by Sienna Ciles
As I walked in, he reached for a walking stick that was leaning against his chair and used it to heave himself up to a standing position. He held out a hand, which I shook. As he gripped my hand, I was quite surprised at the strength in his grasp. He seemed possessed of a vitality that belied his years.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Carmichael, very pleased to meet you,” he said with a warm smile.
“You can call me Lanie. It's great to meet you too, Mr. Wallace,” I replied.
I was waiting for him to say, “You can call me Bill, everyone else does,” but he didn't. Instead he simply smiled, nodded, and sat back down.
“So, your father wants you to learn from me, does he?”
I nodded. “I think that's the idea, yes.”
“Good, good, well I need someone to help me out with various things, so I think this little arrangement will work out well for the both of us. Tell me, are you ready for your first assignment?”
Now we were talking. Jumping right into it! This was great. “Yes, definitely.”
“Good, good,” he said again. “Well, see, I'm trying out this new thing. A plant-based diet, you see. Great for one's health, or so I'm told. I eat dinner at precisely five thirty every afternoon, or evening, depending on how you see it. Anyways, I want you to do a little research, and put together a nice wholesome plant-based meal for me. I don't mean you have to cook it, Miss Carmichael, not at all—you can order takeout, or go get bits and pieces from various places. All that I ask is that it's healthy and wholesome, and that it's in front of me, steaming hot and ready to eat, at five thirty. That gives you just over three hours. You can take the BMW in the driveway if you need to drive, the keys are on the table over there, as are two twenty-dollar bills, which will cover the cost of the meal—and from which you will hopefully bring me some change. You can get yourself something to eat too, of course, with that money.”
This . . . this wasn't what I had been expecting. Not at all. However, what could I say? I wouldn't be making the best impression if I started arguing with him on the first day of the job.
“Did you get all of that, Miss Carmichael? Do I need to repeat anything?”
I shook my head.
“No, Mr. Wallace. I understand.”
“Well what are you standing there gawking for? Go on, get on with it. I'll see you again at five thirty, if you please.”
I nodded and headed over to the table to get the car keys and the money, wondering just what I'd gotten myself into . . .
CHAPTER 4
Jax
I stared out of the window of the limo, watching the world go by as we drove through the streets of San Jose.
“How are your mother and your father?” asked Cara.
“They're good, Aunt Cara. Dad just got over that cancer scare—luckily the tumor turned out to be benign—and Mom, well she's the same. Soldiering on, you know. She's taken up power walking and mountain biking to try to stay fit. And there are plenty of great trails for walking and biking in upstate New York, as you know.”
Cara nodded, clasping her liver-spotted hands together.
“And when did you last go out there to visit them?”
“Around six months ago,” I said, looking away as I felt a flush of guilt heat up my cheeks.
“Six months! You should see them more often than that, Ernest. It's not as if you're a poor, struggling software engineer who just started a fledgling company out here anymore! No, from everything I've read you're doing very, very well, especially since Quickchat has just exploded across the country—and the world—like it has. It's not as if you're hurting for cash, my boy. And while your parents may seem like they're not that old, they won't be around forever. And you'll miss them when they're gone. My, my, I can't believe my niece is sixty-six years old now.”
The niece she was talking about was, of course, my mother.
“I know, I know,” I said, still feeling guilty. “You're right, I can easily afford to go out there and visit them, it's not a question of money at all, it's about time. I'm so busy with the company, Pete and I—”
“When are you going to ditch that boy? Pay him off and cut the deadweight off. He's holding you back,” she said sharply.
Her bluntness took me by surprise.
“Whoa, wait a second Aunt Cara, hold up, hold up, I can't—and I won't—ditch Pete. He's been my best friend since I was twelve years old, and he did a heck of a lot of work on Quickchat. Without him, there wouldn't be anything called Quickchat. And he's helping me out with some essential upgrades to the program, and—”
“He has the wrong attitude. He's too laid-back, too easy-going. He can't make a hard decision when a hard decision has to be made. He can't be ruthless. He doesn't have it in him. And I promise you, Ernest, when your company goes public, things are going to change. Things are really going to change. Trust me, I know all about it. I know, I know, before you say it, my company went public in the late '80s, back when you were only a little baby, and things are different now. But trust me when I say that I've been there and done that. Remember, Ernest, that I've had large shares in other companies that have undergone the same transformation in much more recent times. I'm up to date with it all, and I've seen it all, and been through it all. You need my advice, and I hope you appreciate the fact that I'm even willing to give you advice. You are my darling niece's child, but that doesn't mean I owe you a dime or a nickel or a spare minute of my time. Remember that. I'm doing this for you out of my own generosity, not because I owe you anything—and I dare say, I hope that you appreciate what I'm doing for you.”
“I do Aunt Cara, I really do, please, trust me on that. I just . . . Can we just leave the Pete issue alone for a while and talk about something else?”
She stared at me, her blue eyes cold, magnified to a huge size by the thick coke-bottle lenses of her glasses.
