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And I think I just found a way to get rid of some of my competition…
7
The Anti-Santa Claus…
Ty
Okay, it’s only been forty-five minutes since I got off the plane, and I’m already regretting having decided to come. Not just because of the company I’m surrounded by (who are all every bit as phony as I expected). To be honest, I’ve rarely met such efficient gold diggers, and yes, I know I’m not using that phrase in the traditional sense, but digging for gold, they are. I’ve already been invited back to one woman’s yurt anytime (Savannah Stevens, who would like to ‘show me how she can make anything rise, just with her mind’). She’s either making the offer on behalf of her team, or she’s looking to land a billionaire for herself. And she’s about to be wildly disappointed. There are a few high-level managers I recognize—none of whom I’d ever actually choose to have a beer with, let alone travel with for days on end.
Notably absent is Skip Napper, Richard’s awful nephew who is set to inherit his fortune. Apparently, the bum couldn’t be bothered to show up to honor the uncle he’s been sponging off his entire life. According to Rohan, Skip might join us later, but at the moment he’s grieving on his own in Las Vegas. You know, because that’s a natural place to go when you’re despondent. So, the one person I actually need to be here isn’t here and I’m stuck with a bunch of Savannah Stevens-types and one ghost buster. Oh, and this is just perfect—another young woman from my ‘to avoid’ list is smiling at me. She glances away coyly, and back at me again. Karen Taylor, the Canadian cryptozoologist in search of Big Foot. Well, you won’t find him here, Karen, so take a hike.
Blech, at the back is Gwendolyn Fox. Defacer of photographs, hater of all things logical and despiser of me. Why is she dressed like that? In a suit and heels? She clearly doesn’t know the first thing about the man we’re all supposedly grieving if she didn’t realize she needed hiking clothes.
Too bad she’s cute. People should look exactly like they act. If that were the case, she’d look like the bridge troll she is—with a wart-covered face, a hunchback, and … I don’t know, scraggly hair or jet-black teeth. Whatever, you get the point. She wouldn’t be able to fool the gullible people of the world into thinking she’s got any human decency whatsoever. But I’m sure she can’t fool them long since she’s so awful. That’s probably what’s got her so desperate to find E.T.—everyone on this planet already hates her.
But it’s not the people who are (or aren’t) here that are making me regret coming. I already knew what would happen when I got here. What I didn’t know was what might be happening back home. Or more accurately, in Texas.
I just got a text from Donna that requires me to be state-side putting out a small fire with a high potential to become a raging inferno any second.
Donna: Mrs. Tillington called me to see if I can find you. Apparently the Ortegas are entertaining other offers on the yacht, and it got her thinking that if they can get a higher offer on the yacht, maybe she can get a higher offer on the team from someone else?
At five billion, I’m already at the top of the top end of my budget. I need to get this deal done now for the price we agreed on. The last thing I need is for her to go public with the fact that the team is up for sale. So far, she’s been touched by my whole ‘I’m buying the team for my dad’ thing. If word gets out, it’ll lead to a bidding war, and there’s no way I can or will go higher. But I can’t leave, because … Richard.
Hmm … what if the trip were canceled entirely? That would mean I could leave without all the guilt of having flaked out on my business partner’s last request.
So, new goal for me—somehow put an end to this trip (without actually being responsible for it) so I can fly straight to Dallas. But first, I need to talk to Donna.
The bus pulls through the gates of a small airport where I see a line of five helicopters ready to go. As soon as I’m on the tarmac, I walk away from the rest of the group and call her. Donna picks up on the first ring. “Took you long enough.”
“Is she actively seeking other buyers or just trying to get me to negotiate against myself?”
“Hard to say. You probably want to treat it like there’s another fox circling the hen house.”
I turn and look behind me, only to see a fox—but in this case it’s a Ms. Fox of the SETI group watching me. She quickly turns away, her cheeks slightly pink. Hmm, those pink cheeks don’t exactly say she hates me.
Seriously, Ty? You’re thinking about a woman right now when the deal of a lifetime is about to go up in smoke? “Okay, I’m not proud of what I’m about to tell you to do.”
“Great,” Donna says sarcastically.
“I want a security detail on her. Make it subtle, but I want intel on who comes and goes from her house, who she sees when she goes out, and if possible, phone records,” I say, hating myself for what I’m doing. “And buy her the biggest bouquet of flowers in Texas. Or better yet, a puppy. Something white and fluffy.”
“I’m on it.”
“In the meantime, I might have a way to get back to the US, by tomorrow morning if at all possible.”
“What about Dr. Napper’s last wishes?”
“We can’t have a farewell trip if I’m the only one left to take it.”
“Oh, Ty, no,” Donna says. She only calls me Ty when she’s especially shocked by something I’m about to do.
“I don’t have a choice. Besides, other than Rohan, none of these people give a shit about Richard. They’re all here for one reason only.”
Thiago blows his whistle and out of the corner of my eye, I see him waving furiously at me. “Gotta go. I’m not sure when I’ll have cell reception again, but hopefully later today when I’m back on the jet.”
I end the call, then stride over to the group, only to hear Ms. Fox saying,
“…for a week. The abdominal pains are supposed to be unbearable. Apparently, most people actually wish for death. And that’s not even the worst part because once the initial symptoms go away, it gets much worse. Bleeding gums, blood in your vomit and stool, rapid breathing. It takes ages—sometimes months—to feel even remotely human again.”
