by Earl, Collin
“We should split up.” Casey popped his head just above the hedge. “Grey, are you still going to see Baroty?”
Monson nodded. “Yeah, but hold on, back up a second. Why are we splitting—”
“Shhh you two!” Artorius pulled both Monson and Casey to the ground. “You guys have to work on your indoor voices.”
Casey whispered derisively. “Arthur, we’re outside. Using an indoor voice outdoors is a fundamental mistake of voice usage. And here I thought you were cultured.”
Monson could actually feel Artorius rolling his eyes. “Anyway, Casey you go that way. I’ll take Grey to meet Baroty.”
“Got it. I’ll meet you two back at Grey’s place. Be careful.”
Under the cover of night, Cassius Kay disappeared, making no sound as he slipped into the shadows.
Artorius and Monson crouched and moved slowly away from their hiding place along the border of the brushwall. Monson followed Artorius in silence until the echoes of gathering foot soldiers faded.
Monson tapped Artorius on his lower back. “Arthur.”
“Yeah, Grey.”
“Why did we need to split up?”
“Think about it, Grey. It’s Casey we’re talking about here.”
“Drama King. I know I know.”
“You good then?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Artorius turned and gave Monson a little pat on the shoulder. “Come on, Grey. You have a date with CEO of the Baroty Conglomerate.”
***
“You’re late, Mr. Grey.”
Christopher Baroty sat in a refined manner sipping on wine and sampling an assortment of cheese and crackers. Monson walked slowly up the steps of the main gazebo in The GM’s inner courtyard. Baroty’s goons patrolled the space, pacing in an assertive way. They looked like machines moving in countless repetitions from one checkpoint to another. The MIB had run through their routine once, twice, then three times when Monson started to see and memorize a pattern. He tried to ignore them and focus on Baroty.
Baroty continued to sip his wine, his masked face portraying nothing of his feelings or intentions. Aaron Gibson was a great deal easier to read. He remained completely rigid just behind Baroty, watching the approaching Monson. At the sight of the assistant, Monson felt an intense desire to throw him a vulgar gesture. The feeling caught him by surprise.
“It’s good to see you, Mr. Grey. Why were you late?” Baroty offered him a seat pointing to it with his wine-free hand.
Monson pulled out the chair and sat. “It’s past curfew, Mr. Baroty. I had to sneak out to meet you. If you were concerned with timeliness, you should have set the meeting during regular school hours. Then again, you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Baroty let out one of his infectious laughs. “You are certainly correct Mr. ...Monson—do you mind if I call you Monson?”
“Not at all,” replied Monson, helping himself to the tray of cheese and crackers. “But back to my question, Mr. Baro—”
“Please call me Chris. All the Mr. Baroty this, Mr. Baroty that, is very tiresome.”
Monson popped the cracker and cheese into his mouth and gagged almost immediately, spitting out the food. “Ho—ho—holy freakin’ crap! What was that?”
“Vieux Boulogne.” Baroty vainly attempted to hold back his amusement. “Renowned as the smelliest cheese in the world. Definitely an acquired taste, but once you do—”
Monson interrupted. “You see, that doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“What do you mean, Monson?”
“I mean, why would you force yourself to acquire a taste for something that bad?”
Christopher Baroty studied the inquiring face of Monson Grey as if the answers were tattooed on the crinkled lines of his forehead. He sounded unsure once he spoke.
“Umm…I don’t know, Mr. Grey. That is an excellent question.”
“Monson.”
“What was that, Mr. Grey?”
“You asked for my permission to call me Monson and then you reverted back to Mr. Grey. I was just reminding you to call me Monson.”
Baroty laughed again. “Sorry about that Monson, my boy.”
A crushing pang of familiarity assaulted Monson, as Baroty’s voice echoed in his head. “My boy….”
Monson’s hand moved on its own, gravitating towards his pocket and grasping a white piece of paper. He threw the crumpled white invitation onto the table. “I believe you were going to answer a question for me, Chris.”