“Very well, we'll ignore the Pete issue for now, but sweeping problems under the rug never makes them go away, Ernest. In fact, it allows them to fester, and grow even more poisonous and rotten. And if that rot is allowed to reach the core of the company, it could spread like a plague and corrupt everything. Mark my words, you're on the cusp of true greatness here, you really are, there's no denying that. But if you go in the wrong direction, you'll slip, and you'll fall all the way into obscurity. I've seen it happen, many times.”
I nodded.
“I'll think about the Pete issue, all right?”
“You'd better.”
We pulled up to the huge wrought iron gates of her mansion and waited as they swung silently open. The limo then drove up the winding driveway and parked outside the palatial veranda at the entrance to the massive mansion in which she lived. The driver, with his smart uniform and white gloves, rushed out and hurried over to open the door on my aunt's side, and helped her out. I, meanwhile, was left to get out on my own.
We walked up to the huge doors, which swung open as if by magic as we reached them. I saw a wide-range retina scanner mounted discreetly on the wall next to the doors; it appeared that despite her advanced age, my aunt was on top of current tech trends, at least regarding security.
I walked into the marble-floored lobby, replete with tasteful modern art sculptures, paintings, and well-kept plants.
“This way, Ernest,” she said, veering off to the right.
We entered a huge, brightly lit room with floor-to-ceiling windows all around, giving a fantastic view out over the town. There was a grand piano, pearly white, and more art. On a brand-new designer sofa, a young man, dressed impeccably in what looked like an Armani suit, was sitting reading the latest copy of Forbes magazine.
He saw us walking in and smiled warmly at my aunt, but for me he had a different look—one of cool judgment, as if carefully sizing me up.
He was a good-looking man, I had to admit that. Stylishly cut blond hair was slicked back over his scalp and buzzed short at the sides, and he had a goatee of meticulously trimmed stubble. Deep-set green eyes sat beneat
h straight, thick eyebrows, and between these was a long, handsome nose.
“Mrs. Smoot, it's good to see you,” he said, his voice smooth and his attitude that of a slick charmer. “You look like you've just had a wonderful afternoon out.”
She beamed a warm smile at him.
“Thank you, Chad,” she said. “And I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. My great-nephew here wasn't as punctual as he could have been. We can go and discuss business in my study shortly. I suppose I'd better introduce you two though. Chad, this is my great-nephew Ernest J. Cooper IV. Ernest, this is a new business partner of mine, Chad Burton.”
Chad walked over to me, an unmistakable gait of arrogance and overconfidence in his stride, smiling smugly all the while. I extended a hand to him, which he gripped, and then tried to crush in his hand. I returned the favor, and he almost yelped. I could see surprise and shock flash across his face as he felt the raw strength of my grip.
We each held the grip for a few moments before letting go, testing each other out.
“You've got decent grip strength there, Ernest,” he said to me, smiling strangely. “Not too bad.”
“I do Brazilian Jiu Jitsu,” I said. “You need good grip strength for effective grappling.”
“Oh, I know,” he said casually. “I'm a black belt in BJJ. I was the Californian champion for a year, actually.”
“Really?” I said, unable to hide the skepticism in my voice. “It's kind of . . . weird that I haven't heard of you.”
He chuckled and almost looked as if I had called him out.
“Well, it was a few years ago,” he mumbled. “And anyway, I now do a new sport that takes a lot more balls. I just couldn't get the kicks, the rush I needed from BJJ. It was getting too easy to defeat my opponents, and I have to have a challenge.”
“Oh really, huh. You could just, like, beat anyone who stepped into the ring with you, could you?”
“Yeah, I could, actually.”
I nodded. He could see that I didn't believe him, but he shrugged this off with a smirk and a cool sneer.
“So, what is that you do now that takes 'so much more balls' than BJJ?”
“Free climbing. You know, rock climbing up vertical cliffs. No safety ropes, nothing. Just you, a bag of chalk, and a cliff to conquer. Now that—that you need grip strength for. When the fingertips of one hand gripping a quarter-inch lip of rock are all that stand between you and certain death a mile below, you have to have pure faith in your grip strength.”
“I bet.”
“Could you two quit jabbering?” asked my aunt, annoyed. “You're wasting my time.”
“Of course, Mrs. Smoot,” said Chad, putting on an attitude of fake politeness, sneering at me all the while. “Come, let's go have that meeting.”
“If you'll excuse me, Ernest,” she said, “Chad and I have a few things to discuss—in private. There's a butler who can take care of whatever you need while you wait. We'll be about half an hour. There are plenty of means to amuse yourself in my household, but I'd suggest picking a book on effective finance and management strategies from my library and immersing yourself in it while I'm busy. You have a lot to learn, young man, a lot, before your company goes public. So, don't waste any more of your time or mine. Go on! Busy yourself!”
She then turned to Chad and beckoned him over.
“Come on, Mr. Burton,” she said. “We have business to discuss.”
“Yes, we do, Mrs. Smoot, yes, we do,” he said, walking away and locking me with a mocking stare every step of the way. He was going to be trouble, I knew it. I could feel it in my bones . . . he was going to be trouble.
