On the following morning, Adrian and Julian arrived at the imposing gates of Snigograd's Zorkin Orphanage Home. Nestled in the Northern District, this orphanage was surrounded by the hustle and bustle of factory workers' lives.
In the sprawling expanse of the Northern District, where towering factory chimneys belched acrid plumes of smoke into the skies, life unfurled against a backdrop of relentless industry. This gritty enclave predominantly housed the toiling factory workers, their weary lives woven into the fabric of smog, dirt, and grime that blanketed the district. Unlike the Eastern and Southern slums, where various gangs vied for control and supremacy, the Northern District existed as an anomaly, largely untouched by organized criminal factions. Law enforcement in this domain remained lax, perhaps with the exception of the territory bordering the prestigious and meticulously controlled Central District. The absence of firm control and the chaotic skirmishes among small-time gangs effectively forged a unique community, a distinct class of individuals who had assumed the role of catering to the needs of the beleaguered labor force.
These resourceful denizens of the Northern District had embraced a thriving underground economy, a lifeline to the exhausted workers who sought solace and relief from the drudgery of their daily routines. Here, amidst the smog-choked streets, one could find a clandestine network of entrepreneurs. Their trade involved supplying the factory hands with sustenance, alcohol to numb the pain, potent drugs to dull the harshness of existence, and even more intimate services, all for a price that, while fair, bore witness to the ever-increasing desires and appetites of the discontented workforce. With each passing year, these longings swelled and matured, morphing the Northern District into a crucible of raw desires, an enclave where the boundaries of legality and propriety blurred in the unrelenting pursuit of escape and release.
Setting up an orphanage in the heart of the Northern District might seem like an unconventional choice, but the late Lady Juliana Zorkin possessed a strategic mind that surpassed conventional wisdom. This gritty district was teeming with parentless children, idle and susceptible to slipping into petty criminality out of sheer boredom. Lady Zorkin, a shrewd businesswoman, recognized this as an opportunity rather than an obstacle. She acquired an aging, dilapidated hotel that had once offered panoramic views of the picturesque countryside, attracting the capital's elite. However, as the area succumbed to industrialization and factories, those scenic vistas were lost, and the hotel's patrons vanished, opting for the verdant splendor of Faber Forest in the southwestern part of the city.
With a generous purse and a vision, Lady Zorkin embarked on an extensive renovation of the old hotel. In no time, the establishment transformed into a haven for the city's downtrodden youth, thanks, in part, to the support of the local police department. Lady Juliana's ingenious plan involved forging partnerships with numerous factory owners. She promised them an unending stream of labor, painstakingly groomed to be a disciplined and industrious workforce. These future workers would not clamor for higher wages; instead, they would feel indebted to their benevolent employers.
Over the years, the orphanage flourished, its success reverberating across Snigograd and beyond. Lady Zorkin expanded her philanthropic empire to other major cities throughout the Empire. Her popularity and wealth soared to unprecedented heights, and the public hailed her as a paragon of virtue. She seemed to embody the noble ideal of helping the impoverished and neglected, all while residing in opulent luxury herself.
However, as time wore on, the pristine reputation of Zorkin Orphanage Homes began to tarnish. Leaked documents revealed a grim reality: the graduates had few prospects beyond the factory floor. Rumors swirled that the orphanage had evolved into a hotbed of revolutionary fervor, a clandestine training ground for Jeremy Alder and his militant followers, preparing for a grand upheaval against the Royal establishment. Lady Juliana, once a prominent figure in the public eye, gradually retreated into the seclusion of her mansion. Meanwhile, the authorities launched an investigation into the alleged connections between the orphanage and the Alderian Labor League, casting a shadow over the institution's once-pristine image.
As Adrian and Julian arrived, the building loomed, its dark red brick facade adorned with black metal spikes atop its towers.
"It does seem eerie, doesn't it?" Julian remarked, eyeing the building's imposing exterior.
"Perhaps it's a better place to spend your childhood than the dark alleys of the Eastern slums," Adrian quipped.
As Adrian and Julian entered the Zorkin Orphanage Home, they found themselves enveloped in an atmosphere steeped in history and melancholy. The grand entrance hall welcomed them with a majestic, life-sized portrait of Lady Juliana Zorkin, resplendent in a luxurious gown. She wore a large, ornate merry widow hat adorned with a riot of colorful feathers, a stark contrast to the somber backdrop of her attire. Her expression in the painting seemed frozen in a half-smile, a poignant reminder of the woman behind this charitable endeavor.
The room bore remnants of its past life as a hotel, with traces of faded opulence still evident in the ornate fixtures. A once-functional reception desk now served as a repository for paperwork and assorted materials. Behind it, an elderly man stood, his countenance etched with a deep sense of weariness and perhaps even bitterness. His eyes, heavy with the weight of years, seemed to assess the newcomers with a hint of recognition, as if he already knew the nature of their visit.
Suddenly, a burst of youthful energy erupted as a group of boys darted between the detectives, narrowly avoiding a collision with Julian. Amid their raucous laughter, they flung a soggy ball of crumpled newspapers in his direction. Julian, caught off guard, couldn't suppress a muttered curse under his breath. The mischievous boys found the situation highly amusing, their laughter echoing through the once-dignified space.
Adrian, however, remained composed, removing his hat with a practiced ease. With a disarming smile, he approached the reception desk, ready to engage with the world-weary attendant.
"Wild kids you have here," he said, offering a warm smile.
"What do you want? Your kind isn't welcome here," the elderly receptionist sneered.
Taken aback, Adrian decided to change tactics. "I'm Adrian Belinsky, and this is Julian Novak from the Police Department. We'd like to speak with your superior."
"I don't care if you're the Emperor himself. You're not welcome," the receptionist retorted.
Julian, trying to shake off the wet newspaper remnants, attempted to defuse the situation. "Sir, we're here to ask a few questions. We come in peace."
"We've had enough of your kind around here," the receptionist spat. "You've already killed our beloved Lady Zorkin, and now you want to take away the only good thing she left behind—the orphanages!"
Adrian, shifting his demeanor, adopted a stern tone. "Let me make this clear, old man. We have evidence of a direct link between your late patroness and that terrorist Jeremy Alder. The game is over. The Police and Royal Department will be finalizing the paperwork to seize all the Zorkin Orphanage Homes buildings, along with arresting everyone working here."
The receptionist squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "Why are you here, then? Just interrogate us as criminals we are then!"
Adrian's smile revealed a set of gleaming white teeth. "Because I have that evidence, and if you cooperate, we can ensure it never reaches the Royal Department."
Julian tensed, eyeing Adrian, who seemed lost in thought. The spark in Adrian's eyes ignited, but Julian knew that Adrian couldn't fulfill his promise. The evidence had to reach the Royal Department; anything less would be considered treason.
The receptionist, skeptical, asked, "How can I trust you won't lie?"
"You'll have to trust my word," Adrian responded. "Either way, it's not your decision to make; it's your supervisor's. Now, lead the way."
The old man hesitated, glancing around, then let out a deep sigh. "I won't take you. Find Miss Tally yourselves. I won't be involved in this. Her office is at the top floor down the corridor."
Adrian smiled, “That’s the way old man.114Please respect copyright.PENANAc4fOFjKXb4
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