The Ascendant Page 9

  This is what he’d always wanted. Or, perhaps instead, what he was told he always wanted. To be CEO of a major money firm, one of the most influential investment bankers on Wall Street. And, he was quite young—he had a long way to go still. In his mid-forties, no debts, top of his game, and one of the most aggressive arbitrage players on the planet.

  Arbitrage was just the fun part. The part that made him giddy with joy.

  Mergers and acquisitions, however, were the serious stuff. And he’d leveraged his firm, Tomkins Hatfield Bankers into the position of being one of the first on the list to be called whenever a deal was being contemplated. Well, he didn’t even have to be called most of the time—he was so tapped into the intelligence network he usually knew what was percolating before anyone else did.

  He watched as the lights of New York danced at him through his picture window. Glanced at his watch and sighed. Ten o’clock at night—and he’d started work at six in the morning. Just another typical day.

  The lights were hypnotizing. He loved this time in his work day. All of the employees gone, but the city still alive. Everyone seemed to have somewhere to go, someone to be with.

  Except Bill.

  Studying the cityscape was like watching another world. An alien planet. Life was happening out there, and he was just an observer.

  He owned a multi-million-dollar penthouse apartment only three blocks away, but he preferred instead to just sit right where he was. His office was a sanctuary to him, where his comfort zone was.

  Bill also owned a beach house in the Hamptons, but, he never went there either. He let his nieces and nephews use it, because he knew they’d enjoy it more than him. And, someone might as well enjoy it, considering what it cost.

  They always invited their uncle to join them, but Bill always declined. What was the point? He would just be on his tablet all day anyway, checking the markets.

  There was no one back at the apartment for him to go home to. No Mrs. Tomkins, no kids, not even a budgie.

  He considered the irony—yep, this was what he’d always wanted.

  Bill concentrated for a few seconds on his image reflecting back from the picture window. Hair was still on the blondish side, but had gone darker over the years. In a decade or so it would go lighter again, a dignified shade of silver.

  And, he’d still have no one to go home to. No one who cared whether he lived or died. Not even a goddamn budgie.

  One of his nieces was taking her kids to the Hamptons this weekend. She’d phoned him earlier and practically begged him to join them. Her name was Sheila, and she was a darling. His favorite niece. And, he’d almost considered going. Thought that he might even be able to force himself to stay off the internet, just for one weekend.

  But, then, he’d have to find some way to join in, have fun, and talk about fluffy funny stuff. Bill just didn’t know how to do that. In fact, he didn’t have a clue. In a boardroom setting he knew that he was scintillating. But, in a social environment that involved interacting with normal, nice, simple people, he was a lost soul. It made him feel inferior, insecure. Bill didn’t like that feeling.

  He’d been taught at West Point to shake those feelings off when they snuck up on him. To never ever show a weakness, and to understand that insecurity was only a sign of his superiority. In other words, he would never be satisfied, he would always have to be better than the next guy—and whenever he got feelings of insecurity, it only meant that he hadn’t been pushing himself hard enough. Was, instead, allowing himself to go soft if he gave in to those feelings. And that was dangerous for a leader.

  But, Sheila was his favorite niece.

  His big sister’s daughter.

  Well, his half big sister.

  Same mother, different father, whoever the hell the father was.

  Bill had been the only child in the family who’d been artificially inseminated. He was the youngest and his mother had told him that his father had become sterile, but that he’d loved Bill just as if he were the biological father.

  Regardless, Bill loved his niece—or at least he thought he did.

  What was “love,” anyway? He’d never been in love, but he knew he felt pangs of softness and tenderness towards his nieces and nephews. Part of his brainwashed mind told him that he needed to push those pangs aside, that they were a sign he was going weak.

  A different part of his mind told him that was hogwash.

  Despite all his wealth and success, Bill was empty inside. He knew that, despite the fact that he’d been taught to think the opposite. He didn’t used to think that way, but lately that reality had been creeping up on him more often. Was this how he wanted to live for the rest of his life?

  And, while he wouldn’t dare admit it to his friends and enemies at the Bankers’ Club, he really enjoyed those tender feelings that he got once in a while. He loved the warm zone that came over him when he saw Sheila and her kids together.

  He wanted so desperately to laugh and be silly, if only he could just learn how to do that. Maybe Sheila would help him.

  Maybe—what the hell—maybe, he should join them at the Hamptons this weekend.

  She was popping by to pick up the keys in a few minutes. She had her own access card to get into the building after hours, because Bill had gotten her a part-time job down in accounting on the fourteenth floor. He made sure to have her access card coded to include his floor too, the twentieth, just in case she ever wanted to pay him a visit. Which wasn’t often, but once in a while she poked her head in and gave him a smile. Usually Bill didn’t know what to say—small talk was hard for him. But, Sheila was so understanding. She would always guide him along with a few gentle questions.

  He always got the feeling that she knew he needed that special help, and he loved her for it.

  At least he thought he did. Whatever that rare warm feeling was.

