Chaos in the Blink of an Eye

by Patrick Higgins

  Calloway was headed to the Big Apple to be the keynote speaker for Cell-U-Loss International’s final training seminar of the year. It was being held at the world-famous Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in midtown Manhattan.

  When Jonathan Steinberg—president of Cell-U-Loss International—asked him to keynote, Charles proudly accepted the invitation. To him, it was the greatest of honors.

  Truly, he’d come a long way in life.

  Born in Atlanta, Georgia, Calloway grew up in a black Southern Baptist home. The son of a preacher, he never missed church on Sunday. He wasn’t allowed to. Unless, of course, he was sick. Church members used to marvel at how, as a youngster, he could recite many popular Bible verses out loud when asked to by his father.

  Growing up, Calloway craved action and adventure in a big way; probably because he had so little of it during his adolescent years. Aside from the annual church camping trips and a handful of other events—mostly day trips—his life was totally devoid of action and adventure. The little taste he got from those camping trips was never enough to sustain him.

  Charles wanted more, needed more. He wanted to do brave, bold and daring things in life. In his mind, being a preacher didn’t qualify. Now married, living in Siesta Key Beach, Florida, Charles Calloway was living life under his own terms; no longer caught up in his father’s authoritative web.

  Even so, he still remembered those days very clearly, as if it were just yesterday.

  Calloway met Monique Sampson—Monique’s maiden name—at a Christian singles concert in Atlanta. He was 27 at the time. Monique was 25. They hit it off immediately. In time, they fell in love.

  Three years later, they were married. CJ was born the following year. In her heart, Monique wanted him to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a preacher himself, but Charles wanted nothing to do with it.

  Calloway was taught growing up that his faith in God was supposed to be number-one, followed by his family, then everything else. His parents had often stressed this point to him.

  Monique agreed with her in-laws and did her best to live by that rule. A devout Christ follower for many years, nothing mattered more to the mother of five than her deep faith in God.

  Charles never admitted it to anyone, especially his father, but he was currently taking a vacation from God. His family was extremely important to him, but thanks to Cell-U-Loss International, instead of the 1-2-3 approach his wife and parents wholeheartedly believed in—God, family, business—Charles’ priorities were the exact opposite: 3-2-1.

  At any rate, in order to make peace with his wife and children, Charles took the family out to dinner and a movie last night. This made everyone happy. But Monique was equally flustered. The Calloways were hosting their first Thanksgiving dinner since moving to Florida eight years ago. Twenty-two family members would be coming in from Atlanta.

  With less than a week to prepare, it would take a total family effort to accomplish everything that still needed to be done. As the family ate dinner at a fancy restaurant in downtown Sarasota, Monique spent 30 minutes going over every last detail.

  Every time Charles’ phone vibrated, Monique gave him a look he knew all too well. It screamed, “Don’t even think about it.”

  Charles wisely complied with his wife’s silent command and let each call to go unanswered and each text message to go unread.

  Once Monique was finished talking about Thanksgiving dinner, the conversation only got worse for Charles. The man of the house fended off arrows fired at him from his eldest two children, CJ and Frances. This list, too, was quite long.

  The three youngest were still too young to grasp what was going on. They still had nothing but love for Daddy. Why do kids have to grow up?

  Before leaving the restaurant, Charles promised last night that after this trip to New York, he had no other travel plans until after the new year. In short: he was all theirs.

  This made everyone happy, especially Monique.

  What Charles didn’t say was, while he was just as eager to see everyone this Thanksgiving, his primary reason was different than theirs. More than anything, he couldn’t wait to show off his home to family members who would be visiting for the first time.

  Perhaps after seeing firsthand what three years of hard work did for him, they would join Cell-U-Loss and finally stake their claim in the Land of Opportunity.

  Wouldn’t that be great, Calloway thought, keeping it to himself.

  12

  WITH BREAKFAST FINISHED THE lunch crowd was already gathering at Mitzi’s Delicatessen. It was 10:30 a.m. Craig Rubin’s flight was scheduled for 12:15 p.m. Time to get a serious move on. He went outside to hail a cab.

  “Send us a postcard…” he heard a waitress say.

  Craig laughed. “Yeah, right!”

  Almost immediately, Tamika Moseley pulled up. “Where to?”

  “JFK, and I’m in a hurry,” Rubin said. “If we don’t hustle, I’m gonna miss my flight.”

  “What time’s your flight?”

  “Twelve-fifteen.”

  Tamika looked at the clock on the car radio. “Boy mister, you cutting it real close.”

  “I know. That’s why we gotta hustle.”

  Tamika shot her passenger a look in the rear-view mirror that screamed, “Hey, it’s not my fault! You’re the one who’s late, not me”, but thought better of it. “Airline?”

  “United.”

  “I’ll do my best, mister.”

  Rubin silently reprimanded himself for not leaving a little sooner. But the restaurant was so busy. He didn’t even have time to shower in the basement like he often did after finishing a shift.

  Rubin already felt sorry for the poor souls seated next to him on the airplane. The stale smell of helping his busboy clean tables for four hours wasn’t the most pleasant of aromas to encounter.

