INICIAR SESIÓNThat was the night I discovered that my grandfather was in fact more of a “creative entrepreneur” himself. During that meeting I’d learn about the history of the “Westside Thorns.” Its roots stretch all the way back to the late 1700s during the various events leading the the American Revolution. An armed militia of elite families based in Westside Manhattan began patrolling the streets to keep the people safe from British officers who often abused the rules of hospitality. “We keep our people safe, we always have,” he explained. “During the civil war and before, we helped enslaved Americans find and keep their freedom, many taking places among our ranks, and later as the streets grew tougher, we used our might to protect our people from human trafficking, drugs, and other dangers.”He also explained how their recruitment process worked. Many of their leaders have come from the original elite families, including the Grants. “I was recruited the other way–I was rescued from a forced i
[Hunter]Mr. Rose exhaled slowly. "Maybe you should start at the beginning." He smiled. "I already know some of it, maybe you can fill in the rest." I looked over at my friends. Ace looked guilty but Katelyn looked resigned, as if keeping a secret from her father was impossible. "Sorry to throw you under the bus, Hunter, but dad saw that I had hacked into the CTV feed," Katelyn shrugged. "Again." I gaped slightly at her declaration wondering how often she broke into the city's cameras. Mr. Rose laughed. "I only noticed because I was doing my own reconnaissance." He smiled proudly at his daughter. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have noticed. It was expertly done."Katelyn blushed under her father's praise. "I'm sorry, Sir!" I apologized immediately. "Katie only did that for me. I didn't ask her too but..." Raising a hand, to silence me, I closed my mouth. "Be at ease, Hunter. I already know that my daughter is at least half as stubborn as her old man," he laughs, "and if she did something
[Hunter]“Hey, so don’t be nervous,” Ace grinned warmly as he clasped a hand on my shoulder, greeting me at the elevator after Reggie dropped me off at the front door. “My dad can be a bit intense, but he’s actually really nice. He’s strict, yeah, but he’s fair. He only punishes you if it’s deserved.” His words did nothing to ease my fears. If anyone deserved punishment it was me. I not only committed a crime, but I involved his children as accessories after the fact. “Does he ever use the men in your house to punish?” I ask nervously, voicing a concern that weighed on me from my first visit. Ace gave me a wide eyed stare, before turning his head and laughing. “Oh my god, Hunter. My dad is a mobster, but he isn’t going to kill my friend.” The way he said “mobster” at first made me think he was joking. But as the elevator descended, Ace told me a bit more about his family, finally clarifying a few details that never sat right when I considered their family’s secrecy, wealth, and he
Other than a few awkward stares, and the notes of condolence from some teachers and staff, my first day back at school since my grandparents death was weirdly normal.My grandparents, David and Eleanora Grant, were a big part of New York's elite, and were locally famous for their contributions to the arts and a wide range of city improvement projects. Our family name was on half of the hospital buildings, orphanages, and museums in town. We were an old money family who had lived in New York since before the American Revolution.But they were not like modern celebrities who flash their wealth and influence as a public flex. They were old-time classy, and so their death didn't draw the national attention you might see for a more well known name. Because of who they were in our social circle, almost every family in our school knew that they had passed, but the det
An hour later, I was standing next to my sister, our family, a matching set of dark statues. My father had made sure I looked as impeccable as the rest of us, and I was so thoroughly drugged, I almost needed a stick to prop me up. My sister and mother, black lace veils covering their faces, had more freedom of expression, but if anyone were to remove them, they’d see the same stoney faces that my father and I wore openly.The turmoil in our hearts and minds was perfectly masked by designer clothing and blank faces, ready to face the public.We were the Grants. And on that day, we were united.As we stood next to their caskets, a memorial photo from their wedding in black and white hanging on the wall above us, we stood in a line to accept the condolences of all of New York City’s elite. Altho
[Hunter]Reggie gave us a lift to the hospital in his brother's old Ford Focus. We didn't say anything on the way, the three of us were too stunned.While I was off playing cops and robbers with my fake friends, my grandparents were lying in a street bleeding out. While the police were busy searching for me for breaking into Vandersteele Tower, only a handful of blocks away at Lincoln Center my grandparents were being assaulted by real criminals who left them to die in an alley.They had tickets to Swan Lake, the same ballet performance I had said yes to every year except for this one. If I hadn't been hanging out with Debrassy, robbing a building his family already owned, I could have been there with them. They wouldn't be dying right now.The entire ride there, all I could think about is how different it would have been if I had gone to that ballet with them. Would those monsters who got their rocks off attacking old people have lifted a hand against them if they had seen a tall







