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Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager.
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CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Over the next few minutes there were a flurry of arrivals at the Alamo. Kathleen showed up with Rosemary. A few minutes after that, George came in with Tim and Brett in tow.
Sean guessed what this probably meant but had to ask. "Wow, the whole gang's here! I don't recall planning a party tonight. So... What's up?"
"Everyone," George said. "Perhaps we should go into the Library. I'll be as brief as I can."
In the Library, George continued. "Sit down, everyone. As I said, I'll be brief. You're here because earlier today, Ginny sustained an injury. I wasn't there, but from what I'm told she was discovered at about 10:30 this morning in her bathroom. Apparently, she slipped in the shower and on the way down the back of her head hit the bath tub faucet square on. They took her to Mercy Hospital, and she was later air lifted to Wisconsin General in Madison. I'm told she has a subdural hematoma and is in a coma. As far as a prognosis, the Doctors do not at this time feel that there's anything life-threatening, but she may have sustained brain damage. There's no way anyone will know if that's true, or not until she comes out of her coma."
"How did she fall?" Sean asked.
"They don't know, Sean, but the Detective on the scene thinks she may have slipped on a Loofa. That's the only other thing they found besides her in the bottom of the shower. I'm told there are no signs of a heart attack, or stroke, or anything else. It could just be a simple slip and fall..."
"OK... I mean, we all feel really bad that Grandma's in the Hospital, but there's another reason we're all here, isn't there..." Kathleen asked astutely, although almost more as a statement than a question.
"There is," George said. "I've filled Brett and Tim in a little bit, but now that we're all here I'll get right down to business."
George paused to retrieve some paperwork from his briefcase and continued.
"I brought this paperwork with me which I know by heart. I should. I drafted it. It's a revision done about two months ago. I'll give you guys the short story. What it boils down to is that it's a Power of Attorney that is associated with a Living Will Ginny had drawn up. The Power of Attorney runs to me, and I am exercising it now. It allows me under the existing circumstances to invoke a Trust, and the relevant portion of my Power of Attorney is that the was intended to be invoked by an occasion such as the set of circumstances we find ourselves in now, namely that in the event Ginny should become physically, or mentally incapacitated, control over her financial dealings, and other dealings passes to the six of you. That excludes you, Rose and Joe. Rose and Joe, the Trust states that should it be invoked while John and/or Kathleen are still minors, which they are, that Joe will act on John's behalf, and Rose will act on Kathleen's behalf with respect to the trust."
"Is there anything else?" Brett asked.
"There is. It goes on to state that out of the six of you, it is Ginny's order that whoever is in day- to-day control be one who currently is an adult and resides in Janesville. She does not state a choice, or preference as to which one of you that is. She states that it will be up to the six of you to decide. As things stand now, that would mean it would be either Sean, or Andy since neither Brett, nor Tim reside in Janesville, and Kathleen and John are both minors."
"Does she state that only one of us must be in charge?" Sean asked.
"I'll give you the precise language, Sean. It states, blah blah, blah, ...if any of the foregoing provisions shall be invoked, the individuals named above herein shall choose from among themselves who is to be responsible for making any decisions that may be necessary to make in a timely fashion as the case may be.' And then it goes on to reiterate the condition requiring an adult residing in Janesville, but my reading of the word who' in this instance is that it doesn't limit it to being just one of you."
"There's one thing I don't quite get," Tim said.
"Yes, son?" George replied.
"Well, OK, I get the adult living in Janesville deal, but this wouldn't seem to involve Kath, or the Bambino, so... Is there something I'm missing? I mean, she mentions if any one of us are still minors..."
"In fact, there is something else, yes. And that is there are further provisions relating to decisions that may be made that do not involve simple day-to-day matters. The six of you and I will be going over those in the next few days, but not tonight as time does not permit. On those matters, in a nutshell, the Trust states that decisions are to be made by a vote of all of you, with Joe and Rose acting as proxies for John and Kathleen. It was done that way in order that should anything arise out of a decision once taken, the decision was taken by adults and therefore valid. That doesn't mean that Joe and Rose take your places, guys, it just means they will be the ones on record as having voted. That's all..."
"OK, then..." Brett said. "I guess I'll make a motion. I move that the day-to-day control for the time being be done jointly by Andy and Sean. I think that's where Tim was going, anyway."
Tim smiled and squeezed Brett's hand as he was a bit overcome with emotion at the thought of his dear, old neighbor lying silent in a Hospital bed. It was a fate he never could have imagined for her.
"Very well," George said. "Does anyone second the motion?"
"I do!" Kathleen said. "Oops, mom?"
"I do," Rosemary said.
"As many as are in favor say aye!" George said.
The answer was unanimous.
"As many as are opposed say no!"
Silence.
"I think the ayes have it. The ayes have it. Therefore, I shall record that as of this date and time, the day-to-day operations of all business dealings having to do with the Virginia Miller Trust shall be overseen jointly by Andrew Churchill and Sean Wyman, well known to me and being of the age of majority and residing in Janesville, Wisconsin. Sean and Andy, you will be excused from school tomorrow, and I will see you in my office at 8:30 a.m. That's all the business I have for now. If there's nothing else, the meeting is adjourned."
