Page 16 of The Billionaire's Special Relationship

Stuart didn’t answer that question. It was none of his business.

The fact that he didn’t push the issue proved to Stuart that his assessment of him was spot on. He didn’t make waves. “Your name?” he asked as he picked up the desk phone.

“Stuart Jacobs.”

In most circles, all he had to say was his name. It carried its own weight. But not in Larkin.

The desk sergeant pressed a button.“Chief, there’s a Stuart Jacobs out here to see you.”

Apparently the chief askedStuart whobecause the sergeant repeated his last name only. Then he apparently asked what line of work was he in because the sergeant looked Stuart up and down. “Looks like a businessman to me.” Then that chief apparently asked yet another question that his sergeant asked Stuart: “What’s the name of your business?”

Now was the time for Stuart to flex his muscle because this was getting tiresome. He had driven in from New York. He’d been at it all day. He was ready to get going again. “I work at Dellstone.”

Dellstone was a name Americans knew. The same way they knew General Motors or American Airlines. Or even Walmart. Even hicks like that sergeant knew that name. His shocked face proved that. “He says he works at Dellstone, Chief,” he said to the chief as if he was still getting over his initial shock himself. “I know there’s no Dellstone around here, sir. He’s not from around here.” Then he looked Stuart up and down again. “No sir. He don’t look like no joker to me.”

“Oh for crying out loud!” Stuart said, his patience gone. “Just tell the man I’ll make it worth his time.”

The sergeant was offended by his tone, but he did tell the chief. Then he ended the call. “He’ll be out in a minute, sir. Would you care to have a seat, sir?”

Just by mentioning the fact that he was open to bribing his way in to see that chief, suddenly made him somebody in the eyes of that sergeant. Suddenly he was a sir. He suddenly deserved courtesy and respect. Stuart wondered how ordinary people with no cash to back them up made it in this town. Then he realized they probably didn’t make it at all. Like the young woman he was there to help.

But the one thing Stuart never liked were people who disrespected him when they assumed him to be a nobody. He didn’t want their respect when they found out otherwise. “No,” he said to the offer of a seat.

But it turned out that there was no time for sitting anyway because the chief, a stocky black guy who appeared to be in his early fifties, was out of his office and walking toward the information desk as if he had run down that hall.

And he was extending his hand before he made it up to Stuart. “Mr. Jacobs, sir,” he said jovially. “So glad to meet you. I’m Willie Newfield, Chief of Police. Welcome to Larkin!”

Stuart shook his hand and studied his eyes. Was he an official in the mode of a Barack Obama, or a Clarence Thomas, he wondered. A Clarence Thomas could easily get a job as the black police chief of a town like Larkin. A Barack Obama could not.

“How can I help you?” the chief asked.

“One of your officers just detained a young lady. I can’t recall her name, but an SUV crashed into the back of her car and a fight ensued.”

It was obvious the chief had no idea what case he was referencing. He looked at his sergeant.

“Marvin had that collar, Chief. He’s in the back.”

“Tell him to get to my office. Please follow me, Mr. Jacobs,” the chief said to Stuart and Stuart followed him down a long hall, turned a corner, and then entered the office of the chief of police. A very small office, he thought. Repressively so.

“Have a seat,” the chief said as he motioned toward the chair in front of his desk. As Stuart sat down, he walked around and sat behind his desk. “I take it you have a problem with the arrest since you don’t know the lady?”

“I witnessed the incident and attempted to tell your officer that she did nothing wrong. But he insisted that the young lady who instigated the entire affair was the victim. Despite my pleas, he insisted on arresting the actual victim.”

“Let me guess: the instigator was white and the real victim was not?”

Stuart nodded. “Exactly so.”

“It’s a problem in this department, I’ll never pretend it’s not,” the chief said candidly. “I’m new. Just a few months in. I’m working on changing the culture, believe me.”

Stuart was pleased to hear it.

“So what brings you to Larkin? I haven’t seen you around here before. But then again,” he said with a smile, “there’s twenty-five thousand people in thistown, give or take. There’s no way I can know’em all.”

“I was born here. But I left when I was sixteen.”

“And you never looked back?”

Other than coming to check out that big house he purchased for his mother two years ago, when she stood him up anyway, he never looked back. “That’s correct,” he said.