by Unknown
“George? George Nichols is your father?”
He nodded, still with that goofy smile on his face. But, now his smile meant a lot more to Allison than it had just a few minutes ago.
“What’s your name, son?”
“I’m Frank.”
She slipped her hand through the window. “Pleased to meet you, Frank. And, your father is one of the kindliest, most gentlemanly men I’ve ever met.”
He shook her slender hand. “Thank you, ma’am. He is a great guy, isn’t he?”
“Do you have a girlfriend, or wife, Frank?”
“A girlfriend, ma’am.”
“Why don’t you take her out for a nice dinner on me at Trump’s restaurant in my building? Called ‘Sixteen,’ and it’s one of the best in Chicago. Just give my name and it will be my pleasure.”
Frank shook his head. “Oh, no, ma’am. I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right. But, thanks.”
Allison realized all of a sudden what she’d done. Insulted his integrity as a police officer, an officer who was letting her off from a big fine and possible loss of license. Of course he couldn’t accept. She was just so accustomed to thrusting out favors to people, she didn’t even think.
“I’m so sorry, Frank. That wasn’t the right thing for me to say. I was just so thankful, and overjoyed to hear that you’re George’s son. Please accept my apology. That was very improper.”
He tipped his cap. “No problem at all, Ms. Fisher. It was a pleasure to meet you, a real pleasure. Please drive carefully.” Then, he was gone.
Allison waited until the cruiser drove away, then she pulled slowly out from the curb and moved at a responsible speed the rest of the way home.
It took her another hour to get there, but she sighed in relief when she finally pulled up out front, only to be greeted by George himself, who took her keys and tossed them to the valet.
Allison threw her arms around George and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. Then, she pulled back and looked into his grandfatherly eyes.
“I met your son, Frank, today. He let me off on a speeding ticket. Such a wonderful and polite young man, just like his dad. Even the ‘young’ part.”
George smiled. “Well, it is a small world, isn’t it? Yes, I’m proud of him and he was probably real thrilled to meet you. I talk about you all the time.”
Allison laughed. “He told me that. George, do you have a crush on me?”
“Yes, but don’t you dare tell my wife!”
“I wouldn’t think of it. She’s such a lucky woman.”
“Speaking of lucky, when on earth are you going to get lucky?”
“George!” Allison slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “How do you know I’m not getting lucky?”
“Because I’m the doorman. I know everything.”
“Maybe I’m sneaking out, instead of sneaking men in. Have you ever considered that?”
“No. You’re not a cheap thrills kind of lady. I’m talking about a real romance, Allison, someone for you to fall in love with.”
Allison’s eyes dropped and she stared at the sidewalk. “Well, it’s tough. And, you’re right, it’s been five years now, so it’s about time. But, it’s…tough.”
George leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry. I’ve made you sad. It’ll happen in good time. Just don’t work so much—give yourself time for yourself. And…I reserve the right to interrogate the guy before you marry him, okay? Deal?”
She lifted her eyes and smiled. “For sure, you will definitely be the one I’ll turn to. You’ll probably scare him away, but I wouldn’t trust anyone more than you.”
Allison gave George a little wave and headed towards the front door. She stopped and glanced back. He was still standing on the sidewalk, watching her.
“Well? Aren’t you going to do your damn job and open the door for me?”
* * * * *
Trump Tower was a ninety-eight storey behemoth, towering in spectacular fashion over the Chicago skyline. It was the sixteenth tallest building in the world, and fourth tallest in the United States.
But, the tallest building in America was actually the building where Allison worked—the Willis Tower, at 108 stories. The head office of the company she and her brother owned, Diamond Hotels International, took up four floors in that iconic building, which at one time had been famously known as the Sears Tower.
Her apartment in the Trump Tower was on the ninetieth floor, and was a luxurious 3,000 square feet. More space than she needed, but for her it was soothing to have room to wander around.
And, she did a lot of that—she didn’t sleep very well, or very often. Many a night would find her wandering back and forth between her three bedrooms, the kitchen, the living room, the study, the gym—and then inevitably just lying down on the floor, head propped up in her hand, looking out at the view.
And the view was magnificent. Floor to ceiling windows, looking down over the Chicago River and the entry to the massive body of water known as Lake Michigan.
Allison knew Donald Trump personally. Well, of course she did. Donald knew everyone who mattered, and with her hotel chain being one of the world’s largest, he had made a point of knowing her. And, making sure that everyone in the world knew that he knew her.
She didn’t mind. And, she actually didn’t even mind Donald. Sure, he had an ego, but that was also part of his persona, his act. He was a showman, and a lot of what he did, he did with his tongue firmly planted in his cheek.
Allison hadn’t seen him much lately, though. Ever since he’d launched his presidential bid, he didn’t visit Chicago very much any more.
She had to hand it to him though—this Trump Tower was one of the most magnificent structures in the world. Just to look at it from the street was an eye candy experience.
It gave the impression of being solid glass, with three setback features that matched with surrounding buildings. The effect on the eyes was one of pure splendor, and it was a building that was hard to move your eyes from. When Donald did something, he did it right. People may find reasons to criticize him, but they would be hard pressed to deny his sense of creation. And, his power to simply make things happen.