  Bill spun his chair around and turned his attention back to his computer. Hadn’t checked his personal email for a week or so now. He had two email addresses, and the one that he checked every hour on the hour was his business email. His personal inbox tended to get ignored.

  Well, he had to wait for Sheila to show up, so might as well kill some time.

  Scrolled down through his messages and came across one from his alma mater, West Point. It was their monthly newsletter for the alumni—usually fluff stuff that Bill didn’t care about.

  He opened it up and scanned the headlines. Clicked on Obituaries out of curiosity and started reading to see if there was anyone familiar on there.

  Saw a name—John Nichols—a name that immediately caused the acid in his stomach to rise into his throat. He choked for a second and took a long sip of water for relief.

  Then he read the story. A suicide. The story didn’t say how; it was very careful to just say that his death was self-inflicted.

  The acid in Bill’s stomach hadn’t risen into his throat out of any sentimental memories that he had of John Nichols.

  Not at all.

  Sure, he knew him and they’d hung out together—but John was thrown out of the Honor Guild after only two years. He’d been an insufferable drunk.

  Bill, on the other hand, was one of the fortunate ones who graduated from the Honor Guild. And from that point onward given every advantage possible, every corner cut, every influential contact money couldn’t even buy—to get him to the powerful corporate position he was in today. To be able to influence world markets in favor of the good ol’ U.S.A.

  But, poor John Nichols had turned into a drunk.

  And Bill knew why. The reason why the acid had rushed up into his throat.

  Bill and the other Honor Guild graduates had been taught to block out incidents or events that caused stress or anxiety. Taught in very specific ways. Effective ways. Because real leaders could never allow anxiety to enter their lives.

  That wo
uld be a weakness.

  And, all of the graduates of the Honor Guild had their lives mapped out for them.

  They were all destined for something, depending on their individual strengths. They were groomed that way. And, to make sure that the corporations investing in their welfare got their money’s worth, their brains had been manipulated by teams of psychologists. To remove feelings and weaknesses, so they’d been told. To remove any imperfections that could cause depression, anxiety, or unnecessary conscience attacks.

  The promises made to the graduates were not in the least bit vague. They were guaranteed wealth and power. In exchange, they had to simply keep quiet about what they’d endured at the Honor Guild. Even those who were expelled. They were told in no uncertain terms that their lives would be very short indeed if they ever exposed the program for what it really was.

  As for Bill, he’d been promised success in the corporate world. He was flagged as a future business executive because of his natural intellectual prowess with mathematics, high finance, and marketing. Others had been labelled as future scientists, engineers, or political leaders. They all had career paths given to them when they graduated, and they all had sponsors who followed their lives every step of the way.

  The responsibility of the sponsors was to remove hurdles.

  He thought of John Nichols again, and inevitably the memories flashed across his brain. Which wasn’t supposed to happen. He concentrated on trying to make the images go away, but he couldn’t.

  That poor girl, thrashing around on the floor, John Nichols gallantly fighting to save her life, doing something with her tongue. The rest of them standing there helpless, not knowing what to do, or what the implications would be if she died.

  Then she died.

  Her sweet innocent face, belying the slutty image that she portrayed. She was so young, and they hadn’t known. And hadn’t really cared, either. She’d just been a piece of raw meat for them, good for one purpose only.

  Then she died.

  And they just dumped her by the side of the road.

  Bill could feel the acid rising again. This shouldn’t be happening. He was taught to stop reactions like this. Why couldn’t he now? Was he just getting old? Was it all wearing off?

  That episode in the van had turned John Nichols into a drunk. And, now he’d killed himself and Bill was convinced that the two were related. The poor guy just couldn’t live with the memories any longer and decided to make them go away.

  Bill was shaken out of his thoughts by a familiar singsong voice.

  Sheila sashayed into his office and wrapped her arms around his neck. Gave him a big kiss on the cheek. Bill tried awkwardly to return the gesture but all he got for his effort was an earlobe.

  She smiled knowingly. “Uncle Bill, I told you I could have met you at your apartment. Why are you still here?”

  He smiled back at her. “Lots of work to do, dear. But, I’m just about ready to leave. You’ve given me a good excuse. Maybe you’ll let me buy you a coffee?”

  “Starbucks?”

  “Absolutely. Wherever you want.”

  Sheila straightened his tie. “What I really want is for you to join us this weekend. The kids would love it. Please? Pretty please?”

  Bill nodded. “I decided just a few minutes ago that I’m going to do just that. Maybe you can teach me how to have fun!”

  She hugged him again, and exclaimed, “Oh, I’m so happy! I never expected you to agree! We’ll have so much fun, and, yes, I’ll teach you. There’s no one better equipped than me to teach someone how to let their hair down.”

  Bill heard the sound of a wagon being pushed down the hall just outside his office. Then a man in blue coveralls poked his head in through the doorway. “Mr. Tomkins? Do you mind if we start cleaning your office?”

  Bill waved his hand. “No, not at all. We were just about to leave.”

  “Thanks, sir.” Another man followed him into the room.

