2026-01-11 06:56:44The mouth of Loretta opened and closed. She gazed at Robert as though it was the first time she saw him. Her arrogant face trembled.
"I... that was just jokes. We were all having fun. You know how reunions are." It was less confident now, and lost in her voice.
"Fun?" Robert replied. “You think it is fun to humiliate a person? Interesting definition."
The receptionist was standing by and looking over the conversation with a wide open mouth in the guise of typing on her computer. She was not literally pressing any keys with her fingers.
Loretta touched him, her nails manicured to impeccable perfection bringing an arm of Robert into contact with her. Well, I apologize, you know, I didn't mean to come out mean. I didn't mean anything by it. It was just banter."
Robert jerked away his arm. "You meant every word. Every. Single. Word."
"Come on, don't be so sensitive. It was just a reunion. People joke around. We were drinking. You know how it is."
Robert leaned over, and spoke in an ugly kind of whisper. "Here's the thing, Loretta. I have to interview you tomorrow. You had better mind that mouth of yours. Very carefully."
Loretta's face went pale. Every drop of blood bled out of her cheeks. Her hand flew to her chest. "You're lying. That's impossible."
His voice was level and Robert addressed the receptionist. "Tell her who I am."
The receptionist lifted his eyes and smiled in a professional manner. “He is the new president, Robert Jackson. He started today."
Loretta fell back, half stumbling, in her costly heels. She used the desk to support herself. "President? But... how? You were taking pizzas yesterday!”
"Life's funny that way." Robert replied, and was thoughtlessly stroking his fingernails. “The pizza boy turns into the boss sometimes.”
"Robert, please." Loretta's voice cracked. "I didn't know. You have to understand. If I had known"
“Would you have not done the same to me? That all tells of the character, does it?”
"I understand perfectly. You are a bully and you bully anybody that you consider to be weaker than you. You make judgments based on the occupation. Their clothes. Their trainers."
The eyes of Loretta filled with tears. It was real or fake, and Robert did not know. Didn't care either way. “Please, do not cancel my interview. This is a job of my lifetime. This is what I have been striving to do over the years. Auditions, rejection, years of them.”
Robert took out his phone, glancing at it. What time shall Miss Lynn be interviewed tomorrow?
The receptionist flicked with her computer, consulting the schedule. "2 PM, sir."
Robert nodded slowly. "Make it 8 AM. Sharp. Being one minute late means permanent cancellation. Discard her as a consideration.”
"Yes, sir." The changes were made by the receptionist typing.
"8 AM?" Loretta's voice rose in pitch. "That's so early. I am supposed to have a photo shoot at nine. I can't cancel that. It's for Vogue!"
"Cancel it." said Robert coldly. "Or cancel this interview. Your choice. Choose wisely."
Loretta caught him by the arm in a desperate manner. Her nails dug into his sleeve. "Robert, please. I said I'm sorry. What more do you want from me? I'll do anything."
Robert touched his sleeve with his hand and looked at her disgustedly. She dropped straight away like she was scalded.
“I want you to get the same feeling I had last night. Humiliated. Small. Worthless. Like you don't matter." He began to walk to the exit with a plethora of footsteps.
"Robert!" He was called back by Loretta with her crying voice.
He didn't turn around. Didn't slow down. He forced his way through the glass doors and the blazing sunshine.
His delivery bike lay where he had left it. Soon, he'd replace it. Very soon. But there was another place he must visit.
The car dealer was fifteen minutes distant via downtown traffic. This was the last time Robert would be riding in the streets with his bike and the wind on his face.
As he arrived at Premium Motors, a salesman went up to him. And he had a sharp suit and even a sharper smile. His teeth were as unnaturally white.
He did not have that smile when he spotted the delivery bike. His nose wrinkled in disgust.
“We do not purchase second hand bikes here, pal. Test pawn shop on the block”. Dismissively, rudely, said the salesman.
Robert drew out his black card which he was holding between two fingers. "I'm not selling. I'm buying. Your most expensive car."