Allison enjoyed living there—it was close to the Willis Tower, so she didn’t spend her whole day commuting to work and back. And, it was convenient to everything.
Because of who she was, most people assumed that she was into the typical billionaire lifestyle. But, she wasn’t. She had inherited this. It wasn’t her choice. It just…happened.
She would have preferred to be running along the Chicago River pathway right now, but was far too tired. She also wanted to cook something nice, but was too tired for that, too.
She’d probably just order a pizza.
Allison Fisher walked over to her telescope and adjusted the view. Closed in on her office in the Willis Tower, glad that for now she wasn’t there. Tonight, she’d take a good look at the sky. That’s how she liked to spend her evenings, scanning the heavens. Most people would be surprised to learn that she didn’t spend her nights in the clubs.
Allison Fisher was an astrophysicist.
Masquerading as an hotelier.
The masquerade had started five years ago. Allison was working as an astronomer at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, enjoying what she did, but not making very much money at it. The big money was in the family business, the hotel business. But, she’d shunned that in favor of following her heart and her passion at the JPL.
Her younger brother, Robert, had joined their dad and mom, but he wasn’t the favored one. Her dad, also named Robert, found him a job on the executive floor, but the one he really wanted to be there was Allison. Robert didn’t have the same brainpower, the same ‘can do’ attitude. A nice guy, but not heavily endowed with gray cells.
Allison had married her high school sweetheart. A graduate of the Wharton School of Business—coincidentally the same school Trump had attended—and an absolute marketing whiz. He joi
ned the family business in her place, and understood why Allison wanted no part of it. Jack was just that kind of guy—understanding, considerate, kind, and she’d loved him with all of her heart.
But, Allison just wanted to be up in the stars. Not hanging around boardrooms.
It happened five years ago…
She was attending a conference in Seattle, and her parents and Jack were attending a hotel opening down in Los Angeles. They had decided to drive up and join her in Seattle, and from there the plan was to cross the border into Canada and do the Rocky Mountain trek.
They never got that far.
On the coastal highway in Oregon, they drove off a cliff. The police suspected that her father had fallen asleep at the wheel. But, there wasn’t much left of anything to be able to determine what the cause had really been. It didn’t matter. Her father, mother, and beloved hubby were all dead. All gone in the blink of an eye.
Allison and her brother, Robert, became instant owners of one of the most famous and luxurious hotel chains in the world.
She’d lost not only the absolute love of her life, but also her dynamic and caring parents, whom she’d cherished more than life itself.
But, Allison inherited more than just a hotel chain. She also inherited a sacred trust, and by default became a member of a secret society.
The Majestic 12.
Not that she wanted it any more than she wanted the hotel chain. It was an obligation. And, one that she had no choice but to honor, because it was an obligation thrust upon her by her father.
She had been groomed to be his replacement, a post she knew she’d have to assume eventually. If her dad ever developed dementia and was declared unfit, or when he eventually died of old age.
He’d just died earlier than anyone had ever expected.
Allison learned about Majestic 12 at a fairly young age. Her dad had spent weeks with her, explaining how it had started and why it had started. How her grandfather was one of the founding members, one of the original twelve. And, how, when he died, the baton had been passed to her father.
And, now, the baton had passed to her.
Allison was thirty-eight years old now and rich beyond her wildest dreams.
And, privy to secrets that any conspiracy theorist would kill to be privy to.
In one respect, she was honored to be a part of such an elite group. And, the cause, for the most part, was a noble one.
In another respect, it made her feel dirty. Made her feel like she was cheating the world and all its naïve beings who thought that everything was just hunky dory.
That dirty feeling had come to her today, looking into the eyes of Frank, the boyish police officer. Him doing her a favor just because he was a nice guy, and because he thought she was a nice lady.
And, then, she had that feeling again when George kissed her on the forehead. George who cared about everyone else more than himself. Cared that Allison found the right man, wanted her to fall in love again. He had such simple ‘wants.’
If only he knew.
She walked over to the window again, peered through her telescope, and focused in on one particular cluster of stars.
Allison sighed with contentment.
And, she thought how ironic it was that up there everything did indeed look hunky dory.
Chapter 9
There were plenty of perfect sites in Nelson for a luxury hotel. Especially on the fringes of the small city, where the cluster of old heritage buildings transitioned into more rural living. Kootenay Lake, of course, was the jewel, and any hotel would want to take in that view, and possibly even incorporate a marina if the hotel was situated close to the water.
Wyatt was sitting in the Rockies Café with his father, waiting for the mayor and the hotel lady to arrive. It was an exciting day…for everyone. But, particularly for his dad, who seemingly was on the verge of having his most impactful sculpture displayed right in his own city. Wyatt could tell he was proud—not just for himself, but for every American who’d settled here. Finally, they were going to have a monument erected in their honor.
“So, Dad, what are you thinking?”
Willy grabbed the coffee pot and refilled both of their cups.
