The black SUV pulled to a halt at the densely wooded edge of Fox Forest.
Sierra McCoy put the car in park and turned to Aleksander.
“This is where I leave you.
Fred Andrews will take over from here.
He is the man who built your estate.”
Waiting by a dusty work truck was Fred Andrews.
He was an average, working-class man in his late forties, standing around five-foot-ten with a sturdy, muscular build.
Dressed in a faded plaid flannel shirt, denim jeans, and scuffed leather work boots, Fred looked like the exact opposite of the underworld assassins and high-tech corporate executives Aleksander was used to dealing with.
“Mr.
Morozov,” Fred greeted him, wiping a calloused hand on his jeans before offering it.
“Welcome to Riverdale.
I’m Fred.
I own Andrews Construction.”
Aleksander shook his hand, offering a polite smile.
He grabbed his sleek duffel bag from the SUV, thanked the Mayor one last time, and climbed into the passenger seat of Fred’s truck.
As they began the winding, uphill drive deep into Fox Forest, Fred couldn’t help but talk about the project.
“I’ll be honest with you, Aleksander.
Andrews Construction was going through a seriously rough patch.
We were struggling to keep the lights on.
Then, like an act of God, your father reached out.
I was absolutely shocked by the sheer scale of the blueprints.
But Mr.
Shimazu fully funded everything and gave us the support to make it happen.
This is the biggest project my company has ever built.
It saved my business.”
Aleksander looked at the earnest, hardworking man behind the wheel.
“If you ever need it, Mr. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Andrews, I can easily connect you with more clients.
Apex Industries is always looking for reliable contractors.”
Fred smiled, glancing over with genuine sincerity.
“I appreciate that, son.
Truly.
But your family has already helped me more than enough.
I’ve got my crew working steady again, and that’s all I can ask for.” He shifted gears as the truck climbed a steep incline.
“Normally, just buying a plot this size in Fox Forest requires a mountain of red tape and municipal paperwork.
But your father bypassed all of it.
Which brings us to the front door.”
The truck rolled to a stop before a towering, heavy metal gate integrated perfectly into the massive stone walls bordering the property line.
“I poured the concrete and hung the steel,” Fred explained, leaning over the steering wheel, “but Mr.
Shimazu sent his own private team to install the security systems.
They told me it runs on facial recognition, but I honestly don’t understand half the tech they put in there.”
Aleksander didn’t say a word.
He simply rolled down the passenger window and leaned his face out into the cool, misty air.
A faint, invisible infrared scanner swept over his biometrics.
A second later, a heavy mechanical clack echoed through the trees, and the massive steel gates smoothly swung open.
Fred chuckled in disbelief and drove them inside.
The private driveway cut through a gauntlet of ancient, brooding pines before opening up into a sprawling circular motor court.
The estate did not just sit in the forest; it dominated it.
The architecture was a stunning collision of white concrete, brushed steel, and sweeping, curvilinear glass.
The rooflines were formed by overlapping, saucer-like circular structures, giving the entire mansion the appearance of a sleek spacecraft grounded in the misty woods.
Flanking the motor court was a private helipad and a terraced infinity pool that seemed to bleed directly into the heavy fog hanging over the river valley.
Fred parked the truck and led Aleksander inside to the main living quarters.
The interior was ultra-modern, airy, and ruthlessly minimalist—a stark, brilliant contrast to the tarnished, retro decay of Riverdale below.
The primary living space was a massive open floor plan enclosed almost entirely by curved, floor-to-ceiling impact glass, offering an uninterrupted panoramic view of the dark forest and the distant, flickering neon sign of Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe through the rain.
The design favored stark whites, polished chrome, and charcoal leather.
A sunken conversation pit anchored the center of the room, sharing the expansive space with a sleek black grand piano and a sweeping modern staircase.
What Fred couldn’t see was that the house was already alive.
Aleksander’s eyes tracked the integrated smart-home technology hidden beneath the surfaces—biometric scanners concealed in the doorframes, invisible directional speakers, and transparent glass panels ready to double as glowing, interactive computer interfaces controlled by Cortana.
“And down here,” Fred said, leading Aleksander toward a sleek glass elevator, “is the basement.
Or, well, the bunker.”
The subterranean level was carved directly into the damp bedrock of the bluff.
When the elevator doors opened, a cavernous, pristine space flooded with sterile, cool-white lighting was revealed, completely shutting out Riverdale’s perpetual gloom.
Fred gestured to the vast, polished concrete floors.
He knew he had built a massive underground shell, but he had absolutely no idea what was actually installed after his crew laid the drywall and left.
One half of the massive room now served as a high-end garage, displaying a multi-million-dollar fleet of vintage roadsters and exotic supercars that would make the Southside Serpents weep.
But the other half was a cutting-edge engineering sanctuary.
It was dominated by floating, three-dimensional holographic workstations and automated, articulated robotic assistant arms mounted seamlessly to the floor.
Built into the reinforced back wall was a heavily illuminated, glass-encased vault system—a recessed armory stocked with custom carbon-steel blades, guns, and tactical kinetic suits.
Fred looked around the room, completely oblivious to the invisible holographic emitters waiting in the ceiling and the hidden seams of the armory vault disguised behind the reinforced walls.
“We poured the foundation thick enough to survive a bomb,” Fred noted proudly.
“Whatever you’re planning to do down here, you’ve got the space for it.”
“It is perfect, Mr.
Andrews,” Aleksander said quietly, stepping out of the glass elevator into his new sanctuary.
“Absolutely perfect.”