Afterwards, everyone stayed behind and enjoyed a few drinks at the bar discussing just what they thought this all meant.
"Jesus Christ, Cass... Wymo..." Tim said. "I mean, we all knew that something like this was gonna happen sometime, but now? I mean this soon? I feel for you guys, I really do..."
"We're less than an hour away if you need us," Brett added.
"Thanks, guys," Andy said, "but we'll do the best we can. That is all we can do."
Sean remained silent, as if in this hour destiny beckoned and he seemingly reached out to grasp it.
After a few drinks, it was decided that Tim and Brett would stay at the Alamo that night. Ostensibly, they would be staying in the guest room, but before everyone settled in Andy managed to set up the sling. It was to be a night the four of them would not forget.
It lasted well into the wee hours of the morning. The finale was Brett fucking Sean while Tim and Andy sixty-nined. Brett got into his rhythm fucking the slinged Sean high and hard for all he was worth. Tim and Andy, mesmerized, disengaged and sat parallel to each other on the bed, jacking their hard dicks while Brett fucked Sean's ass all the while feeling each other's chests and abdomens...
Tim grabbed Andy's cock, huskily saying, "Jack mine! Finger my asshole, too!"
Andy lustily complied with Tim's request, then flipped his larger friend on his back, lubed up his big cock and impaled Tim without warning. Tim thrashed as the head of Andy's swollen dick washed back and forth over his prostate, eliciting copious precum which Tim scooped up using as lube to stroke his own throbbing member.
Sean bucked under Brett's pounding, imploring him to fuck him harder. Brett complied. The sight of the two blonde Gods, Brett with his muscular legs and ass flexing with each thrust into Sean's round, blonde-fuzzed ass drove Tim and Andy over the edge. They disengaged, each stepping onto either side of Sean while jacking their cocks.
"I'm close!" Brett exclaimed. "I'm gonna blow!"
"Cum on me, Brett!" Sean gasped. "Shoot your sperm on me!"
Brett pulled out and grabbed his cock and Sean's cock together, masturbating them as one. Sean's cockhead swelled up causing Brett to draw a noisy, deep breath.
"You guys are so fucking hot," Tim gasped, erupting in a huge load of six heavy spurts all over Sean's belly and chest. Sean scooped up one of Tim's loads, licking his fingers off, moaning.
Andy groaned in ecstasy, but instead of cumming on Sean blew his load on Brett, hitting his pubes and cock. That was too much for Brett, by far the strongest shooter of the four. He unloaded with the first three jets covering Sean's face and mouth causing Sean to gasp, "Oh, God! I'm gonna cum!"
Tim leaned in and swallowed Sean's cock, feeling Sean's torrent of cum coating his throat. Instead of swallowing, he grabbed Brett, kissing him, pushing Sean's cum into Brett's mouth so they could share it.
"I could go again!" Sean said. "Let's jack off!" Sean got out of the sling, got a towel and placed in on the floor. "C'mon! I said let's jack off!" Sean pumped his cock to a furious erection, reaching back to finger his still well-loosened asshole.
The other three soon followed suit, wrapping their arms around each other's shoulders for support. One-by-one, each of them grabbed the next one's cock for a circle jerk, knees bent, hips thrusting, the four young men grunted, eyes closed in ecstasy. Their breathing became heavy, cocks angry with swollen, purple heads, knees flexing farther up and down with each stroke.
Without notice, just with a huge exhale, Sean spewed first, overshooting the towel on the first two loads. That set Tim off, cumming on the towel and Andy's foot. Brett was next, true to form cumming hard, sending warm cum ropes onto Andy's stomach. Andy finished up with a heavy load covering the towel like dollops of whipped cream.
"Jesus Christ!" Tim breathlessly mouthed. "Fucking awesome!"
Sean bent down to grab the towel, putting it to his face inhaling the musky smell. "Guys, I'm keeping this towel. I'm gonna jack off to this night probably for as long as I live."
"We all will," Tim said. "I fucking... I... Man, I love you guys."
Exhausted, the four men climbed into Sean and Andy's California King-size bed and fell asleep in each other's arms.
The next day, Andy and Sean trooped into the Dickson home for a private meeting in George's office. "Thank you for coming, guys. I'm sure you're interested to find out about Ginny's condition. It's fairly simple at this point. The good news is that there has been no change for the worse, and the bad news is there's been no change for the better. From what I understand, sometimes people come out of comas fairly soon, and sometimes they don't. I also understand there's no way to know which way it's gonna go. The Doctors have been able to reduce some of the pressure of the hematoma on her brain, and that is a very good thing. As of now, they still have no way to tell if there is any brain damage, or not."
Sean wiped a tear from his eye. His mind went to everything Ginny had been and was to them. Friend, mentor, protector... After a moment, he characteristically squared his shoulders, and looked George in the eye. "I guess no news is good news, anyway... Well, I suppose we should get down to business now, hey?"
"I think so," George replied. "This is going to be a lot to put on you guys, but I want you to know that in Ginny's absence I will be here to guide you. I've been Ginny's Attorney almost since I was out of Law School, and I know everything there is to know. I suppose the best place to start is to give you guys a lay of the land with respect to Ginny's holdings, and what will require attention and what won't."
