2026-01-11 06:53:44His left eye was still swelling as a result of the slap of Sandra. He put it to his lips, and fainted at the pain. Its skin had gone a dark purple, and was bruised.
He was in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at the damage. His reflection looked back half his face swollen and discolored. His white of eye had red streaks in it.
"Bitch." He muttered under his breath.
His telephone rang on the night stand. Robert strolled back into the bedroom where he took up the phone grudgingly. The name Uncle Phillip appeared in the screen.
He answered. "What?"
Robert, the board is prepared to have an interview with you tomorrow at ten. Don't be late." There was a kind of artificialness of warmth in Uncle Phillip that crawled along Robert.
"I'll be there." Robert said flatly.
"Excellent. We have everything ready to receive you. The office, the contracts, all that. Everything's made as you wanted it to be made."
"Good. I would not want anything less than that of the Jackson family. The voice of Robert was full of sarcasm.
Uncle Phillip with a nervous laugher. "Of course, of course. See you tomorrow, nephew. Get some rest big day ahead."
Robert hung up, and did not say good bye. He tossed the phone on the bed.
He brought his black card out of his wallet, and rubbed his thumb over the golden characters of his name. The following day, he would enter Zenco enterprise as the president. Not as the destitute nephew whom they kicked five years back.
The irony wasn't lost on him. The very individuals that had deprived him of all their possessions now required his services very much.
Robert took a shower and allowed the warm water to loosen the knots of the muscles. He lingered longer than needed under the spray, and took the luxury of not being hurried. No Roxanne jingling bells. And no Sandra screaming that he come faster.
Just silence. Beautiful, peaceful silence.
Having put on his French suit, Robert again glanced at himself. The high priced cloth was nonsensical when paired with delivery trainers. He needed proper shoes. Real shoes, expensive shoes.
He reached into his wallet and walked away. The hotel lobby was full of businessmen and tourists. No one gave him any attention just another guest.
The city had the most expensive shoe store occupying a corner of the Fifth Avenue. Hundreds of times Robert had passed it, making pizzas and never daring to enter the building. The individual prices on the window made him feel like turning over at the time.
He now thrust through the glass doors with a feeling of confidence. A bell chimed overhead.
The counter sales girl raised her head off the phone she was young, in her early twenties, with perfectly manicured nails and an attitude to accompany. Her blonde curly hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail.
She gazed down and up at Robert, and her nose wrinkled in clear disgust. Her gaze lingered upon his trainers.
"Can I help you?" She inquired it was something she would not prefer to do.
Robert went nearer to the counter. "I need shoes. Your best pair."
The girl laughed actually laughed in his face. She put her hand over her mouth, yet the delight was that of her eyes.
“Our least expensive pair, sir, begin with five thousand dollars. I don't think you can afford it"
Robert drawn back his black card and hard-slapped it against the glass counter to the point of her jumping.
"I said your best pair. Not your cheapest."
The girl's eyes widened. Her smile faded away at once. She picked the card so that she could look at it as she would have looked on a counterfeit card. She rolled it, examined the hologram, the weight, the carving.
Her face went pale. Every hue grew out of her cheeks.
"Right away, sir. Do have a seat in our VIP section, please.” Her voice had been entirely changed.
Robert didn't move. "I'll stand."
She ran away into the back room, her heels beating madly on the marble floor. She came back a few minutes later with a man in a made-up suit, who was older. The manager, probably.
I am very sorry, Mr. Jackson, I am sorry to cause any inconvenience. The manager stretched out his hand, grinning so broadly and unnaturally.
Robert ignored it. "Just show me the shoes."
The manager's hand dropped. "Of course. Right this way."
They ushered him into a small room where there were some chairs made of leather, and ice champagne. Robert was sitting as they brought box after box of shoes.
Italian leather, Handcrafted. Limited edition. All of them were costlier and costlier.
Robert put on a few pairs, and sauntered at his leisure. Making them wait and working them to earn his money.
Robert was wandering out twenty minutes later in Italian leather shoes that were worth fifteen thousand dollars. Delivery trainers were sitting in a designer shopping bag, a reminder of where he was.
He disposed them in the closest trash can next to the store.
His phone rang again. Dave. “I heard what you were doing after you left last night, man. Luke wouldn't shut up about it. He's telling everyone." Dave was apologetic, even ashamed.
"It's fine. I'm used to it." Robert answered, but his jaw made a clench at the thought.
"No, it's not fine. That has been an asshole of a guy. A complete jerk. Look, I suppose you want somewhere to sleep, my door is open. Seriously, anytime."
Robert smiled. Dave was the sole actual companion he had left. The only person who did not desert him when money came to an end.
"Thanks, but I'm good. Actually, I'm better than good. I will see you tomorrow, at Zenco enterprise, at ten. I have a surprise for you."
"Zenco? What are you doing there? Did you get a job or something?" Dave asked, confused.
"You'll see. Just be there." Robert cut short before Dave could put more questions.
The remainder of the day he spent in shopping. Designer suits of which he could hardly make the name. Armani. Versace. Tom Ford. Fresh watches that are more expensive than cars, Rolex, Patek Philippe.
New everything. A complete transformation.
The sneering clerks who had at first looked down on him at first were now falling over themselves to render assistance. They took his bags, brought him champagne, addressed him sir and did so with sincere admiration.
Money changed everything. Absolutely everything.
By night, Robert made a five star hotel check-in. The Ritz. The penthouse suite was even priced higher than he would earn in a month at the pizza place.
He didn't care. He might spare it a thousand times and not have its loss.
He ordered room service. Lobster, caviar, the best wine of France. He consumed like a king, and took his time. No more leftover pizza. Enough of scraps on the plate of Roxanne.
Robert slept in a bed that was larger than the whole bedroom of Roxanne and those silk sheets felt so good against his skin. The bed was as soft as cloud-bedding.
The actual performance would start tomorrow. They would all see tomorrow what Robert Jackson had been.
He slept with a smile on his face. An actual smile after several years.
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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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