The eyes of the salesman were fixed on the card. His whole character changed at a moment. The smile again appeared, with a broader breadth. "Right this way, sir. Welcome to Premium Motors. My name is Jake and I will be assisting you today.”
Robert took off two hours later in a Bugatti Chiron. The exterior is black with blood-red leather inside. Sleek. Powerful. Beautiful. Raw power and luxury worth three million dollars.
The delivery motorcycle was in the parking lot of the dealership. Robert had instructed them to give it away, or destroy it. He didn't care which. That part of his life was over.
Robert roamed around the city, and the purr of the engine could be felt under him. The speed was unbelievable. He was able to accelerate and reach sixty in less than three seconds. People stared as he passed. Heads turned. Phones emerged with the purpose of capturing pictures and videos. There were those who were pointing and screaming.
This was power. Real power. The authority to cause people to turn and gaze.
At the speakers of his car, his phone rang. The name of Roxanne was written in bold letters on the dashboard.
The hand of Robert was trembling above the steering wheel answer button. Should he? Shouldn't he?
He answered. "What do you want?"
"Robert, I... I made a mistake. A terrible mistake. Can we talk? Please?" The voice of Roxanne was little. Uncertain. Nothing as her normal authoritative voice.
"About what? How you kicked me out? How you thought Maxime against me? How you allow your mother to slap me blind?”
"Please, just come home. We should negotiate things in a proper manner. Like adults. Like married people should."
Robert laughed. The noise vibrated in the costly interior of the car. "Home? That's not my home, Roxanne. It never was. I was merely a servant, who had gone to sleep there. A maid in your house."
"Don't say that. You're my husband. My legal husband."
"Am I? Since last night you said to me drive away. Your mother slapped me blind. And there you stood and did nothing. Absolutely nothing. You didn't even flinch."
Silence on the other end. Robert was able to hear her breathing. Fast, nervous, scared even.
He continued, his voice hard. “But, because you called, I ought to tell you something. I wasn't lying about the money. I sent it and not Maxime. Me."
Check with Leonardo Vegas yourself, said Robert. “Call Blue Razor incorporation. Ask them who made the payment. Then summon me when thou art ready to say repentance. Not just say words you do not mean, but apologize.”
Robert had put up before she could reply. He cut her off mid-sentence.
He used the Bugatti to drive to an apartment building owned by Dave, and parked it in the visitor zone. A number of individuals paused to look at the car. Some took pictures. It was even touched by one guy who was attempting it before Robert gave him a glance.
Dave was residing in a shabby building in the third floor. Robert enjoyed the exercise and climbed up the stairs. His new shoes clucked on the steps on the concrete.
Dave took the door and beer in hand. He saw Robert in his costly suit and his eyes opened wide. After which he looked out of the window at the car down below.
"Robert? Whose car is that? Did you steal it or something?"
"Mine." Robert passed him into the little apartment.
The beer in Dave almost dropped out of his hand. "Yours? Are you serious? That's a Bugatti! Those cost millions!"
Oh yes, nodded Robert, and sat on the old couch. He strained the springs as he leaned on them. "Can we talk? I need to tell you something."