"What are we looking at here?" Andy asked in his usual, businesslike way.
"I think the best place to start would be an organizational chart. It will let you see what's where in a quick fashion, and then we can go over the things that will need attention in the nearest future."
George handed charts to the boys. "OK, let's take it from the top. You will see at the top is a Wisconsin LLC. This exists solely to generate enough income for Ginny's living expenses. Revenues are collected by the other companies further down the charts. Now, there are two that are incorporated on the Island of Jersey, a third one in the British Virgin Islands and a fourth one in the Falkland Islands. All four of these corporations are, due to the local laws being what they are, exempt from the usual reporting requirements and income taxes. The two Jersey corporations are mainly concerned with real estate holdings in Great Britain, and with British government bonds, and some other European holdings. The Virgin Islands corporation is for United States real estate holdings and income generated by certain import licenses on hard liquor that descend from the days of Prohibition. The Falkland Islands corporation ostensibly owns farmland in the Falkland Islands, but very little income is generated from sheep farming. The main concern there is international business investments and shipping. The Wisconsin LLC also owns controlling interest in the Private Bank here in town. The income from that is one dollar a year, but it provides Ginny, hidden behind the LLC, with control of the bank. In addition to the corporations we already talked about, there are Swiss bank accounts, as well as accounts with the Vatican Bank. As you can see, the real money is generated in areas that uncharitably can be called tax havens. Only enough income is generated here in the United States that would on its face support an upper middle-class standard of living for a woman Ginny's age. At any rate, there are a couple of items coming up in the next week, or two that will require your immediate attention."
"Jesus! There's a lot here!" Andy said.
"Yeah," Sean agreed. "Um...how are we supposed to know enough to make intelligent decisions?"
"That's where I come in. To guide you. As I said, there are only a couple things that need to be decided in the nearest future..."
"What would those be?" Sean asked.
"Well, the first one is a meeting Ginny previously scheduled with the British Chancellor of the Exchequer. It involves Consol Bonds purchased during World War II. The second thing we need to look at is ownership of some real estate in Detroit. Ginny's been trying to get rid of it for years. We finally have a Buyer. We will need to review the contract. Yes, there will be a substantial paper loss on this property, but the loss can be carried over for income tax purposes here in the United States."
"Who would want to own real estate in Detroit?" Andy asked.
"Exactly what is this real estate... Can we see it on a map? I'd like more information," Sean said.
"It's downtown real estate zoned as commercial. The potential Buyer is Quicken Loans. They want it to build a new office building."
"Why can't we build the building for them and rent it to them?"
"We could bring that up, however you should know that it's not at all certain they'd go for that, and you should also know that Ginny's been trying to sell this stuff for years. My advice is to see if we can't negotiate the offer to a successful conclusion before we do anything else."
"Alright, what about these British Bonds?" Andy wanted to know.
"Andrew, do you know what a bond is?"
"Pretty much, I think..."
"Very well, what makes a Consol Bond different is that the bond has a face value which is never paid off. The Borrower, in this case the British Government, pays a set coupon payment each year. The issue we'll need to resolve is that Ginny would like to find a way to retire them. Now, when the Bonds were issued, and they are issued in Pounds, not Dollars. One Pound back then was worth $4.03. Today it's worth about $1.35. Therefore, if we retire these bonds at today's exchange rates, we will gain a lot more in Dollars than we stood to gain in the past. Of course, the British Government has no incentive to do so except for one thing..."
"What's that?" Andy asked.
"These Bonds were purchased in 1940 when it seemed that there was an even chance that the British would lose the war. Therefore, the interest rate is quite high. It's 12 ½ percent. The face value is fifty million Pounds, and the interest is paid in Pounds. Each year, the income from those Bonds is just short of eight-and-a-half million dollars."
"Cancel the meeting," Sean said. "I don't see any reason to forego that kind of income forever. At this point, it's like free money."
"Those were Ginny's initial sentiments, Sean, but she accepted the meeting as one does not turn down a meeting with someone like the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Bad form, and all that as the British would say. You two will go and hear the man out. Besides, we don't know what the British Government may be prepared to offer."
"I guess you're right. It just seems like a waste of time, though."
"Shut up, Blondie!" Andy laughed. "A trip to London is a fucking trip to London. When do we go?"
"In one week."
"OK, well, I suppose we'll have to see Principal McVay so we can arrange to get our assignments in advance. I don't want questions being asked around school. And we'll need a cover story in case we're asked about why we'll be out, too" Sean said.
"The story is going to be that you two are going to London to check out a college for next year. No sense lying and saying you're going somewhere else... Take a few pics at, say, the London School of Economics, put them on your Facebook and who's to know." George said. "You will only be in London for two days anyway. I've arranged a private jet, and instead of Heathrow you will be landing at London City Airport which is right in the center of town. Easy in, easy out. While you are there, you'll be staying at the Flood Street house, so you won't be in a Hotel. Ginny has a chauffeur and a house keeper. No muss, no fuss." George explained.
"Wait a minute..." Andy said. "It sounds like you're not going with us."
"I'm not."
"How come?" Sean asked.