  Oh well, that’s life, he thought, as Tamika Moseley steadied the cab through the Queens Midtown Tunnel, en route to JFK Airport.

  CHARLES CALLOWAY WAS INSIDE the airport terminal in Sarasota, Florida, laptop turned on, when a man approached him. He appeared to be in his late fifties.

  “Are you Charles Calloway?” the man asked in a smooth, Southern drawl. The little hair he still had on his head was a mixture of brown and gray. He had a full beard. He was noticeably overweight, wearing blue jeans, a blue and white striped, button-down shirt, and an old pair of cowboy boots. He very much looked like a cowboy, minus the hat.

  “Yes, I am. And you are…?”

  “Name’s Richard Figueroa. I’m fairly new to Cell-U-Loss. I’ve never met you personally, sir, but I’ve heard so many good things about you.”

  “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Richard.”

  They shook hands.

  “Pleasure’s all mine, Mister Calloway. I’m honored to be part of your organization. You’re the main reason I’m going to New York in the first place,” the Hispanic man said with a smile. “I look forward to everything you have to share with us.”

  “Hope I don’t let you down,” Charles said, jokingly.

  “I’m sure you won’t.”

  “Do you receive my monthly online newsletter?”

  “I sure don’t,” Figueroa said. “Like I said, I’m fairly new.”

  “If you’d like, I’ll add your name to the list.”

  “I’d really like that.” They exchanged business cards. “I’m so thankful for this wonderful opportunity.”

  “I hear you, man. No better opportunity out there,” Calloway declared, with a sense of pride few possessed.

  “I can only think of one better.”

  “Oh yeah?” Calloway eyeballed the man, “What’s that?”

  “The greatest opportunity in the world—eter
nal life through Christ Jesus!” Figueroa’s eyes shone like the brightest of stars.

  “Oh yeah, right. Amen,” Calloway said, half-heartedly.

  “Are you a believer, Charles?” Figueroa looked like a man who didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Truly, he was at peace with himself.

  “I sure am,” the successful businessman said, with little authority.

  “How long have you been saved, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  The question caught Calloway off guard. He looked around the airport terminal, slightly embarrassed. “Uh, for a long time. Since I was a kid.”

  Richard Figueroa could tell by looking into Calloway’s eyes that he wasn’t so sure. He answered the question with much less conviction than everything else.

  Not wanting to push the issue, Figueroa changed the subject. “When we land, perhaps we can share a cab ride to the hotel.”

  “Sounds like a winner,” Calloway replied.

  Just then, the woman behind the desk announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, at this time we will begin boarding our first-class passengers.”

  Ah, the announcement Charles had long awaited. “That’s me. I wanna get on early and have myself a drink.”

  “It was a great pleasure meeting you. I look forward to the cab ride later.”

  “Me too, Richard.”

  “Enjoy the flight.”

  “You too.” They shook hands.

  At that, Charles Calloway headed for the jet way, feeling totally elated after just putting another face to the many names in his growing database of representatives who were putting serious money in his pocket. What a wonderful life!

  As the airplane slowly taxied down the runway in preparation for takeoff, Calloway was just finishing his second glass of wine.

  Twenty rows or so behind him, Richard Figueroa prayed for a safe flight to New York. He also prayed for his new friend, Charles Calloway. Clearly, nothing mattered more to him than his booming business.

  Figueroa prayed that God would change all that.

  Sure, Cell-U-Loss International was a great company. But in no way was it the most important thing in life. At least not to Richard Figueroa...

  13

  AT CAMP DAVID, PRESIDENT Jefferson Danforth and First Lady Melissa Danforth waited for their guests to arrive. Today wasn’t a workday. There would be no staff meetings or dealings with foreign dignitaries or government officials. No peace treaties would be negotiated like back in 1979, between Israel and Egypt, when Jimmy Carter was President.

  Dressed in full Michigan regalia—a nylon Michigan sweat suit, T-shirt, and Michigan sweat socks—President Danforth looked very much at ease. The day he’d anticipated for many months was finally upon him. Even when meeting with world officials and dignitaries discussing rather pressing issues, he found himself daydreaming about today. He wanted nothing to ruin it.

  First Lady Melissa Danforth looked elegant as always, wearing brown slacks and a sweater donning various shades of brown. The most famous couple on the planet looked like regular citizens for a change. Both looked relaxed. And refreshed.

  President Jefferson Danforth stood a tone 5'10", with salt-and-pepper-colored hair, and grayish-green eyes that would turn steely-gray when someone upset him.

  Long before winning the election two years ago, Jefferson Danforth already had that “Presidential” look about him. Even at 58, his prominent facial features caused many heads to turn.

  Born and raised in Madison, Wisconsin, he wanted to be President for as long as he could remember. When he was twelve, he spent a weekend in Washington D.C. with his family. Visiting the White House was at the top of his “must-see” list.

  He never did get to meet the President that day, but when he saw the many secret service agents milling about—all there to protect one man—he decided then and there that he would one day become President. Forty-three years later, at the age of 55, his dream had finally become a reality.

