House of Cards (Tech Billionaires)

by Ainsley St Claire

  She takes the drive and hands it to her husband. “You can watch this.”

  He nods.

  “Make sure everyone entering and exiting your room was allowed to be there so we can be more precise in our search. And just to confirm, the dress you wear in your first act is the same one on all the promotion materials and billboards, correct?” Travis asks.

  She nods. “Yes, that’s the dress.” She reaches for a picture. “Here is a complete view. It’s my heaviest dress—weighs over fifteen pounds. It would be difficult to stuff it under your arm and not be noticed.”

  Travis nods. “I agree. That’s very helpful. Anything else you can think of?”

  “Yes, I want one of your security guards in the room when I’m not here.”

  I blanch at the thought. Paying someone to be here constantly would be a colossal waste of time, talent, and money.

  “I may have another solution,” Travis says. “But I’ll have Kian from my team come down until we can iron out the details.”

  She seems happy, and that will make a difference. I’m equally frustrated that the dresses are missing, but I think it’s an inside job, and I’m not about to do marriage counseling.

  After we leave, Travis says, “Kian can sit there, but rather than leaving her costumes on the rack in her room, we should have one of her costumers come to a specific location where they’re locked away and covered. With a security escort, they can be moved—at least until we discover why her husband is stealing the gowns.”

  I nod. “That’s who I think it is, too. Can you prove it?”

  “Nope. But he’s pretty shifty, if you ask me.”

  “Agreed. Keep me posted.”

  ******

  After an eighteen-hour day, I fall into bed and realize I never reached out to Maggie. I can’t wait another day.

  Me: I miss you. If you don’t talk to me, I’m going to show up at your house and make Hazel let me in.

  Maggie: I’m here. I’m sorry.

  Me: I’m calling. Please answer the phone.

  I send my text and immediately call.

  Maggie picks up the phone but doesn’t say anything.

  “Are you there?” I ask.

  “Yes.” I hear her sigh. “I miss you, too. I don’t have a lot of friends, you know.”

  “Then why aren’t you talking to me?”

  “Because I already know what you’re going to say.”

  “Take me through it. I want to understand everything.”

  “You know my family’s expectations—business first, family second. My grandfather’s will lays it out. I’ve always known that. I just never realized it was going to affect me so personally.” She runs me through the details of her father’s will and the bombs that dropped at the reading.

  “It’s ridiculous that you have to be married, but especially to Alex. He doesn’t even like women. Why does your mother care who it is?”

  “My mother and Alex’s father want an Elite Electronics in every Bullseye. It’s an extra bonus for the future of both companies.”

  “This makes no fucking sense. You’re a human being.” I’m holding the phone so tight my hand hurts.

  She’s silent a moment.

  “You know you can put Elite in the stores without marrying Alex.”

  “Maybe, but my mother is requiring the marriage, and I have no doubt she’ll challenge things with the executor if I don’t do what she wants. I have to be married before I take charge, or we have to dissolve the company. It’s a smart business decision.”

  “You have two brothers,” I point out. She sounds like she’s been brainwashed.

  “I do, but Christopher is emancipated, and Stevie is uninterested and unqualified. I’m the only one left to fight for my family legacy—the only one who cares that Reinhardt Hudson’s and Bullseye continue to exist, because they’re what fund the Foundation that I love, and they represent generations of work that I’m not willing to walk away from. You don’t get it. I can’t walk away.” Her voice begins to crack. “If we dissolve the company, that means over five hundred thousand people don’t have jobs, can’t feed themselves, and can’t pay their bills. What choice do I have?”

  My heart hurts. “That’s a lot of pressure on you,” I say gently. Do Christopher and Stevie even understand?”

  “Christopher has tried to help, but he bailed a long time ago, so of course he thinks the wedding is my idea. We didn’t think she would enforce the provision immediately.”

  I sigh. “Yes, he’s known for a long time that your mother is a psycho.”

  She laughs, and at least I can sense a crack in her determination. “Okay, well. There is that.”

  “Christopher told me once that you were just going to hire someone to run the company after your father died.” There have to be other options.

  “Yeah, that was our plan, and we hired George Dayton to run the company even before my father was gone. One of us was going to be board chair, and he’s president of the company. Unfortunately, my mother and the family lawyer have decided our plan doesn’t meet the will’s requirements, and if challenged, they believe we’d have to dissolve.”

  “Who would challenge it?”

  “Well, like I said, my mother to start with. But I don’t know—maybe a competitor? We just can’t take the chance of losing the company.”

  “But Alex? I mean, there’s no secret he’s gay. That doesn’t even make sense. You won’t be fooling anyone. That doesn’t meet the will’s requirements either, if you ask me.”

  “No, he’s pretty out.” She sighs again. “But it seems Herbert Walker feels the only way the merger can be completed is if Alex heads part of the company.”

  I lie back in my bed and stare out into the Nevada desert. I need to approach this from another angle.