Baroty glanced at the crushed paper on the table. “That I was, Monson, but one question at a time. Did you not want to know why I asked you to meet me here tonight and after hours?’
Although at this point it didn’t seem to matter, Monson nodded. “Sure, why not. Lay it on me.”
Baroty took another sip of wine. “It may be shocking to hear, but the answer is an exceedingly simple one.”
Monson waited patiently for the punch line.
“I was testing you, Monson.”
“You were testing me?”
“Yes, I was testing you.”
Monson wasn’t sure how to react. Should he be angry? Confused? Annoyed? He did not know. He settled on confused and allowed the emotion to show.
“I see that you are confused.”
Monson snapped his fingers. “And I was trying so hard to hide it.”
Monson caught a glimpse of Gibson who gave an unexpected, appreciative chuckle in reaction to Monson’s sarcasm.
Baroty continued, either not noticing or choosing to ignore Monson and Gibson. “Do you want to know why I’m so successful, Mr. Grey?”
Another cheeky comment, half a second away from leaving Monson’s lips, never quite made it out. Cold. Monson felt cool impatience emanate from Baroty. Monson decided that it was about time to get down to serious business.
“Sure, Chris, why don’t you tell me why you are so successful?”
“Because I always have better information than the next guy.”
“So you were testing me to get information?”
Baroty continued as if Monson had never asked the question. “I find that the most accurate indicators of people are their true desires, their morality, and their ingenuity. All of these can be seen in situational tasks, like the one I assigned you.”
Monson did not quite catch his meaning so he remained silent.
Baroty leveled a penetrating stare at Monson. “Look at what I found out about you, Mr. Grey. I found out that you are resourceful. You were able to find a way out of The Barracks, move along patrolled grounds, and arrive here, all without being caught. From that, I ascertained that you are gutsy, maybe even reckless. You were willing to come here despite the chance of serious punishment and without knowing the nature of the information that I have to share with you. This fascinates me. Incredibly enough, there is something about you that tells me that not only did you ignore the consequences of your actions but that you hardly even considered them. I also discovered that you are cautious and logical despite your apparent recklessness. Case in point, I told you in my letter to come alone, but I know that you have at least one of your friends out in the gardens here. Finally, I determined that you are willing to do what it takes to get the job done. Though I can’t be certain, I am willing to bet you had something to do with the commotion in front of The Barracks that Mr. Gibson keeps hearing about on his all-too-expensive phone over there.”
Baroty glanced knowingly over his shoulder, acknowledging Aaron Gibson. “Now, I was able to accumulate all that information by handing you a simple white envelope. How could I not take advantage of such an opportunity? Ultimately you will find, Monson Grey, that life is merely a series of tests. The measure of your success will be how you tackle those tests.”
Monson reached for another cracker. “You practiced that speech?”
Baroty let out another unexpected chuckle. “Yes, yes I did. Did you like it?”
Monson shrugged. “It was cryptic to say the least. Also, I
noticed you left out your reasoning behind my testing and why you would even need to accumulate information on yours truly in the first place.”
“You are a sharp one, my boy. You really are.” Baroty leaned forward as he reached into his ridiculously expensive-looking jacket. “And as a matter of fact, Mr. Grey, you just asked the forty-billion-dollar question.”
Baroty took out a second nondescript envelope and tossed it to Monson. It landed on the table in front of him. Baroty nodded towards it.
“Open it. I think you’ll like what you see.”
Monson opened the envelope and pulled out the contents.
It was a check from Baroty Bancshares of America made out to Monson Grey. A check for 42,765,343,321 dollars and 78 cents.
“So actually it’s a forty-two-billion-dollar question. I rounded down. I hope you will forgive me.” Baroty laughed at his own joke. “Say something, Monson, I just handed you a great deal of money.”
Monson stared at the check in his hand. “Umm…thank you?”