CHAPTER 5
Lanie
I was driving through the suburbs, wracking my brain on what to get Bill for dinner. Plant-based diet? What the heck was he on about? I'd heard the term before, of course, but had never paid much attention to it. And I'd always imagined it was something that, you know, hippies or animal rights activists or other weird fringe types did. Not elderly billionaire investors.
Still, as mundane as it was, he had set me this task, and I figured that I had better do it and do it right. I felt sure that it was just a matter of convenience that he had asked me to do this. Maybe his regular dinner person or whatever was taking a day off, and my real work would start tomorrow. Maybe it was some sort of test to see how efficient I was and how much attention I paid to details?
I didn't know, really. It could be any number of things. I sighed. I was supposed to be learning how to run an investment firm, so that I could start my own. I was supposed to be getting valuable tips from a grandmaster in the field—not buying his dinner for him like some domestic helper.
Still, what could I do? I couldn't argue with him, not on my first day on the job.
I had been driving for around ten minutes when I realized that I had no idea where I was going. Plant-based food? Where the hell was I going to get that? I didn't even know what it really meant.
I pulled the car over into a parking spot alongside a small park and killed the motor while I got my phone out to do some Googling. All right, first, I needed to find out exactly what this plant-based eating thing was all about.
A bit of Googling revealed that it was a way of eating that excluded meat, eggs, and dairy—pretty much anything that came from an animal. Uh, okay. That seemed pretty extreme to me, not to mention immensely restrictive. I didn't think that he wanted a plain salad with no dressing for dinner. I mean, surely, he wouldn't want something that bland and tasteless. And besides, I remembered him saying something about the meal being steaming hot or something. But what else could I get him?
I Googled “plant-based restaurant San Jose,” and surprisingly quite a few options came up. I looked for the one with the highest reviews, and then remembered that he had given me forty dollars to cover the cost of both his meal and mine. Now I could go without a meal easily enough, as I wasn't feeling too hungry, but would I fail the test—if it was a test—if I came back only with food for him? Gah! This was frustrating.
The place with the highest ratings, however, happened to be just a few blocks away, and it was a takeout place. A quick scan of the menu revealed that most items on the menu were in the ten to twenty-dollar price range, so I figured I might as well go for it.
I put the directions into my navigator app and drove there. The takeout place was called Plant Power, and when I pulled into the street it was on I was surprised to see that there was a line that came right out of the door, and that there were no open parking spots on the street. I drove around the block and managed to find a spot, and then walked over to Plant Power.
I joined the line, staring through the window as I did. The décor inside was simple but tasteful, and the place was packed. Every table was full, and of course the takeout line still extended right out of the door.
The guy in front of me in the line fit the stereotype of the type of person I imagined would be eating here—a skinny white guy with red dreadlocks, lots of tattoos and ethnic jewelry. The other people were not such stereotypes though; it looked as if people from all walks of life were queuing up to eat at this place. Interesting . . . very interesting.
A voice behind me interrupted my thoughts.
“Excuse me, this is the takeout line for Plant Power, right?”
It was the voice of a younger man, slightly gruff and pleasantly deep. I turned around and saw a guy in jogging gear standing behind me. He was tall—around six foot two or six foot three, I'd guess, and very well built. His muscular, tanned legs were slick with sweat, and the arms that extended from the sleeves of his T-shirt were similarly powerful and muscular. He had dark hair, slicked back in a trendy cut with really short sides, and his strong, square jaw was dark with a five-o' clock shadow. His brown eyes looked at me with an intense gaze from beneath strong eyebrows. He was very, very attractive, and I almost gasped when I looked at him, unable to take my eyes off him.
“Um yes, yes, it is,” I managed to stammer.
&n
bsp; He nodded, smiling at me, revealing a mouth of perfect, white teeth.
“It's a great spot, especially for a recovery shake after a good run. As you can see, I've just had a good jog. I hope I don't smell too bad,” he said with a chuckle.
I laughed. “I don't smell anything . . . yet,” I added with a wink. “So, you're uh, you're a regular here?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “It's one of my favorite spots in the city. You?”
“Oh no, it's my first time here. I, uh, I actually know almost nothing about this whole plant-based eating thing,” I admitted. “It just seems so . . . so weird. I mean, what on earth can you eat if you're cutting out well . . . all of the stuff that makes food tasty?”
He laughed. “You know, that's exactly how I used to think. But trust me, you'll change your mind after eating here. And as you can see from the line, many people who presumably had the same thought process that you do have also changed their minds about it.”
“I can see that,” I commented. “So, this place is doing really well, huh? Is it always like this?”
“Yeah, these days. They've been here for around two years now,” he replied. “Now, back when they first started, I could walk in, get my smoothie and pretty much be in and out in less than two minutes. Now . . . well, you can see for yourself.”
“It's quite amazing,” I said. “I just never would have thought that an idea like this would actually have worked.”
“It hasn't just worked,” he remarked. “It's exploded. This was the first Plant Power restaurant, but now there are two more branches in San Jose, another in San Francisco, and they're opening two in LA next month. They've got plans to expand to other states next year as well. I bet there are plenty of people who wish they'd bought shares in this little business when it first started.”
