Chapter 8: Fair Price
Wilson's office smelled like old paper and older cigarettes. The lawyer himself matched the décor—seventy-something, suspenders over a yellowed shirt, the kind of small-town attorney who'd handled everything from property disputes to divorces for forty years.
He didn't like me. I could tell from the way he positioned himself between George and the door, the way his eyes tracked my movements. Wilson had figured out what I was, and he didn't approve.
Doesn't matter. The money's real.
"The paperwork's in order," Wilson said, sliding a stack of documents across his desk. "Purchase price of $180,000, paid in certified funds. Mr. Patterson retains residence rights to the upstairs apartment in perpetuity. Consulting agreement at $2,000 monthly for as long as Mr. Patterson wishes to continue."
George sat in the chair beside me, looking healthier than he had two nights ago. The tremor in his hands had steadied. Hope was powerful medicine.
"You read all this?" I asked him.
"Three times. Wilson explained the parts I didn't understand."
"Any concerns?"
"Just one." George turned to face me directly. "What happens when I'm gone? To the bar, I mean. To the people who work here."
"The two servers you have left? They stay employed. Anyone new I hire gets the same deal—fair wages, consistent hours. I'm not interested in running a sweatshop."
"And the regulars?"
I thought of the domino players, arguing about football in their corner booth. The construction workers nursing cheap beers after long shifts. The Friday night crowd that wasn't much of a crowd anymore.
"The Silver Dollar stays The Silver Dollar. I'm renovating, not replacing. The regulars will still have their place."
George was quiet for a moment. Then he picked up the pen.
"Show me where to sign."
The signatures took fifteen minutes. My hand moved across documents I barely read—the original Sam's muscle memory guiding each stroke, producing a signature that matched records from decades ago. Wilson witnessed, notarized, and filed with the efficiency of long practice.
When it was done, he handed me a set of keys.
"The property's yours, Mr. Huffman. Lord help anyone who has to deal with you."
Charming.
George walked me to the door. His step was lighter, his shoulders less bowed. I'd bought him time—not against the cancer, but against the despair.
"You'll be there tonight?" he asked. "At the bar?"
"Tomorrow. I have other business tonight."
"The Sheriff. Wilson mentioned something about vampire politics."
"Registration. Standard procedure. Nothing to worry about."
George's hand found my arm—a brief touch, quickly withdrawn. "Thank you. I know you're getting something out of this. I'm not naive. But thank you anyway."
I didn't know how to respond. In my old life, I'd closed a hundred deals, shaken a thousand hands, offered empty gratitude and received the same. This felt different.
"Take care of yourself, George. I need you healthy for the grand reopening."
The Sunset Motel's hot water lasted sixteen minutes and forty-three seconds. I tracked the decline, standing under the spray until steam gave way to tepid disappointment.
Renovation costs. Water heater repair. Roof work. New signage.
The numbers scrolled through my mind as I dressed. $180,000 for the property. Maybe $50,000 for renovations, depending on how much I did myself. That left me with negative cash flow for at least six months, assuming I could attract customers.
Unless I find another revenue stream.
The system interface pulsed at the edge of my vision, responding to my thoughts.
QUEST COMPLETE: FIRST TERRITORY
Acquired: The Silver Dollar (Monroe, Louisiana)
Rewards Pending:
Dominion +5Authority +2500 Blood Points
NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: Establish Operations
Objectives:
Renovate establishment (0/1)Hire staff (0/2)Open for business (0/1)
Rewards: Dominion +3, Wealth +5, Network Ability Unlocked
The rewards registered as warmth spreading through my limbs. Dominion climbed from 5 to 10. Authority crept from 8 to 10. Blood points accumulated in a reserve I was only beginning to understand.
Progress. Measurable, trackable progress.
I'd spent thirty-four years in corporate America chasing metrics that never quite satisfied. Now I had a system that quantified growth in ways my old life never could. Every acquisition, every relationship, every territory—all of it feeding into something larger.
Don't get addicted to the numbers. They're tools, not goals.
The warning surfaced from some rational corner of my mind. I filed it away for later consideration.
My phone showed 9:47 PM. Elena's deadline was still two days away. The Eric registration could happen tomorrow. Tonight belonged to planning.
I spread property documents across the motel bed. The Silver Dollar's blueprints—obtained from the Monroe planning office for $50 and a glamoured clerk—showed a simple layout. Main bar room, kitchen, storage, upstairs apartment. Nothing fancy, nothing hidden.
That changes.
I sketched modifications. A basement, if the water table permitted. Light-tight rooms for vampire guests. A private entrance for discrete clientele. The public face would remain a roadhouse—beer, music, local atmosphere. The private services would be something else entirely.
A neutral ground. A place where deals happen.
Monroe sat outside Shreveport's immediate attention. Eric Northman ran Area 5 from Fangtasia, focused on the population centers and tourist trade. A small operation in Monroe wouldn't threaten his position. Might even be useful—a satellite location for overflow, a discrete venue for business he couldn't conduct at home.
Useful. That's the angle. Make yourself valuable before you become visible.
The planning consumed hours. By the time I noticed the clock, it was 3 AM, and I'd filled a notebook with renovation schedules, staffing plans, and financial projections.
Old habits.
I closed the notebook and stared at the motel ceiling. Somewhere in Shreveport, Eric Northman was holding court at Fangtasia, surrounded by tourists and sycophants. Somewhere in Monroe, George Patterson was sleeping in the apartment above my bar, dreaming whatever dying men dream.
And somewhere in the Louisiana woods, a shallow grave sat empty—the earth still disturbed where I'd clawed my way out three nights ago.
Three nights. That's all it's been.
The thought should have terrified me. Instead, I felt only clarity. Purpose. The kind of focus I'd chased for decades in corner offices and conference rooms.
This is what I was waiting for. A second chance with stakes that matter.
Tomorrow: Eric. The night after: Elena. The week after: construction begins.
I reached for the phone and dialed a number from memory—the original Sam's contractor contact, a man named Rodriguez who worked nights and didn't ask questions.
"Yeah?"
"Mr. Rodriguez? This is Sam Huffman. I have a project in Monroe. Significant renovation, tight timeline. You available?"
A pause. The sound of a television in the background.
"Huffman. The vampire?"
"Does it matter?"
"Matters for pricing. Vampire work costs extra."
"I'll pay extra. Can you start next week?"
Another pause. "Yeah. I can start next week."
"Tomorrow night, The Silver Dollar on Third Street. Bring your crew for a walkthrough."
I hung up before he could negotiate. The pieces were falling into place—property acquired, contractor engaged, Elena's consideration pending.
Now I just had to survive the Viking.
Author's Note / Support the Story
Your Reviews and Power Stones help the story grow! They are the best way to support the series and help new readers find us.
Want to read ahead? Get instant access to more chapters by supporting me on Patreon. Choose your tier to skip the wait:
⚔️ Noble ($7): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public.
👑 Royal ($11): Read 17 chapters ahead of the public.
🏛️ Emperor ($17): Read 24 chapters ahead of the public.
Weekly Updates: New chapters are added every week. See the pinned "Schedule" post on Patreon for the full update calendar.
👉 Join here: patreon.com/Kingdom1Building