"Guys, people on the level of the Chancellor aren't going to take you seriously if you show up with someone like me who looks like I'm there to babysit you through the whole thing. Yes, he'll probably be surprised at how young you are, but Ginny put you where you are for a reason. Never forget that. I'll notify his office in advance that Ginny is unable to attend for health reasons and that you will be there under the trust. It will be just fine. I've prepared a dossier for you on the Chancellor. His name is George Osborne. He's been in office for six years. He's all about the bottom line. I think you guys will do just fine. It probably won't be a long meeting anyway."
"OK, well, we'll study up. I mean, if he makes us a decent offer, we'll consider it. But I can tell you, George, we probably won't be making any decision on the spot when we're in London. Even if we knew what we were gonna do, we wouldn't let him know right then and there. He'd think we were pushovers. If he wants something, and we are gonna agree to it, he can wait a little while and cool his heels."
"That is precisely what Ginny would do," George smiled.
"Good," Sean said. "When do you think we could visit her in the hospital?"
"Well, she's still in intensive care. She's allowed visitors, but only during certain hours. You can check that and maybe go on the weekend, or something. From what I gather, she isn't going to know anyone's there. Let's just hope she pulls through."
Sean's lip quivered, which did not go unnoticed by Andy. "Yeah," Andy sighed. "I dunno what we'd do without her..."
"Neither do I," George agreed. "But remember what I said. She picked you for a reason. And she doesn't make decisions like that at the drop of a hat. By the way, I made an appointment for both of you at my tailor's shop. You will be measured, and he'll make custom suits for both of you. Tell him to make them in the English style. Once you know what you're getting, I'd suggest you get some top-quality shoes, socks and ties to match. One thing about the British, they don't wear cheap suits, and for a meeting with someone like the Chancellor, they'll spy an off-the-rack suit a mile away. Again, bad form."
"Seems like a lot to go through for probably a twenty-minute meeting..." Sean groused.
"Yes, I suppose it does," George agreed, "however, when you're doing business on this level, you have to look the part. Both of you get fresh haircuts, too. Oh, and when you meet him and shake hands, it's not Mister Chancellor,' it's just Chancellor.' After that it's `Sir.'"
"That's weird," Andy laughed.
"When in Rome..." George said matter-of-factly. "He will address you as Mister Churchill, and Mister Wyman. The dossier will tell you everything else you need to know. Oh, and Andrew, the British love word plays. If there gets to be a tetchy moment in the meeting, smile and remind him how ironic it seems that Winston Churchill's Chancellor of the Exchequer negotiated the Consols and now Andrew Churchill presents himself seventy-five years later to speak to another Chancellor. He'd probably get a chuckle out of that. And do not ever call it the British Government.' It is Her Majesty's Government.' They're sticklers for stuff like that."
"Now we know where Mrs. Cheadle gets it from," Sean laughed. "Don't worry, we'll be fine."
"Where are we flying out of?" Andy asked.
"Right here. From Janesville. You won't need to go to O'Hare, or Milwaukee. Your airplane will be a Gulfstream G650. It's a two-engine jet, and it'll get you there just as quick as a full-size plane. You'll clear British Customs on arrival, and you'll be pre-cleared for U.S. Customs before you leave London. Ginny's chauffeur will meet you on your arrival in London."
"You got this all planned out, George," Sean smirked.
"Yes, I do. That's my job," George replied. "Now, go on! Get over to the tailor's shop!"
"Alright! Alright!" both boys laughed as they exited George's office.
SATURDAY MORNING
Sean, Andy, John and Kathleen piled into Sean's Equinox and headed up to Madison. Their first stop would be Tim and Brett's house, a modestly-sized two-bedroom 1927 brick Craftsman located just south of the University on Chandler Street in the Vilas neighborhood. There, the six of them would discuss the trip to London, and the Detroit real estate deal.
"Jesus Christ, I hope when we get there they don't have any of last night's tricks hanging around..." Andy said.
"They won't," Sean answered. "Dix told me they're done with that. Too much chance for private information getting into the wrong hands. I mean, yeah, they're both horny bastards, but they ain't stupid... And you two!" Sean continued, looking into the rear-view mirror into the back seat.
"What!" John said.
"Don't WHAT me! Look, I'm just gonna tell you two guys something, and leave it at that. I know that you guys want to experiment. I know you wanna get fucked in the ass, Bambino, and Kathleen, well, let's just say I know what you'll be up to when that happens. Do it in the next few days and get it over with. We got a lot of shit to protect here. None of us can be in a position to be blackmailed."
"You are suuuuuch a dick, Sean!" Kathleen said. "Besides, how would YOU know about this shit..."
"Doesn't matter HOW I know, it only matters that I DO know."
"Well, you don't have anything to worry about, so you can stick it up your ass!" Kathleen shot back.
"Kath, you should worry about your boyfriend's ass, not Sean's..." Andy laughed.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah... Like I said, don't worry. I grew up around this kind of stuff all my life, and, God rest her soul, I am NOT my sister... I knew every damn thing that went on around our house and I never breathed a word to anyone. In fact, I know something that would make Sean cringe. Doesn't have anything to do with this shit, but you would just fucking cringe, Sean. And I'm NOT telling you!"
At that, Sean and Andy looked at each other and shrugged.
Pulling into the driveway at Tim and Brett's, no sooner had they opened the car doors than Tim bounded out the front door grinning like a Cheshire cat. "God damn! Thanks for coming guys! C'mon, Brett's got breakfast ready!"