Gibson sneered this time, making no attempt to hide it. Monson rounded on him. “Don’t judge me, Gibson. What the heck am I supposed to say in a situation like this?”
Gibson’s face soured even as Monson refocused on Baroty. “Now don’t get me wrong Chris, not that having forty-two billion dollars wouldn’t be cool or anything. I can go and buy that private island I’ve always wanted. But you need to tell me why and you need to tell me now.”
“It’s for your grandfather’s share in the Baroty Conglomerate.”
A familiar motherly voice spoke quietly from directly behind Monson. He recognized the voice immediately; faster than immediately. It was as if he knew that she was going to show up. Molly walked out from the shadows, acknowledging Baroty and Gibson as she did.
“Mr. Baroty, Mr. Gibson, how do you do?”
“We’re fine, Ms. Penmentail. Just fine.”
Monson glanced from Molly to Baroty and found both of them wearing very distasteful expressions. They glared at each other, growing increasingly irate the longer they looked. Monson attempted to lighten the mood.
“I see you two know each other. How…nice.”
Molly shot Monson a sharp glare; a glare so sharp that he recoiled from its effects. It was plain to see that she was pissed—very pissed.
“Yes, we know each other.” Molly turned her irritation back on Baroty. “Did you make him an offer?”
“You mean this?” Monson handed the check to Molly. Her eyes flickered downward. A red-hot anger, the funny theatrical kind in cartoons when characters get really upset or eat something spicy, filled Molly’s face. She was trying to hold her temper. “I told you, you were to have no contact with him until I was able to talk to him about his options. How dare you make an offer without consulting me! You know full well that legally he could not accept. Why would you do that?”
That was certainly true. Monson was a minor after all. Why would Baroty do that? Monson wondered. Another one of those tests perhaps?
Molly grabbed Monson by the collar. “We’re leaving. Monson, honey, let’s go.”
She dragged him to his feet and started pulling him away. He ripped himself from her grasp and spun around. “Chris!”
“Yes, Monson.”
“I still have questions.”
“Ahh…yes, but it seems our conversation has been cut short. I will allow you one and answer it if I can.”
Monson paused, wondering if this was really what he wanted to know. He made the decision in a flash. In reality, he did not even need to ask the full question but merely said, “The mask, Baroty.”
Baroty answered slowly and deliberately, lifting a hand and exaggerating his movements. “Like I said before, Mr. Grey.”
He pulled at his gloved fingers one by one.
“We can’t all be as brave…as you.”
Baroty peeled the glove and stretched out his hand.
Monson stared at the hand of Christopher Baroty and the thin white scars that covered them.
***
Monson, Molly and Artorius trotted along the path leading from the Inner Gardens of The GM back to the main pathway that connected it with The Barracks.
“Why didn’t you tell me that Baroty wanted to see you?”
Molly sounded incredibly angry. Monson’s own disposition mirrored hers.
“Because I didn’t know I should. Why didn’t you tell me who was coming? That he wanted to see me? You obviously knew. What’s all this about? What about grandfather’s shares in the Conglomerate?”
Molly sighed as she glanced around, apparently looking for eavesdroppers. “I suppose now is as good a time as any. Your grandfather left you…well, everything, Monson. His houses in Washington, California, Florida, England, France and all of his property in Asia. He left you his cars, weapons and coin collections. But most important, he left you his investment portfolio, which includes forty-four percent of the Baroty Conglomerate.”
Monson almost did something extremely corny, like digging in his ear before asking Molly to repeat herself. But he did not, as humor did not seem appropriate in this situation. He did, however, stare at Molly in confusion as he spoke. “Molly, when we first discussed coming here, about the money and all that stuff, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry, Monson.” She sounded like she meant it. “But think about my position for a moment. How was I supposed to tell you about all this when you couldn’t even remember your grandfather? It’s a bit too much for any kid to handle. Sweetie, I don’t think you get it. Your grandfather was one of the richest people in the world. This of course means that now you are. Why do you think I wanted to get you into this school so badly?”