  “But what about us?” I ask softly.

  How can her brothers do this to her? Don’t they get it? How can they just leave this for her to manage on her own?

  “We’ll always be friends… I hope,” she says.

  “What if I want to be more than friends?” I challenge.

  She snorts. “It not like people in my family don’t have affairs.”

  “But what if you married me instead of Alex?” I put it out there and hold my breath.

  “You are terribly sweet to offer, but your life is in Las Vegas, and mine is here. That’s not a real marriage either.”

  I want to show her we can fight this, but I don’t think she’s listening anymore. What she says next confirms it.

  “It’s late, and I have a full day of work tomorrow, so I need to get some rest,” she tells me. “I promise to not be so difficult to reach.”

  “Maggie, I want to figure this out. Don’t give up. I’m here for you.”

  “Good night, Jonnie.”

  Chapter 7

  Jonathan

  I’m slogging my way through a pile of paperwork at my desk the next afternoon, when my phone buzzes to life on my desk.

  Christopher: Dude!

  Me: How old are you?

  Christopher: 33 and you?

  Me: Same. I think I’m more than dude.

  Christopher: Ah, yes. Excuse me, Mr. Shangri-la CEO and owner.

  Me: What do you want?

  Christopher: I’m downstairs.

  Me: Are you fucking with me?

  Christopher: Nope. I’m in line to check in. Bella sent me away for the weekend so I thought I’d come hang with you.

  Me: Get out of line. You’re staying at my place.

  Christopher: Only if you aren’t going to sit around in your boxers on the couch all weekend.

  Gawd, he knows me well.

  Me: Get your ass up here. Tell Connie at the concierge desk you’re looking for the executive offices. And if she’s worried you’re some hoodlum, she can call me.

  Christopher: How old are you again? Now you’re sounding like you’re 90.

  Me: Each minute you wait is a drink you’ll have to buy me, and my tastes are ex
pensive these days.

  Christopher: Hold on, she just gave me directions. I’m on my way.

  I can’t believe he’s here. It’s like the universe is conspiring to help me figure out this Maggie situation—and hang out with my best friend in the process, though I’m still pissed at him for the position he’s left Maggie in. Not that we can talk about that… Aaaggh. This is going to be complicated.

  I call to my assistant in the other room. “Lola, there’s a gangly looking guy on his way up. Just point him in here.”

  “Hello?” Christopher bellows as he enters the outer office.

  “I think he’s here,” Lola says.

  “I apologize for his thoughtlessness already.”

  A moment later she appears holding a bouquet of flowers. “He’s already forgiven.”

  “You’re such a kiss ass,” I tell him.

  “Hey, she tolerates you, and I’m stealing you away for a few days, so she’s stuck with extra work to cover your ass.” Christopher lumbers in and dumps his bag inside the door.

  “You’re still a kiss ass,” I mutter.

  I walk over to give him a hug with a lot of backslapping. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “After talking to you the other night, I felt like you could use a break. Plus, Bella is super stressed right now and needs some space. I could go home to Minneapolis, but I haven’t wanted to deal with my family since I was in high school.”

  My heart cracks a little, but I manage to nod and smile. “Lola, can you reschedule the rest of my day?”

  “Of course. Already done. I moved your afternoon meeting to Monday. It’s after three on Friday, and I told your trainer you’d make it up to him. And I scheduled time on the golf course tomorrow for you.”

  I eye Christopher, and he shrugs. “I brought my clubs. Left them out there.”

  “He owes you more than flowers,” I tell Lola.

  “I’m only doing my job.” She waves goodbye as she turns to leave.

  Christopher plops down in the guest chair, leans back, and puts his feet up. “So, what’s there to do in this town?”

  “Not that much,” I tell him. “Anything specific you have in mind?”

  “Watch the Wild game on Sunday.”

  “The Twins play Sunday, too.”

  “Oh yeah, another team from the hometown. Got any decent-sized televisions around here?”

  “I guess if the seventy-five inch is too small, we can hit the sportsbook.”

  “Now we’re talking. I need to get some practice in if I’m going to ante up five mill for a poker game in a few weeks. Bella’s going to have my balls for that.”

  “Why? She knows five million is pocket change for you, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, but she’s very conservative about how we spend. I think she worries it’s going to go away.”

  “She knows that will never happen, though, right?”

  He shrugs. “She grew up where money was tight. I love that she wants to be frugal. She has a healthy chunk of change since her startup was funded, but she didn’t grow up like that.”

  “You’re a lucky man.”

  “In more ways than you know.”

  I arrange to have his suitcase and clubs delivered to my apartment, and we head down to the VIP bar. We navigate our way through the hotel with Caden in close proximity.

  “I want to show you this,” I tell him.

  We take a seat at the bar, and he looks around at what always reminds me of an old-time club—dark paneled walls, the smell of cigars, and Peter, the bartender, dressed in a bow tie, black vest, and pants.

  Said bartender nods at me. “What can I get for you?”

