiastic nod, dropping his hand so he could open the door and inadvertently free Robert from his bad acting venture.

Where the fuck did that kid go?!

Robert twisted around, half fast walking as he dipped into every open door and peeked through all the windows to find the blasted twelve year old.

"That's really pretty, far better than I could do myself."

The man halted the moment he recognized Pierre's unmistakable voice. Robert stood in one of the far west wings. A part of the building that looked more like a hospital than it did a school. A large sign at the threshold of the hall read 'infirmary', proving his assumption correct.

"Do you like flowers? What's your favorite kind?"

Robert turned toward the voice, following the sound of it toward a room. It was absolutely Pierre, but the way he spoke had none of the usual formality in it. It wasn't hard and business-like. Who is he talking to? A student?

"You know, I have a friend who is almost as beautiful as you— her favorite flower is an Iris."

Robert stopped himself at the door. Pierre sat in the far corner of the room at the foot of a very small girl's bed. The two of them had trays in their laps as they colored in pages.
The little girl couldn't have been any older than five or six. She was frail, incredibly malnourished and she fumbled with the crayon in her left hand. Her right was missing.

Cut just above the elbow, she had her arm wrapped in gauze around the bloody nub. Robert pressed his fingers to his lips at the sight, drawing in a shuddered breath and causing the girl's head to jerk up and stare at him.

"That's my father," Pierre said softly, not lifting his head. "He owns this whole place and we came here to make sure everything is going well. He won't hurt you."

Robert pulled in small gasp, shoving down his shock and offered a meager wave to the girl, not moving from his place.

Pierre set his colors down and picked up his page to show the little girl, a gentle and sweet smile on his face. "All done! And just in time! I hope you don't mind, but I promise I'll be back to visit, okay?"

The little girl nodded once and haphazardly shoved her paper toward him to show off what she'd made as well. Pierre gave a sweet little laugh, complementing her cteative use of color as he stood up to leave.

"I'll see you later? Promise me you'll make some friends okay?" He said, and once he got another nod he turned and that lovely tender kindness in his face vanished the moment he looked away from her.

"Pierre—"

"I'm late for my next appointment." The boy cut him off, his voice riddled with that proffessional formality once more. He stepped past Robert without a second thought and began toward the main entrance.

"That girl— she doesn't— what happened to her arm?!" Robert chased him, it felt like he walked faster to avoid the conversation. But he still answered him.

"Hartherworn's men cut it off," he said, turning hard right down the hall toward the front doors. "They cut off her legs as well."

What? No. No who would— why...

"She was there? And you..." Robert gulped, forcing down the bile in his throat at the thought of such a small girl going through such horrendous torment.

"She was modified to be sold to Ikeishi Muramoto," Pierre explained, keeping his head low and away from the eyes of students roaming the halls on their way back from lunch. "The Family calls him The Dollmaker."

Doll...maker? The Family?

"That's horrific," it was all Robert could find to say. It was worse than horrific. So much worse that words didn't exist in the English language to accurately convey just how awful it was.

"They do horrific things to people," Pierre remarked, finally stopping at the door. It was noon, as he stayed just inside the shadow cast by the ceiling, long enough for Robert to get a good look at him.

The boy’s entire demeanor had deflated, that proper stiffness now slouched despite the visible effort he made not to do so. And his crimson eyes drifted, planting his focus somewhere far off that Robert couldn't find, looking hollow and exhausted.

"Pierre..." Robert hesitated, wanting so terribly to reach out and provide much deserved comfort to the kid. "I'm— you..."

Pierre shrugged, side stepping the moment he lifted his hand to remain out of reach.

"I'm hungry. Let's leave."