Monson started to interrupt but Molly preempted him. “I know you’re upset, Monson honey, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I really am. But you have to trust things like this to me. I am your guardian, after all, and I might not be able to do much, but at least I can take care of your inheritance.”
“It’s funny you should mention that, Molly,” said Artorius, finally speaking up. “I’ve been wondering about that for a while now. Ever since I found out that Monson’s grandfather was the elusive silent partner of Christopher Baroty, I’ve been thinking about his estate and a little about his reasons for coming here. Molly, you knew Monson before the incident at the bridge, right?”
Molly nodded her head slowly.
“Do you know why Monson and his grandfather were so keen to get Monson in as the Horum Vir?”
Molly replied regretfully. “He only talked to me about it on occasion, Arthur. Why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s a bit on the weird side. With all that wealth, why go through the trouble of becoming the Horum Vir? The position is extremely flashy and let’s face it, Monson’s not really a flashy guy.”
“A lot of it had to do with running under the radar—”
Monson interjected. “But Molly, that doesn’t make any sense. What about the Horum Vir position is ‘under the radar?’ It’s about as far above the radar as they come.”
Molly smiled in a sad sort of way. “That depends on what kind of radar you’re trying to avoid, Monson dear.”
Monson and Artorius waited for her to continue that thought and felt disappointed when she did not.
She quickened her pace. “I’ve been meaning to mention this for a while. There is a lot of history that I haven’t told you, Monson. Stuff that might help you remember and if not remember, then cope with current circumstances. I just haven’t yet been able to get all of Marques’ affairs in order, so I wasn’t sure where to start.”
“You sound sort of stressed, Molly. Did my grandfather have a lot going on?”
Molly smiled weakly. “You have no idea, Monson dear. No idea.”
The conversation took a brief reprieve as the trio neared The Barracks. About a dozen MIB and CIA officers were making a racket securing the area as the emergency medical staff tended to the injured Mark and Jim. Molly skillfully maneu
vered the boys through the area using her talent for intimidation on anyone who tried to stop them or ask them questions. Monson stole a glance at the two figures on the ground. He truly hoped that there would be no permanent damage.
Monson, Artorius and Molly used the regular student entrance instead of the Horum Vir’s private elevator, which meant that there were several flights of stairs in their foreseeable future. Monson did not mind, though. It would be nice to work off some of the excess energy from the night, and of course, there was pondering to attend to. Pondering that could not wait much longer. He groaned. It was going to be a long night.
He and the others passed through the boys’ entrance of the dormitory and moved straight to the elevator in the middle of the floor. Idly, somewhere on the edge of his wandering concentration, Monson noted that this was the first time he had been to one of the dormitory floors. The thought unsettled him a little. Not that this was shocking or anything. Routinely, and really without any discussion, the boys opted to gather in his apartment for obvious reasons. He made a mental post-it to correct that the next time they all had some leisure time.
Molly marched Monson and Artorius to the elevator. “I really should give you three a scolding and yes, I mean you three. I know that Cassius is involved in this. Where is he?”
Artorius and Monson exchanged glances, though it was Artorius who spoke up. “In truth, we really don’t know.”
“Really?” replied Molly doubtfully. “You have no idea where he is?”
The elevator door chimed as it touched down and its doors opened.“No, we really don’t,” continued Monson, as they entered the elevator. He leaned back as the doors started to close. “He left us shortly after—”
“Hey—hello, can you hold the elevator?”
They heard a voice off in the distance, but the actual words were drowned out by Molly’s banshee shriek, which scared everyone within earshot. She was jumping around as if she were possessed.
“A rat! I just saw a rat! Kill it! Monson, Arthur, get it!”
Monson searched frantically. Now that she mentioned it, he had seen something in his peripheral vision zip through the closing door at the last second, but he’d just figured it was—