And—as children do—the young teen girls believed him.
Also the children looked up to the older girls, who had no choice but to make the younger ones feel at home. One big happy family, that’s how Anders saw it. Until the girls grew up.
When the girls became teenagers, Anders could watch their attitudes change. In the mornings, when he tried to comfort them or ask about their nights, they would turn away at his touch. They didn’t look forward to seeing him.
Which was why the awakening was so important.
After the awakening, the teenage girls better knew their place. They would make the younger girls happy, please the customers, and never—not ever—cross Anders McMillan. Otherwise the next awakening would be worse.
The fear he instilled in them from their fourteenth birthdays usually lasted till the girls turned nineteen. Then, somehow, another switch seemed to flip. Fear turned to sarcasm and obedience became arrogance. At that point, the girls clearly hated their existence and were smart enough to plot their escape. Whether they were reading from the house library or not.
So Anders had figured out a way to deal with this, also. As soon as the attitude surfaced, the older teen girls were given an incentive. Work hard, help the younger girls, recruit new children and take good care of the clients. If they did everything right, when they turned twenty they would get an envelope of cash. Ten thousand dollars.
And they could go free.
Anders took a sip of his Tanqueray and tonic. Since his business opened, every one of his girls had been gullible enough to believe him. It hadn’t occurred to any of them that Anders would never dream of letting his girls go. Not when they had enough information to send him to prison for life.
Not with his money in their pockets.
Freedom was an illusion for Palace girls. By the time they were twenty, they were beyond miserable. So Anders considered their death a gift, in some ways. The gift of putting them out of their misery.
In the beginning, he had tried holding on to the older girls—after all, they were good at what they did. Like Alexa, they brought top dollar. But the older girls kept trying to run away. He could drug them. But then they didn’t work well. So Anders had gotten in the habit of setting the girls free in another way.
Permanently.
He took another sip of his drink. The ocean was particularly beautiful today. Quiet. Serene. Each of his girls had this same view from the Palace. Every day. They were well fed and dressed like royalty. Why would any of them ever want to leave? Anders couldn’t understand it.
Beside him on the sofa, a quiet alarm buzzed on his cell phone. Fifteen minutes till showtime. More new men had sailed into the harbor today, a few of them first-timers. Anders smiled. Business was booming.
He shut the alarm off and then stared at the phone.
How was old Henry Thomas Ellington III doing, any way? It had been far too long since the senior Henry had been to the Palace. Surely his son had told him about his beautiful bride, and that the deal between the families was definitely on. Anders almost would’ve expected a call or a text from the young man’s father. Some sort of connection or celebratory moment.
Anders had time, so without giving the matter another thought, he found Henry the Third in his contacts and tapped the number.
A chat with the man would be good for his soul. Henry and Anders. Just a couple of like-minded businessmen whose collective business was about to multiply threefold. At least. The phone rang. Then it rang again. Another time, and another. Henry didn’t always pick up right away.
But as the phone rang and rang, a strange feeling began to work its way through Anders’s gut. In the recent past—when this deal was being worked out—Henry’s voice mail would pick up. But by the seventh ring, Anders knew something was wrong. Henry wouldn’t change his cell number.
Anders set his drink down. In a few clicks he was calling Henry’s law firm. After a few seconds, a serious-sounding woman answered. “Ellington, Benson, and Farmer, how can I help you?”
He exhaled. Everything was fine. Henry must’ve just been out of service or lost his phone. Anders cleared his throat. “Henry Ellington the Third, please.”
On the other end, the woman went silent. Anders counted the seconds, and it wasn’t until five had passed that she spoke. “I’m sorry… who is this?”
Anders thought fast. “Mark Lewis from Rhode Island. A friend of Henry’s. He didn’t answer his cell phone.”
“Oh.” The woman paused again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lewis. I hate to have to tell you this. Mr. Ellington passed away two days ago.”