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CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED AND TEN
Several months later the penthouse had the specific quality of a home that had discovered its true form.Not the version before all that. The version with all the things and that had come through it and was bigger for the coming through. Toy in corners. A board book on the coffee table. There was a second small chair, which had been set down next to the first chair. A carry arrangement at the door next to Clara's coat.Robert was in the living room on the floor.Clara was standing there next to him, constructing something out of blocks. The particular bold design of a person who had determined that these blocks would be a component of something, and who was negotiating with the physical laws whether or not that could be done.Pius was lying on the mat next to her. He was four months old, and he was beginning to have opinions about the world. He observed Clara's building of blocks like a note taker.Robert glanced at both of them.There was no thought of anything around him in his mind
CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED AND NINE
Phillip was arrested on Tuesday morning.He was in his lawyer's office when the FBI agents knocked there. Not dramatically. Two agents. A formal document. The quality of procedure used in an arrest, a carefully-prepared rather than suddenly-arranged arrest.His lawyer was with him all the time.Phillip glanced over the document. He read it. He handed it back.He looked at his lawyer.His lawyer looked at him with the look of one who knew this was going to happen, and had been preparing for it, and he was here when it was supposed to happen.His lawyer said, "All right?"Yes," Phillip said.He stood.He went along with the agents.The charges were specific and comprehensive. Conspiracy. Financial crimes linked to the initial Zenco case which had been completely uncovered during the disclosure. Obstruction related to the Leonard communication and what that communication had stimulated. The two fatalities overseas that Carver had described in his own cooperation agreement, and that the f
CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED AND EIGHT
Patricia's piece was aired on a Friday morning.Not in any outlet. Patricia had set up simultaneous publishing on three big platforms. Such a coordinated release that was able to communicate the story and wasn't looking for attention but managing it. Responding to a story which had already been built around them by giving them the complete real story before any more construction was added.Robert read it at his desk at six AM.He read it, just as he read her other piece. Thoroughly and at a relaxed pace. He read what she had written about the fake document and where it came from, and what the federal investigation had found regarding the origin of the fake document. He read her letter on Roxanne's history, and the medical history and his particular sequence which made her implication in the fabrication impossible. He read what she had written about the DNA result and the documentation and the chain of custody that made the result unchallengeable.He read the portion of Maxime.It was
CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED AND SEVEN
DNA results came back on Thursday morning.Robert was in the kitchen island when the secure message was received from the laboratory. A document attached. He briefly read the notification. Then he opened it.He read it.He placed the phone face down on the island.He sat still.He looked at the counter in front of him. On the coffee machine. The fruit bowl. The things of everyday life, the things they saw every morning, ordinary, and the things they did every day.So, it is what he had known. Pius Robert Jackson. It was clear, specific and unambiguous and backed by federal laboratory certification.His son. Without a doubt and without question.He took up the phone.He read it again.He put it down.He placed both hands on the island.He looked at them.There was something that he didn't expect to happen.He was not surprised with the outcome. He knew what the answer was going to be. He had assured Patricia Osei that the outcome would be what it is. He had been sitting with Roxanne in
CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED AND SIX
Robert's worst board meeting since the Victoria Castellano period was the meeting on Monday.He was at the top of the table and was studying the faces round him and reading all of them, as he had been reading the rooms for years.Angela Voss was a little sad and somewhat irritated. When Robert was called on Sunday, it was Saturday evening and she had told him two things. The Board's support of him. That the board had to get him to stabilize the Zenco's position in the week or the stabilizing would be done without him.Both statements had been made in the same voice. Not as a threat and not as a comfort. Simply as fact.Bloom was gazing at the table. He had been gazing at the table for twelve minutes.Stanton was observing Robert, as if he had been in business for thirty-five years and was making a decision.There were three other board members who remained in the seats they were in all along. The expressions they used had the distinctive careful neutrality of those who await the direc
CHAPTER THREE HUNDRED AND FIVE
Patricia Osei came to the penthouse at two PM.She came alone. No photographer. No recording assistant. The only thing different here was herself and the small recorder she'd set on the kitchen island the same way she had on Robert's desk eighteen months ago, when she'd written the profile that had altered the public perception of him.She looked at Robert and Roxanne across the island.She took a look at them, as she had taken a look at Robert when he was working alone in his office. Not assessing. Reading. The particular attribute of a journalist who knew that the best information in an interview was before the end of the tape.“Well, before we start we need to know a few things," she said. "Off the record."“Go ahead," Robert said.“What you are about to do,” she said. “You’re going to be recorded today. About the test.” She gave both of them a glance. “I want to know you understand that, you don't owe this to anyone.”Roxanne looked at her.“The thing is, we know,” Roxanne said. “
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