  Bill was surprised to see that they were both Anglos. He’d never seen anyone other than Hispanics cleaning the offices before.

  “Are you guys new?”

  “Just filling in, sir. The regular crew is busy with carpet shampooing down on the tenth floor tonight.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, mine could use a shampoo too.”

  “You’re scheduled for another night, sir.”

  “Okay, then. I look forward to it.”

  He turned his attention back to his niece, while one of the men walked behind him and started dusting his desk. The other cleaner turned on the vacuum and began running it along the carpet behind Sheila.

  “So, shall we go out on the boat this weekend? Would you and the boys like that?”

  Sheila clapped her hands with joy. “Oh, would we ever. Can we pack a picnic?”

  Bill laughed. “I’ve never been on a picnic—ever. I might enjoy that.”

  “Well, I’ll pack a picnic that—”

  Suddenly Sheila was cut off by one big hand around her mouth, and a massive forearm squeezing her throat.

  At that exact same moment Bill began struggling with a chord of some kind wrapped tightly around his neck. It was very quickly choking the life out of him.

  While watching the terror in Sheila’s eyes, he calmly brought his hands up to his throat and tried to slip his fingers in between the chord and his skin. But, it was too tight.

  He knew what his next move was going to be.

  It would be quick, and because Sheila was standing right in front of him, she would unfortunately get hit.

  But, he couldn’t worry about that for the moment. Nor did he even allow his brain to waste gray cells wondering what this was all about. He’d been trained to simply eliminate the threat first before considering anything else—or anyone else.

  Bill stretched his strong arms over his head and behind his back. He grasped his hands tightly around the back of the assailant’s head, bent over, and threw the man into the air.

  The thug flipped as he went over and his feet caught Sheila square in the face. The force of the impact caused her and the attacker behind her to fall backwards onto the floor, with her on top.

  Bill didn’t hesitate.

  At that moment, he was a robot. Everything came naturally to him. Skills long suppressed from lack of use came back to him instantly. Bill reached down and grabbed Sheila’s right hand. He yanked her roughly off the chest of the assailant and flung her back towards the other side of the office.

  The thug started to rise to his feet, but Bill spun him around. With a forearm squeezing tightly around his neck, and a hand grasping the side of his head, he twisted violently. There was a slight snapping sound just before the man went limp. Bill dropped him to the ground like a rag doll.

  The other attacker was on his feet now, a knife in his hand. He began a mad dash over to the end of the office where Sheila was lying stunned on the floor. Bill knew what the guy intended to do. There was no way he was going to let his niece become a hostage.

  Thinking fast, he picked up his Samsung tablet from the top of his desk. Holding it in his hand like a Frisbee, reacting automatically to the training he’d received back at West Point in using ordinary objects as deadly weapons, he flicked the tablet at lightning speed towards the head of the man rushing towards his niece.

  It smashed into the attacker’s skull, just above the right ear. Bill heard a soft grunt, just before the man’s disobedient body crashed on top of the coffee table.

  Bill calmly walked over to the deathly still form and checked the throat for a pulse. Feeling none, he noticed the blood quickly soaking the hair on the side of the head where the tablet had hit. He’d either flung the tablet harder than he thought, or it had connected with just the right spot on the attacker’s skull.

  He shook his head, disengaging himself from the fighting mode that his brain had progra
mmed him to execute.

  Then, Bill surprised himself. He crawled down onto the floor beside his sobbing niece, held her tightly in his arms, and kissed her warmly on the cheek. Over and over again.

  And, while still in a state of confusion, he found himself softly whispering in a tone he’d never heard his voice use before.

  “I love you, Sheila. I’m so sorry. We’re safe now, and I’m here with you.”

  12

  Sandy’s first thought was to just let the machine take a message, because after the bizarre experience in the park with the corrupt deputy mayor and his hired thug he really didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

  But, something caused him to reach for the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  A sweet and vaguely familiar voice at the other end. “Hello, Sandy. It’s been a long time.”

  Suddenly, the memories came back, and the voice was no longer vague.

  He pictured her in his mind. Saw her moving across the gymnasium floor, tumbling along the mats. Tiptoeing precariously across the balance beams. A gold medal draped around her neck after she won the world championship.

  The sound of her voice still made his heart flutter.

  “Judy?”

  “Yes. I’m surprised you recognize my voice. It’s been forever.”

  “It has. I think the last time I saw you was at the wedding. Speaking of the wedding, how is old John?”

  “That’s why I’m calling you, Sandy. He’s dead.”

  Sandy felt a sudden chill. They’d lost touch over the years, but John had been his closest friend throughout his tenure at West Point.

  Sandy had been the first one to get booted out of the Honor Guild, followed a year later by John. After that, they were classmates in the regular student population of West Point, trying hard to leave the memories of the Honor Guild far behind them.

  He remembered that one of the things they’d always joked about was that they were two peas in a pod. They discovered, when chatting about their families over a beer one night that they’d both been conceived through artificial insemination. They thought that was kind of a strange coincidence. Who knew? Maybe they even had the same father?