In they all went. Once in, hugs were exchanged all around, and Brett motioned them into the dining room. It was a simple breakfast, as while Brett was a capable cook, his skills could not compare to Sean's. The menu was Quiche Loraine and asparagus tips with lemon butter.
"I'd have tried for Hollandaise Sauce, Wymo, but, well..."
"Shut up, it's good!" Sean said. "Anyway, let's get down to business here..."
For the next ten minutes, Sean and Andy explained everything in detail to the others that they'd gone over with Tim's dad at his office.
"So, there you have it. Whadya think?" Sean asked.
Quickly, the six of them without disagreement approved negotiating the sale of the land in Detroit to a conclusion. As Brett pointed out, it didn't make sense to own property subject to an annual tax liability in "a dying city that's questionably managed." He didn't see any upside to it. Neither did any of the others.
On the subject of the British Bonds, there was a lively discussion. Unexpectedly, it was John and Kathleen that brought up the best points of negotiation for when Andy and Sean faced off with the Seigneur of British finance.
Kathleen said she thought that if the British wished to retire the bonds, that was fine, but that in exchange for that they should ask the British to pay at least two years' worth of additional interest payments in addition to the payment of the face value of the bonds as the cost of altering the terms.
Tim looked at Bonds with his budding Attorney's eye, pronouncing that he saw nothing one way, or the other about what would, or would not happen should the terms of the instrument be altered, and that therefore Sean and Andy would be within their rights to ask for an incentive to do so.
John suggested that the Chancellor might try to pay off the face value at the exchange rate that held on the day when the bonds were purchased, which was $4.03 per Pound, but that they should refuse that point blank and ask for payment at face value in Pounds, not Dollars, which they could exchange into Dollars at the current rate, netting them better than three times as much.
Sean volunteered that he didn't think two year's interest was enough of an incentive. All the others nodded in agreement.
Sean and Andy said that they'd enter the meeting with both of those things in mind but reminded everyone that if they demanded additional interest once they agreed to allow the bonds to be redeemed, the British might get riled up about that. They did agree that they would demand that interest be pro-rated on a per-diem basis to the date of payoff. They all agreed that redemption would be at face value in Pounds, or they would end the meeting. As the vote of the adults present was 4-0, they deemed in unnecessary to involve Joe, or Rose.
Once the issues were discussed and agreed, Brett suggested that Tim reduce the meeting to writing, and that they all sign it. Once done, they decided to go out for lunch, heading down to the age-old Parthenon Restaurant on State Street for gyros and fries and then to Wisconsin General Hospital to see if they could visit with Ginny for a little while.
At the hospital, they were quizzed as to who they all were. Tim produced the Trust document, and once the hospital administrators were satisfied, they found Ginny's room. To them there didn't look like anything was wrong with her. She merely appeared as if she were asleep.
A Doctor had accompanied them, and Sean turned to ask a question. "Doctor, she looks like she's just asleep. I mean, we know that's not the case, but can you give us a run-down of what we're looking at here?"
"And you are?" The Doctor asked.
"Sean Wyman. You'll see my name in the Trust document."
"Yes, I have a list of the names of authorized individuals right here on my iPad case file. Well, what I can tell you is that the hematoma is about gone. And that is a good thing. It appears that Mrs. Miller sustained a bruise to the brain. We call that a cerebral contusion. The area of her brain most affected appears to be the cerebellum, which controls motor functions. We expect her to make a recovery, but we do not know at this time what her physical condition will be."
"What exactly do you mean?" Sean continued.
"What I mean is this: the brain is a tricky thing. Even with the best medical care, and I can assure you that she is getting the best medical care, when it comes to the brain, no one can say. It may be that when she comes out of the coma that she will not have any lingering effects. It may be that she'll need some light, or moderate physical therapy. And it may be that, for example, she'll never walk again. We just can't predict that."
Sean grimaced, then squared his shoulders, and looked the Doctor in the eye. "She will walk again. By God, she will!"
At that exact moment, a groan from Ginny filled the room. All heads snapped in her direction.
"Don't be alarmed," the Doctor said. "Sometimes this happens."
"Doc?" Andy asked.
"What is it, young man?"
"Well, I noticed on this machine over here that when she groaned, the readout seemed to jump up and down a lot..." Andy pointed at the EEG monitor next to Ginny's bed.
"Well, that's a good sign then. Even though there is not now any consciousness, sometimes, and again we don't know much about it, they seem to know when certain people are present. It could have been that, and it could have been completely involuntary."
"OK, well, you know, she's a very strong-willed lady..." Andy said. "I wouldn't bet against her..."
"I can see that just by the fact that all of you are here," the Doctor replied. "Many times, no one comes at all to see these people."
"Can we come back at any time?" Sean asked. "I'm only asking that because, well, except for Tim and Brett, the rest of us live in Janesville and we're still in High School. We can't just pop in whenever..."
"I'll make a note of that in the case file. You're free to come at your convenience."
"Thanks, Doc!" Andy said.
"My pleasure, young man. I've got to make the rest of my rounds now..." With that, the Doctor excused himself.
"Whadya think?" Tim asked Brett, a tear in his eye.
