A Kiwi Heist
Summary: An oligarch flees to a private bunker in New Zealand, only for the locals to have their own plans.
Peter Branson stepped off the private jet, stepping onto a private airstrip on New Zealand's South Island. His bodyguards awaited him at the bottom of the ramp, where the hired head of security stood. Behind him, the door to the private jet closed, and it turned around. He exhaled. Behind him, the Northern Hemisphere was in economic collapse and political turmoil. Down here, he had his tax-shelter and personal shelter.
Peter Branson thought of how he'd use his fortune in a similar way in New Zealand. Aotearoa's politicians were as partial to money as any others. He stashed his valuables in a bunker he'd commissioned down here, in case he had to bugout. Now that date came, he'd be left with billions in money and assets. More importantly, he had a country to reshape to his liking.
Peter Branson prepared to order his head of security, a Maori New Zealander he knew as Richard Heke. The burly man instead grinned and whistled. From around the edge of the valley, a small army of hunters and armed irregulars descended on him. They were Pakeha, Maori, Asian, and Pacific Islander, all descending.
"Welcome to New Zealand," Heke said, a smirk on his face. "We've taken the liberty of donating some of your ill-gotten goods to local causes."
"B-but I'm paying you!" he protested.
"Not anymore, mate," Heke said. "But we left your land."
Heke handed Branson a gardener's spade and a pack of seeds. He whistled, and the vigilante posse departed. Branson saw their vehicles descend from the surrounding hills, all loaded with the art, assets, and other things he'd stashed down here. He sighed, holding the spade. He'd have to reshape New Zealand, just on a smaller, less destructive scale.