“Son, I’m just bursting with joy. You know, I’m an artist and, just like any artist, recognition is important. But, I left that need behind a long time ago—back when I was just struggling. I’ve made my mark, my works are displayed everywhere and art has made me a somewhat rich man. But, this…this is just so different.”
“Yeah, it’s personal for you this time, isn’t it?”
“Damn right it is.” Willy waved his hand, gesturing around the crowded café full of men and women in their sixties, all of them looking a lot younger than they really were. “These people made this town the city that it is today. They chose Canada, chose us for our freedom and peaceful attitudes. And, they stayed—they damn well stayed. Didn’t go running back when they were offered amnesty. We need to recognize that and thank them for who they are.”
Wyatt nodded and glanced around the café. He knew most of the people who were drinking coffee this morning; it was a daily ritual for some of them. The informal morning coffee club. Nothing organized—these old draft-dodgers didn’t believe in schedules or organized events. Everything was spontaneous and spur of the moment for them—maybe it was the era they grew up in, or maybe just because if they hadn’t run to Canada they might have lost their lives in a war that no one understood or believed in. Perhaps they realized life was more precious than the average person did.
A couple of men got up from a table in the corner and started walking towards the door. They noticed Wyatt and Willy, and detoured their way.
One of them, who Wyatt knew as Jim Barnes, called out in a bellowing voice, “Hey, Chief, why aren’t you out there protecting us from all those obnoxious American tourists?”
Wyatt laughed. “I think I’ll leave that to you, Jim. You probably still speak the language, don’t you?”
Both men pulled up chairs and sat down.
Jim was a lawyer and ran a small office on Baker Street. But, no one would peg him as a lawyer, not in a million years. He was wearing blue jeans and a Toronto Blue Jays t-shirt, rounded off with an Argonauts ball cap and a short ponytail hanging down the back of his neck. The other guy was Steve Jackson, who was a little less obvious about the aging hippie look. Steve wore a mustard-colored leather jacket and a Tilley hat. Steve ran a sporting goods store.
Both men were immensely successful, and extroverts in the extreme.
Jim’s law office was known throughout British Columbia as one of the shrewdest firms for tort cases. He didn’t look the part, but opposing lawyers feared him. He never lost, and while tort cases weren’t common in a small city like Nelson, that was just where Jim lived.
Every week or so, he flew his private jet out of the Castlegar Airport to Vancouver, to spend time in his second office there and litigate cases that were more common in the bigger cities. Jim’s fee was $500 an hour, and he was worth every cent. He always dressed casual, except when he had to preside over a deposition or argue a case in court. Then, he reluctantly wore a suit.
And, Steve, well, he was the ultimate extreme sports guy. His store specialized in ski equipment, both for water and snow. In addition, he owned two helicopters and, like Jim, was a licensed pilot. He and another pilot on his staff, took people up for mountaintop heli-tours, soaring over the peaks of the Selkirk Mountains and occasionally venturing eastward over the Monashees, the Bugaboos, and the Rockies.
In the winter, a big part of Steve’s sports equipment and helicopter tour business was flying daredevils up to where the virgin snow was, well away from any ski resorts. Heli-skiing was becoming big business, as skiers were demanding bigger and better hills and thrills.
Both Jim and Steve were draft-dodgers, having escaped to Canada in 1969, about a year before their names would have been called.
They had been best friends back in the States as yo
ung twenty-somethings, and were still best friends today. They’d cheerily dashed across the 49th Parallel together forty-six years ago and then helped each other get settled in their new country.
They’d stuck together, bonded forever in the intense experience of being fugitives. They’d both even lived in the same rented house for years before they started seeing the fruits of their labours and were able to buy their own homes.
Jim patted Willy on the back. “Well, old fellow, some pretty exciting rumors going around town about you lately.”
“Hey, what do you mean by ‘old fellow,’ Jimmy-boy? Have you forgotten all the times I’ve beaten you at arm-wrestling?”
Jim, never one to back down from a challenge, either in a courtroom or a coffee shop, rolled up the right sleeve of his t-shirt and planted his elbow firmly on the table.
“No, I’ve never forgotten, Willy-boy. And, it’s driving me crazy. How the hell can an eighty-seven-year-old man beat someone more than twenty years younger? So, let’s give it another go. You’re a bit older than the last time we did this, and I had my Cheerios for breakfast.”
Willy laughed and sneered at him. “You’re still a pussy. Soft from sitting at a desk. Okay, if you insist.”
He rolled up his sleeve and they positioned their elbows against each other, hands clasped together.
Jim muttered, “Steve, you’re the referee. Be fair—to me!”
Steve chuckled. “Feels like deja-vu. Okay—ready, set, go!”
Willy smiled, and Jim grimaced, as the ‘clash of the titans’ began. But, the clash didn’t last long. Within mere seconds, Jim’s arm slammed backwards onto the table.
Rubbing his arm, consternation written across his face, Jim exclaimed, “How the hell do you do that all the time? It’s always the same. You don’t even play along and make me think I’ve got a chance!”
Willy took a sip of his coffee. “Jim, I would never tease you like that. Wouldn’t be fair to lead you on!”