"I'm not a Doctor yet, Hun," Brett said. "I don't even know much about this stuff at all. All I can say is what Andy said, don't bet against her."
"She's my grandmother. She's gonna beat this." Kathleen said, chin jut out.
John simply looked at his girlfriend and smiled.
"I guess we better go, guys," Sean said. "There's not much we can do here now, but I'm gonna come back on Tuesday. I'll bring a few things from Ginny's house. Maybe even the smell of it will help. I dunno, I just..."
"We'll both pick out stuff for you to bring," Andy said, knowing this was something Sean had to do on his own. He could see his husband's talents coalescing. From what he always saw from the time they were little boys playing in the sandbox, to the steadfast friend when Andy's father died, to the bewildered thirteen-year-old reconciling the death of his mother, to the unprepared starting Quarterback of the Kenosha Tremper football team, to winner of the State Championship, to father, to Coach, and now, who knew what would be next... But Andy did know that only Sean could grasp this moment, and that Sean, with his innate confidence and unflappability, would make his tentative first steps appear as if he was an old hand who'd been doing it for years.
Andy knew that as talented as Tim and Brett both were, it wasn't for them. He knew as determined as John was, it wasn't for him, either, or for the equally determined and socially more adept Kathleen. And finally, Andy knew it wasn't for him. He knew his role was one of support. And with that, Andy was content. No one, not even Sean, could do it all with no support, and no one knew Sean like Andy did.
Well, Ginny did it by herself, Andy's mind continued, but she wasn't burdened with twins before her eighteenth birthday, or the death of her mother at a young age. By the time her responsibilities fell on her, she was much older than Sean, already with a wealth of life experience under her belt, and she already had a college education and ran a successful business. She knew her way around, or at least enough to in her inimitable way successfully fake the rest of it while she learned the ropes, and she also had the capable hands of the Dickson firm to mentor her, and therefore had not been totally without support.
Andy would do his best to support Sean. He was, after all, a businessman himself.
On the way back to Janesville, Sean seemed in a jocular mood. He went so far as to teasingly pry John and Kathleen if they'd done anything about their contemplated extracurriculars. That bought him a slap on the back of the head from Kathleen, a "fuck off" from her, as well as a stern admonition, once again, to mind his own business. Sean got his answer by paying attention to his younger brother's face in the rear-view mirror.
"So, how was it, Bambino?" Sean asked.
"Shut up, Sean!" came the sharp reply. "Didn't you just hear what Kath said? You're a real prick, ya know that?"
"Just lookin' out for ya, bro, just lookin' out for ya... I hope it was fun."
"Yeah, well, I fucked Tory, too!" John blurted out.
"We'll talk about that later. I don't wanna get slapped again!"
"Fuck off, Sean..." Kathleen said, "at least I got to eat some pussy. You'd never do that!"
"Hey, I guess I'm not Charlie Tuna over here, what can I say?" Sean shrugged. "Anyway, guys, we have a couple things we need to pay attention to in the next couple of days. First, we gotta nail down the election campaign. We'll be getting some initial polling data tomorrow, or the next day, and then we gotta get clear about the meeting in London."
"You nervous?" John asked.
"No, not really. I mean we have their bonds. They owe us money. They want to pay the bonds off, but as written the bonds have no mechanism for that. So, we ask them what they'd like to do, and then make them squirm a little bit. Oh, yeah, we'll get to an agreement, but we're not gonna run in there like we're the ones asking for a favor..."
"I had an idea," Andy said. "Just thought of it, too!"
"What's that, sweetheart?" Sean asked.
"Well, they wanna pay the bonds off, right? OK, but there's the little thing about the 12 ½% interest we wouldn't be getting anymore if they did. So, we calculate the present value of that stream of payments and present it to them. It would be an astronomical amount that they could never agree to, but we can negotiate from there. At that point, the principal becomes immaterial. I mean, the face value from what George said is fifty million Pounds, so, say about seventy million Dollars. The interest rate is 12 ½% and the payment is in perpetuity. I dunno what that comes to as a present value, but it's gotta be, like, I bet in the billions... It'd hafta be! They'll shit their pants when we bring up an amount like that. They won't wanna pay it! So, we negotiate an amount that either both of us can agree to, or we don't allow them to redeem the bonds. It's that simple. I mean, we're not going there to be their friends. It's business..."
"With your brains, and my charm, Brown Eyes..." Sean laughed. "Anyway, let's figure out the numbers when we get home, and guys, let's plan on getting the election campaign in high gear once we have those polling numbers."
"You guys are gonna kick ass, Sean," Kathleen said. "Don't forget, I've been around this town my whole life. I know how things work."
"I want a landslide," Sean said.
*** THREE DAYS LATER ***
"OK, guys," Andy said, "Here's the polling data. I'd say it's, well, it's OK, I guess..."
"Whadya mean?" Sean said.
"Well, in my race so far I am polling at 52% of the total, and the other two are at 30% and 18%. Sean, you are at 43% and the next closest person to you is at 24%."
"That's kinda sucky!" John interjected.
"Shhhh..." Kathleen shushed John.
"OK, so where are we running good, and where are we running bad?" Sean asked.