  “Peter, I’d like the bottle of Michter’s Celebration Sour Mash Whiskey.” I turn to Christopher. “It has an amazing brawny spice and leather flavor, with a bit of oak.”

  “Sounds like you memorized the marketing materials.”

  We study the bottle when it arrives. “Michter’s distillery was the first in the United States, but it was forced to close during Prohibition in 1919. They resurrected the brand in the 1990s.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “The owner stays here at the hotel, and I bought a case. It was expensive, but right up the alley of people who come into the VIP lounge.”

  “Do we drink it over ice?”

  “According to the owner, yes—one large chunk.” I give Peter a nod, and he places a clear square of ice in the tumbler in front of each of us and pours two fingers.

  We take a sip. “This is incredible,” Christopher marvels.

  It burns for a second but goes down like butter. “I love this stuff. I was told that after the barrel blending, the mixture is hand-bottled and finished with this eighteen-karat-gold lettered label. You should see the special boxes it came in.”

  “I need to order some of this,” Christopher says, taking another sip. “In fact, I need some partner gifts—maybe this is my answer.”

  I listen to him talk about his work and realize he’s the only true friend I have. I have work friends, but no one that I can totally be myself with. He’s known me most of my life, and despite my warts, he still shows up when he knows I’m struggling. I want to tell him all about what’s going on with Maggie—get his perspective on the whole thing—but if I did that, I’d have to come clean about my feelings for her.

  He made me promise when I was fifteen that I’d leave her alone. He made it very clear that if I crossed that line, he’d beat me to a pulp, and I’d never have children. I don’t know if he still means that, but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to risk it at the moment. I’m losing her. I can’t afford to lose him, too.

  “So tell me about this woman,” he prods, as if he can read my thoughts.

  “I’m not ready to talk about it.”

  “Makes sense. You’ve just sipped some expensive stuff. We need to find you the cheap crap. Maybe some Mad Dog?” he teases.

  “That shit tastes like cough syrup.”

  “But you’ll get drunk, and then you can open up and tell me.”

  “I’ll tell you at some point.” Or not.

  We move to the sportsbook but hardly pay attention to the college football game playing. Our alma mater plays in the Big Ten, but they tend to run from the middle of the pack to the bottom, and they don’t get a ton of press coverage outside the Midwest.

  Christopher gives me a funny look. “Everything here uses the software you built in grad school, doesn’t it?”

  I nod. “We’re close to being able to market it to other hotels.”

  “What exactly does it do?”

  “Are you asking as my friend or as a potential broker for my business?”

  “I do work with some of the foremost developers in the country. If you need help there, I’ve got you covered, but my usual area is pharma. I’m interested as your friend.”

  “Okay.” I glance up at the ceiling. The software is my baby. I have two developers who work from offices here on property on a secure server, and we’re building this together. “The competitors in this space aren’t quite as advanced as we are. They use large cash registers, and the systems don’t talk well to one another without someone pushing buttons behind the scenes.” I take a deep pull on my drink. “After you check in at the hotel, you have the ability to enter your room by fingerprint.”

  “I hope it’s more accurate than my phone, or everyone will be locked out.”

  I smile. “It is. We store the prints but don’t upload them where law enforcement could get to them. Once you’re a guest of the Shangri-la, we track everything to maximize your experience. We know if you spend two hundred dollars at the blackjack table and move to the nickel slots, which shows you see, which restaurants or stores on The Broadway you visit. Your information runs in real time from one spot to the other.”

  “That’s so Big Brother.”

  “We’re trying really hard to not make it that way. We don’t use facial recognition, and our systems don
’t register you until you check in. Plus, as soon as you check out, your information is dumped from our system. If you’re a frequent guest and member of our loyalty program, we maintain some of the bigger-picture information in a different system. But this level of detail helps housekeeping with bed linens and towel counts for their cart. If we know you like to drink Michter’s whiskey and like to play mah-jongg, the internal systems will move a bottle around so you have it at your table without a thirty-minute wait. No one has to send a guy to go find it at the VIP lounge. The software is designed to give you a feeling of first-class accommodation without having to add a ton of staff.”

  “Do you think there’s a use outside of a place like this?”

  “Absolutely. We think our software‘s perfect for all-inclusive resorts or even your basic three-star hotel looking to step up their customer service.”

  “How are you going to market this?”

  “I‘ve been pretty focused on making it work well here, so I haven’t figured that out.”

  “We should have a conversation with Mason and Cameron from my firm—”

  “Not sure I want to give up any piece of the pie to investors.”

  Christopher grins wide. “That’s the beauty of venture capital. I think they could put you with someone who would take the load off your plate. Yes, you’re giving up some control and a piece of the pie, but they can catapult you to the next level, and you can be as involved or as uninvolved as you’d like. You have an amazing piece of technology, and the software is being tried and tested in a private resort with over three thousand rooms and fifty thousand guests using the casino each day.”