  First Lady Melissa Danforth was 53 but looked 10 years younger than her actual age. She stood a lean 5'6". Her eyes were soft brown, much like her hair, which was so short that it hugged her face. Her overall features were prominent, sprinkled with a dash of elegance.

  Whereas her husband spent considerable time in tanning booths, Melissa seldom exposed her near-flawless, fair-skinned complexion to the sun, let alone take her chances in a tanning booth. In her opinion, the potential danger was just too great.

  Since the days of Jacqueline Kennedy, no other First Lady had graced the White House as elegantly as Melissa Danforth. As much as her husband loved being President of the United States of America, she loved being First Lady.

  The only plan America’s First Family had this day was to have fun and enjoy the game. The last thing they wanted was to be consumed by the needs, wants and concerns of the country.

  They needed a break from it all.

  Part of them wanted to be in Michigan watching the game from inside Michigan Stadium. The other part was happy being at Camp David. Being First Family of the United States of America did have its perks.

  At 9:30 this morning, they boarded Marine One for the short flight to Camp David. President Danforth’s mother, Lydia Danforth and Melissa’s mother, Candice Stephenson were also on board, along with two secret service agents. The President and First Lady both lost their fathers years ago.

  Two other choppers accompanied Marine One, flying a short distance behind. One carried the Danforths three children, their spouses and their four grandchildren.

  Their first child and only son William was 33. He was married to his college sweetheart, Christine, for eight years. The couple had a son named Jared, who was six.

  Their second child Janelle was 32. She was married to her husband, Dr. Benjamin Richardson for nine years. They had two children, Shane and Tiffany. Shane was seven. Tiffany was five.

  Their youngest daughter Erica was 30. Her husband was Ronald Whittingham. They had a two-year-old daughter, Rebecca. Erica was eight months pregnant with the couple’s second child. The baby was due this upcoming Christmas.

  The third chopper carried Press Secretary Jordan Kendall, two press members and two more secret service agents. The only images the two journalists would leave Camp David with were still photographs. Nothing more.

  “If you ever want to be invited back to Camp David in the future,” Press secretary Kendall sternly warned while en route, “you’ll respect the President’s privacy at all times. If caught secretly recording him, you’ll never be considered again for an assignment like this. At least, not while this President’s in office.”

  Once the First Family was settled, Daniel Sullivan, the agent in charge, gave the okay for a fourth chopper to leave Washington, carrying a few close friends of the Danforths.

  Not only were full background checks conducted on each person soon-to-be-arriving, each had to clear various security checkpoints before boarding the aircraft. Close friends or not, the Presidency was an institution and the secret service never took chances. If your name wasn’t on the list to see the President, you didn’t see him—irrespective of who you were.

  Nestled securely in the Catoctin Mountains in western Maryland, 70 miles from the White House, Franklin D. Roosevelt—the thirty-second President of the United States—started the tradition of American Presidents coming here for rest and relaxation back in 1942. It had become the retreat of every other President since.

  President Danforth was no exception. Like his predecessors, Camp David had become his escape-from-the-public eye. It was a place to forget about the pressures of being the most powerful man on the planet. Sure, everyone knew he was there, but he still felt disconnected from them. This allowed him to relax even more.

  He flat-out refused to watch th
e game at the White House. He could never relax there. For him, it wasn’t home. It was a place to work. A place to run the country. A place to hold meetings with world leaders and diplomats. A place to honor American heroes and champions. A place to host state dinners. A place to be, well, President.

  When he and his family moved into the White House three years ago, it seemed much of the fun in his life had moved out. This day would be an exception to that harsh reality.

  At least if he could help it.

  President Danforth wanted nothing to be formal today. Instead of a sit-down luncheon, originally planned by the First Lady, he vetoed it in favor of a get-in-line-and-grab-your-own-food buffet-style set up. He didn’t want to be served today. He wanted to get his own food for a change.

  After his brief interview on ESPN 30 minutes from now, everyone would help themselves to lunch. The 60-inch screen television normally tuned into FOX NEWS, CNN, MSNBC or CSPAN, was locked onto ESPN where it would remain until after the game ended.

  The front door opened.

  “Welcome to Camp David!” First Lady Melissa Danforth declared to her friends, doing her best to ignore the two press members in the room. After being victimized too many times to count, Melissa silently loathed the press.

  “Greetings everyone!” the President said, in a jovial voice.

  “Same to you, Mister President,” came the reply in unison.

  “Now, I will not be called Mister President today. Call me whatever you did before I assumed this position.” After thinking about what he’d just said, he backpedaled, “Well, not whatever.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Okay, Mister Governor!” Melissa Danforth’s older brother, Tyler Stephens declared, referring to his eight years as Governor of Wisconsin.

  “Well, I guess you could’ve called me a whole lot worse.” Everyone laughed again. “Changing subjects,” the President said, wiping his brow as if escaping a close call, “I’ll be doing a brief interview on ESPN in a few minutes. After that, we can eat.”