"Well, if I look at these numbers, it's kinda different for both of us. It looks like my numbers are better on the West Side and the South Side than they are on most of the East Side, and yours are better on the East Side, but kinda weak in the older neighborhoods on the South and West Sides where in some cases you're running second, or even third. You're running strong in the Sinnissippi Hills area, and the far Southwest Side."
"Whadya think the problem is?" Sean asked.
"I know what it is..." John said.
"Spill, Bambino," Sean said.
"They think you're a rich brat."
"I'm rich, but I'm not a brat."
"They don't know that. They don't know you. You're a guy who was a football jock and won a state championship. None of them ever were. They might resent you a little..."
"You guys all dumb," Brad spoke up. Brad had been taking notes just to keep things organized. "All dumb."
"OK, Brad, so how are we being dumb here? We're just taking stock of the situation..." Andy said.
"They don't know you. You go talk to `em. That all..."
"Whadya mean?" Sean asked.
"You don't know that West Side area. That where I grew up. You rent Saint Patrick's School auditorium and send invitaries."
"Invitations," John corrected.
"That what I said," Brad deadpanned.
"Fine," Sean said, rolling his eyes. "And then what..."
"You rent Saint Patrick's. n' you rent Saint William's on West Side. You tell em you know they think you just a rich fuck, n' yer there cause that ain't what you are. I come with you."
"Um, Brad, what would you do?" Andy asked.
"I tell em," Brad said. "We tell em together."
"You sure about that?" Sean asked.
"Yuh. You help me. I poor and shit. Had to pay ever-thing, work, go t' school, assholes took my money, `n' you help me. You didn't hafta do nuthin'... You wanna make money. So, you make money, they make money. Like me. That not hard.... They get me if I say that. Trust."
"DO IT!" Kathleen said. "Brad's right. Nobody's ever done anything like that before."
"Fine, we'll do it," Sean said. "I don't think people will come, though, if it's just that. I mean, they gotta have some other reason to come. And I don't wanna rent Saint William's. Saint Patrick's makes sense because that's the biggest venue in that neighborhood. Instead of Saint William's why don't we see if we can use the cafeteria at Parker?"
"Cafeteria?" Andy asked.
"Yeah, because we need to get to know these folks, Brown Eyes, and what we're gonna do is we're gonna cook for them. First come, first serve tickets and a free meal. I can pull off planning it, and with your help, it'll be a total success!"
"But, you know I'm not a good cook like you are..."
"We're going to be cooking in quantity. It doesn't have to be five-star, it just has to be ready on time. Look, we'll have help!"
"Whadya mean..."
"I'll hire the cafeteria staff, go over the recipes with them, which I will adapt to their equipment, and you and I will help on the serving line."
"What if they don't want to?"
"Why wouldn't they? I'll offer them quadruple their hourly wages plus $100 to show up. It's not that much, and we'll pay for the food, too. We'll serve Mexican at Saint Patrick's, and something like maybe Swedish meatballs, or spaghetti at Parker. It'll be fine. We can have little individual wine bottles, too. I KNOW the City will let ya do that, and it'll be fine. We're on the serving line, and we get to talk to everyone."
"That makes sense..."
"Well, yeah! I mean, we serve them their food, we smile, let `em know who we are, ask them if they have anything on their mind about the School Board, or the City Council... It's perfect!
"I get it arranged," Brad said.
"Yeah, but not for just yet," Sean answered. "Andy and I are leaving for..."
"Don't wanna know where you're goin'..." Brad said. "Toldja before, stay in my own lane."
"That's fine, Brad," Andy said. "We're leaving in two days, and we'll be gone for probably three days, maybe four. We've already made arrangements at school. Anyone asks you, just say..."
"Won't say shit," Brad answered. "Like I said, nonner my bidness."
"OK, OK, OK, Braaaaaadley," Sean said, exaggerating Brad's whole name only when he meant to needle him. "That's fine."
"Bring me back somethin'," Brad winked. "Don't wanna know where it's from, but just a little somethin', ya know?"
"You got it, bud!" Sean laughed.
TWO DAYS LATER
Sean and Andy took Andy's Cruze to the airport, having prior to leaving secured a garage in which to keep it as they didn't want to take the chance, no matter how remote, that someone would spot the car and recognize it. Both of them were developing the cloak of secrecy around their moves that they know full well they would need to keep close in coming years. Anyone seeing the car at the airport and who knew of Sean and Andy's absence from school could simply check the airport's flight records and have a pretty good idea that they were in London.
Seven hours later, they were told to resume their seats in the private jet aircraft as they were in the final descent into London City Airport. It was a good bit larger than they thought it would be, but they were guided by their Flight Steward into the VIP area where they spotted an impeccably dressed older man holding a sign that said Wyman/Churchill.
"Gentlemen," the older man began, "I trust you had an acceptable flight? I'm your Chauffeur. Name's Pritchard. Your bags are being delivered to the pick-up area as of this moment. Follow me to clear British Customs, and we'll be off to Flood Street. I understand you have a meeting tomorrow morning. Perhaps on the way, if you wish, I could recommend a nice place, or two for your dinner this evening, or the Cook will be happy to accommodate you if you wish to dine in."
"We don't want to be any extra trouble," Sean said. "We can eat out tonight. Maybe if we could have a light breakfast arranged for the morning, that would be fine. Does Ginny normally have a Cook on staff all the time?"
"No, sir, and I am not on staff at all times, either. We are on call when needed. I shall give the Cook notice to have a light, American-style breakfast for you tomorrow. Would 8:00 a.m. be satisfactory?"
"How about 7:00," Andy said. "Our meeting is at 10:00 and we will want to be on time."
"As you wish, Sir. Right, well, here we are. Go in this door to clear Customs, then you will exit that door over there, and I shall be waiting at the curbside"
"Thanks, Pritchard!" Sean smirked. "We'll see you in a few."
The boys had no issue clearing Customs, and on the way to meet Pritchard decided they could use a snack, so stopped at a kiosk and bought a couple Snickers bars. They exited the door Pritchard had instructed them to, then turned to each other realizing they'd forgotten to ask what kind of a car to look for.
"How are we gonna know which car?" Andy asked.
"I think Dix said Ginny had a Bentley over here, so let's look for a Bentley, I guess..."
Sure enough, at that moment a regal black Bentley Mulsanne silently approached the curbside. It was long, and sleek, reeking of British hand-craftsmanship. The paint gleamed as if it was inches deep. Out popped Pritchard, offering Sean and Andy the back seat.
"Gentlemen," he motioned. "I shall retrieve your luggage from the holding area, and I'll put it in the boot."
"Did you turn the engine off?" Sean asked.
"No, Sir. It's running."
"Oh, I can't hear it, that's all..."
"Sir, one does not `hear' a Bentley's engine. Certainly not! I noticed you purchased some sweets, gentlemen. You will find in the car an assortment of hors d'oeuvres and there is also champagne if you wish, or a selection of American sodas. I hope it is to your liking!"
"Wow!" Andy said. "We're not used to this kind of stuff..."
"That's quite alright, Sir. Now, as I said, I'll just get your luggage in the boot, and we'll be off!"
Luggage stowed, Pritchard entered the car and the big Bentley glided away from the curb without a sound. Sean knocked on the glass dividing the passenger compartment from the driver's. Pritchard lowered the glass screen. "Is there something I may assist you with, Sir? There is an intercom on either side. Just press the button and I will be able to hear you, and to respond."
"Thanks, Pritchard," Sean said. "Maybe we can keep the glass down just the same. I mean, what if we see something and want to know what it is?"
"As you wish, Sir," Pritchard responded. "In case you were wondering, our trip to Flood Street should take us about thirty minutes. We shall drive from here across the Isle of Dogs, then through the City of London, then along the River Thames to Flood Street. Along the way, we shall be passing the Palace of Westminster which you Yanks call the Houses of Parliament, as well as Westminster Abbey."
"Will we be close to Buckingham Palace?" Andy asked.
"Fairly close, Sir, but it is not on the direct route."
"Can you drive us past it?"
"Certainly, if you wish. I shall also be conveying you to your meeting tomorrow morning. I have not yet been told where that is."
"We're meeting the Chancellor of the Exchequer," Sean said. "Gimme a second and I'll get you the address... Here we go, it's 11 Downing Street."
"Very good. You are aware that we will have to pass through a military checkpoint to get into Downing Street. You should have your passports ready, as well as your invitation from the Chancellor. If you don't have the invitation with you, you can access your email from the computer at Flood Street and print it out. The guards will check with the Chancellor's staff before you can get into Downing Street, and you will be checked again at the front door of Number 11."
"Sounds legit," Sean said. "Once we're in, you don't need to wait for us. We can find our way back. We might go sightseeing for a little while."
"As you wish," Pritchard answered.
After a while, Pritchard announced, "Gentlemen, the street we are on is known as The Mall," which Pritchard pronounced to rhyme with the name `Al'. "At the end of the street when we get there, you will see the Victoria Memorial and just beyond will be Buckingham Palace. I'm afraid that will be as close as we will be able to get."
"That's fine, can we take some photos?" Andy asked.
"Certainly, Sir. I can stop the car for a couple seconds if you wish."
"Thanks!" Andy said.
Presently, they came upon a large statuary monument which they recognized to be the Victoria Memorial, and saw the hulking façade of Buckingham Palace behind it.
"What's that flag on top of the palace?" Sean asked.
"That is the Royal Standard. It flies when the Queen is in residence at the palace. If she is away, then the Union Jack flies. So, as you can see, Her Majesty is in the palace."
"Sweet!" Sean said. "Jesus, I wish I could meet her..."
"Quite," came Pritchard's dry reply.
THE NEXT MORNING*
Ginny's Bentley halted noiselessly at the military checkpoint indicating they had reached Downing Street.
"You said this was military, those like regular Cops."
"Yes," Pritchard responded. "But they're not. They're British Army. They only wear uniforms of the Metropolitan Police in order to blend in. Now, once we are admitted, remember your meeting is at Number 11, not Number 10. Number 10 is the residence of the Prime Minister, and if you attempt to get in there, you will run into trouble."
"Got it," Sean said.
Once past the Downing Street checkpoint, Pritchard pulled up in front of Number 11, and they got out.
At the same time, at Wisconsin General Hospital, a panic of alarms was going off in the Intensive Care Unit.
END CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR