It Is What It Is

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Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager.

*** Since Yahoo has taken down their groups, I was thinking of creating a group for the story on Facebook. Would there be any interest in that? Let me know.... Thanks!

I would like to wish all readers a happy holiday season and all the best for 2022.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

Once again seated at the bar at the Alamo, clothes off, Tim asked Sean, "OK, Wymo, so you think the Consortium should be dissolved? This isn't, like, another you checking out deal, is it?"

Tim looked concerned.

"Nope, not at all, Dix. I look at it this way: we're not young guys anymore. All of our kids are well more than grown up. Mine, yours, J.R.'s. All of `em."

"I still don't see what you're getting at..."

"Alright, well, let me put it this way then... There's six of us, right? Me, you, Brad, Brett, J.R., and Kath. We're the shareholders now. Just us six..."

"OK, fine, and...?" Tim asked, arching an eyebrow.

"The `and' is ya gotta remember that as it sits now, no shares are inheritable upon demise of any shareholder, nor are they assignable. We had to vote unanimously to create a new share for Brad after all... And that was only done because I insisted that Brad be taken care of as my husband and be given an equal footing. But, when any of us die, that share dies and that's it. Unless there's a unanimous vote every time to make new shares. We can't always be voting unanimously to create new shares forever into the future. That'd be a fucking circus. Quickly. And it would be a disaster. So, we were always gonna hafta figure this out at some point anyway...

"In fact, Ginny's probably up there in heaven right now sipping a Scotch and chortling over how we plan to deal with something that she always knew would happen one day. That was the one biggest challenge she left us. And she had to know that she was leaving it for us to solve. She wasn't going to do it for us. She wasn't that kind of a person. Anyway, like I said, what was it gonna be? Create a share for every kid?"

"I'd forgotten about that part. You've got a point there."

"Right, and while you're at it don't forget the Consortium is set up primarily to provide the shareholders with a stream of income rather than with the ownership of assets. We all own shares. The ownership is just paper. It's all about income."

"So, what do you propose?"

"That's why I wanted to talk to you about it. I've been running the nuts and bolts of it all these years and even though I've had all the proper financial statements distributed to everyone every year, I'm not sure anyone ever really looked at any of them beyond being satisfied with their quarterly dividend checks. And even though I've had the books audited periodically, no one ever asked to see a copy of the audits.

"No one has ever asked me one question about anything... Ever.

"And over the years I've deliberately kept the annual income distributions as small as I thought I could get away with in order to be able to invest more."

"You did?" Tim asked. "I mean, if I remember right, last year between me and Brett, we got like about nine million dollars and change each..."

"Yeah, you did. Just like we all did, and like I said no one ever questioned anything. For all these years.

"Besides, even though I've trained myself to do a lot of this stuff, in the beginning and for a lot of years after that, the thought that I had and that never left me was to be conservative and never to dip into capital. Imagine what might have happened if I'd lost it all... I could have, you know... Lost it all... I was a babe in the woods. I didn't know squat. I never went on to college to learn any of it. I was scared shitless.

"It haunted me. Like mad. And you all would have blamed me and hated me. I was just lucky all these years, that's all..."

"I can see how you'd think that way..."

"Well, none of us have what I'd call outrageously extravagant lifestyles anyway. I mean, we're rich, sure, but we don't throw it around.

"Take me for example... Even though I own Glen Muick Lodge I don't own the land it sits on and when I die the Lodge goes back to the Dickson Family Trust unless Brad survives me because in my will there's a life tenancy for him at the Lodge. But when both of us are dead that's it for that...

"The Lodge, the bridge, the road, the runway, the hangars, all of it. I'm only using it. I only own the Lodge. Nothing else. And I paid for all of it out of what I already had from my own money and from what Andy left me. The money he had himself, separate to himself I mean, he never told me, but he'd made it grow a lot. Like a fucking ton. And there was a lot left to me even once the kids' inheritances and his bequest to Rob were taken out which was a little more than three quarters of it.

"And just so ya know, I had a nice talk with Rob after the reading of the will. I thanked him for taking good care of And when I didn't. He wasn't the piece of shit in all that. I was... I got the feeling at the time he wanted to be friends, but I never saw him after that or talked to him.

"Anyway, none of that shit cost the Consortium a nickel."

"I never thought about any of that..." Tim said. "Don't worry, we'll come to some agreement about the disposition of the Lodge. Maybe we can partition the land and give the Lodge an easement if and when it comes to that."

"And another thing to think about... Let's just say it's 30 years from now and we're all dead, or senile, but all of our kids are still alive. I've got four, you've got three and J.R.'s got seven. That makes fourteen. Even if we created extra shares to bring them all in and did it without any trouble, that'd be way too many people to have running an investment scheme like we have and have everyone agree on everything. We've only done it smoothly because there weren't that many of us and no one else was really interested in the workings of it, or greedy about what they got every year. With fourteen people it ain't ever gonna work out that way.

"It would be a complete fucking disaster."

"I see what you mean..." Tim said, fondling his wattles just as his father did.

"Well," Sean said, "Some years ago I was reading up on that sort of thing, you know closely held business financial feuds, and I came across a story about this family. Anyway, there was this big family out east. In Connecticut. They had a lot of kids, like nine or ten. They ran this wholesale beverage distribution business which sold everything under the sun, alcoholic, non-alcoholic, you name it.

"Now, that doesn't sound very interesting until you know that they owned a lot of distributorships in a lot of different states. It was massive. The whole thing was set up so that the kids owned the businesses, which were all legally separate, but the parents who technically had very little percentage ownership of these companies held the only shares in any of the companies that could vote. So, the parents controlled it all in the end and the parents were supposedly money skimming.

"Not paying out dividends to some kids while paying to others, going back on long standing written agreements, spending like drunken sailors, shifting assets around to favor one kid or another, this, that, and the other thing.

"I'm talking about hundreds of millions of dollars. At minimum. It was insane.

"It went through the courts for years because these people all had so much money they could afford to have their lawyers keep it there. Then the old man dies. So, the mother who was by that time into the 90s, or whatever, and not always mentally with it had all the voting shares because they were marital property and she kept spending money like there was no tomorrow. It was said that in one year alone she spent $40 million on artwork. I looked up their residence and it's on the ocean and looks like the fucking Kennedy Compound for Christ's sake..."

"Fucking $40 million on artwork?!? In a year?!? Jesus..."

"Yeah. And when has any of us ever spent anything like that kind of money on something so useless..."

"We never have... Jesus Christ, you live in the same house your dad bought how many years ago, and I live in Ginny's old house across the street from where I grew up!"

"Anyway, back to the story. It was only two of the kids who started the lawsuit, the ones who really ran the business, while the other ones were, well, I think there was one of the other kids who didn't work in the business but was in on the money skimming deal, and then the other ones who thought that if they pissed their mom off she'd have the trusts re-written, or whatever. But the whole thing was just a fucking mess. I read the story like six times there was so much meat to it. By the time it was all over they'd lost their biggest brewery as a client and once that happened the businesses weren't worth anything like what they once were. It was like how the mighty have fallen, that kind of a deal. And they did it to themselves. So..."

"I can see your point now. I need a while to think it over, though. You sure read that case in detail, man..."

"Yeah, enough detail so that that Consortium bought that company a few years back. It was worth half-nothing when we bought it. I put the ones who ran it before back in charge because they were good talent and then I negotiated with the big brewery to get them back. They drove a hard bargain but when they saw what the Consortium has in assets and our financial team they came around.

"I told the mom she was out of the picture, and I paid the other kids, who were all pretty well off themselves anyway, what amounted to chicken feed to bugger off. That was done because even though they didn't own any part of it anymore I just didn't want them hanging around. Now the business is back even better than before."

"Wow..."

"The shares were restructured, too. All of the old shares are gone, of course. As it sits now all the shares are voting shares. Brad and I own 24% each as trustees for the Consortium, the two family members who I kept on own 21% each and your brother Kevin owns the balance of 10% to himself.

"See, that way any board decision has to have at least three of the five shareholders in agreement and there is no way, especially with Kevin involved, that there'd ever be a repeat of the financial shenanigans. Any dividend income that accrues to the shares that Brad and I own is dumped into the Consortium accounts. Kevin keeps his and that's fair. I want you to know that I've always seen to it that Kevin was taken care of, Dix.

"I wanted the company because it's huge and alcoholic beverage distribution is as close to a cash business as there is. The longest a customer's invoice can be out by law in most states is 15 days. It's a cash flow machine is how I looked at it, and that's exactly what it's been, too. A complete fucking dolt could run a business that works that way. Anyway, I only told you that story to illustrate how these things go when they go south.

"Money can make people act in strange ways, you know... We don't wanna go down that road."

"I know. And I know you've always had Kevin's back. I love my oldest brother like there's no tomorrow. He was up against so much... And it never turned his heart to stone." Tim said. "Anyway, what are we supposed to decide here right now?"

"We're not gonna decide anything tonight, Dix, man... What I was hoping we might do is start the ball rolling for some thoughts as to how, if the Consortium is dissolved, what the mechanics of it might be and how to make it fair so no one walks away mad. So that it's seen as legit. And I wanted your input first. There's nobody I trust more than you, Dix."

"Well, lemme ask you this: what would you say right now is the net value of the Consortium's assets?"

"I'd have to ballpark it. I mean, I'd have to have Kevin and Brad come up with the figure, but if I had to ballpark it, and don't hold me to this, I'd say we're in the neighborhood of fifty-five to sixty billion dollars. Certainly no less than fifty-five and it could be a little more than sixty. That's as close as I can get off the top of my head."

"Uh, yeah... That's too much money to be leaving fourteen people to be in charge of at once."

"The biggest obstacle I see is the division of assets."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, if we apportion existing assets among all the spin-offs that would have to be set up then some will end up with assets that will by their nature appreciate or depreciate more than others. Some will be more liquid than others, and on and on. In the end that could lead to bad feelings."

"So, you think we should just liquidate everything?"

"See, that's the part that's gonna hafta be sorted out. I mean, that would be the most elegant solution and then just divide up the cash, but I can't see it being done quickly. And of course we're going to need to take tax ramifications into account which will hardly be small even though almost everything is held overseas in tax havens, but once the money comes back, well, you get it... I think it would have to be structured over some period of time."

"OK, so how would you rate the liquidity of the assets?"

"Well, some are liquid, and some less so. If I'm right, there's about a billion in cash, mostly American Dollars, British Pounds, Deutsche Marks, and Japanese Yen. Prolly another ten billion in gold, silver, diamonds, stock options and other things like that, the ownership of which could just be divided up. I mean you can think of those things the same way as cash because they're easy to sell. But then we get into stuff like business entities, real estate, mineral rights, stocks, derivatives, and shit like that, and I think it can get murky as to liquidity... And we prolly hold at least 20% of all the home mortgage loans in the area most of which could be sold in the secondary market and a small amount that couldn't be... I'd take out the ones that couldn't be sold, pay the present value of them to the Consortium, and take the risk onto myself for those loans...

"I do plan on keeping the Private Bank set up as is for the foreseeable future, though. We will all need a clearing house and that's the Private Bank's function."

"You mind if I talk to Brett about this? I mean, I could swear him to secrecy... Like for the time being..."

"Go ahead. I've already mentioned it to Brad. And I'll mention it to J.R. and Kath in the next few days."

"So, why don't we have everyone over for dinner in a few days and we can talk some more about it. Have Brad bring whatever financials he can get together on short notice. We'll do it at our place."

"Well, at least you didn't blow up at me over the whole thing. Anyway, like I said, Dix, we're not getting any younger and the longer our generation holds on is only gonna make it harder to get up to speed for the next one. And let's not forget, Ginny knew when it was time for her to hand on. And she handed on to us when we were pretty young. Even though we're not over the hill, we all had our kids young and, so, I think it's time now for us to hand on."

"Yeah, and you and Andy had your kids especially young, too!"

"Yes... Among other people in my life who I'll never forget there's always gonna be the ghost of Colleen Kennedy..."

"Well, you didn't exactly get nothing out of that deal. Any dad would be proud of Joey and Lennie."

"I'm proud of all my boys."

"I'm proud of mine, too. Listen, don't bite my head off, but Joey and Lennie, I mean, are they, you know..."

At that, Sean cut Tim off. "I know what you're asking, Dix, and let's just say it's as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. Me and And never looked into it, never asked, and were never told. That's just the way I've always left it."

"I shouldn't have asked..."

"You're not the first one to ask. Hell, even Tommy asked me that..."

"I'm sorry, man..."

"Don't worry about it. It's time for the sauna. I can see your cock getting a little plump there..."

"You always had that effect on me, Wymo. Wanna know how many times back in high school that I jerked off to you?"

"Well, now you get the real thing..."

"Did you ever... I mean... Ever..."

"Did I ever jerk off to you?"

"Yeah. You ever do that?"

"Yeah, I did. I fantasized about cumming on you. Because of that time when we first moved here and we were still over at the condo. You like guys shooting cum on you. I thought you were hot back then. I still do. You've always looked just like Danny, and he's always been smoking hot. You shoulda been the receiver in a bukkake movie..."

"Jesus, Wymo!"

"You denying it?"

"Not really..." Tim laughed.

"Let's make it a reality, man..."

"You serious, bro?"

"If you can talk Brett into it and I can talk Brad into it then why not? Of course, we'll need more than just us. There'll have to be a shit ton of loads shot..."

"So much to do. So little time." Tim winked.

"You mean you'd do it?"

"Fuck yeah. Here we are however the fuck old we are, fucking middle-aged now I guess, and we're talking about how I jerk off to having a face full of cum. Fuck yeah I'd do it! All day long! I don't give a fuck..."

"OK, well, sauna time now, Dix!"

Half an hour later Sean and Tim came out of the sauna, Tim with cum on his face and in his hair.

"We need a shower," Sean laughed.

"Fine and then let's hit the sheets."

Once in bed, Sean rolled on his side and spooned himself into Tim. Tim wrapped his arm around his old friend. He whispered, "I love you," into Sean's ear.

"I love you, too, Dix." Sean mumbled.

They slept in that position all night, not moving. Once or twice, Tim awoke momentarily and stroked Sean's hair. Sean was so deeply asleep he didn't seem to notice.

In the morning instead of making breakfast, Sean suggested that they go to a greasy spoon downtown. "I got a taste for some good greazins, Dix. Like some diner hash browns, eggs sunny side up, bacon, maybe a couple of pancakes, you know..."

"I ate shit like that for breakfast every day for years at the Pentagon, but what the hell. Which reminds me, I haven't had any of your Shit of a Shingle in a while..."

"Fine, when we meet for dinner that's what we'll have!"

"So, you'll call J.R. and Kath, right?"

"Yeah, either that or I'll go over and see them... And you'll talk to Brett?"

"Yup. I think he'll be fine. After being Governor, he just wants a simple life..."

"So, you think Brett will be fine with sitting down and talking about it with everyone then..."

"He will. You know Brett... He'll talk to anybody about anything..."

"I need you to understand, Dix, that I'm only trying to suggest that we all do the right thing for the long run. A hundred years from now I wouldn't wanna see a story written about `how it all was lost...' Would you?"

"I get it. And just between you and me I think you're right."

"There's something else I wanna do, too. And I think we'll prolly all agree on it. Well, two things..."

"OK, what now..." Tim laughed.

"It won't be large in the overall scheme of things, but we're gonna need tax write offs. Hefty ones. I want to make gifts both to the City of Janesville and to the Janesville Schools to pay off their bonded debt."

"How much is that?"

"Well, all told it's about $400-450 million. And the second thing..."

"Is..."

"I think I'll run for the School Board."

"I don't follow..."

"Well, the city's grown a lot, Dix. When we were in high school the population was about 65,000 and now it's a little over 100,000. They want to build a third high school because Craig and Parker are bursting at the seams and in another few years will be unmanageable. I don't agree with that."

"So, you want overcrowded high schools?"

"Not at all.

"I've talked with Saeth and had them come up with plans to enlarge both Craig and Parker and keep it just two schools. It's tradition, Dix. The old crosstown rivalry. I don't wanna rob the kids just coming up of what we had. Both schools have way more than enough land to be rebuilt much larger and we'd prolly have to build a fourth middle school on top of it, but that's fine.

"Two feeders for Craig and two for Parker. It divides out evenly. I think two large schools would allow each school to offer a broader range of classes, too, because that way there'd be enough students to fill more specialized classes. And it would make for stronger athletic programs, too.

"Anyway, I'd like us to use the Consortium's assets to make that possible. I figure the all-in cost to enlarge Craig and Parker and to build a fourth middle school would be about another $500 million. We'll do it first-class all the way. So, paying off the debts and doing the schools the right way we're looking at, well, let's just call it a billion on the downside if my estimates are wrong. It's giving back, and it'd be most of the tax break we'll need...

"I wouldn't wanna send the money somewhere else. Like I said, it's giving back. But I would hafta be on the School Board because if we're gonna cough up that kind of money we have to be able to make sure the projects are done right. Only a fool would NOT do that if it was their own money..."

"You're a hundred percent right. And I like the idea," Tim said. "We'll hafta come up with a name for the new middle school. They're all named after famous Americans. Benjamin Franklin, George Marshall and Thomas Edison. You got any ideas?"

"Let's think on that. And it will have to be someone who was truly great, not a flavor of the day..."

"I think I know..."

"Who?"

"The school should be named for Ginny. Miller Middle School. It even has a nice ring to it."

"I'm in. Ginny it is. She might not be famous nation-wide, but she deserves to be memorialized."

"She sure as fuck does."

"At any rate, the Consortium isn't gonna dump this kind of cash without the ability to oversee the whole thing. No Way. Nobody would. Like I said, that's really why I have to be on the School Board."

Sean and Brad went for a visit to J.R. and Kathleen the next evening. Sean laid his idea out and waited for them to answer.

"I'm sad this day's come," J.R. said. "But I guess we all knew someday it would..."

"Yup we did..." Kathleen added. "You've done a great job, Sean. No matter what, you did. But I get that we need to be proactive here. I think all of our kids are the right age and they're all as responsible as they're ever gonna be, so, what the hell, yeah."

"We need to make sure that they're set up to succeed, not fail," Brad interjected.

"What do you mean? Specifically?" Kathleen asked in an honest fashion.

"Well, the way I figure it, overnight they'll be billionaires in their own rights. They're gonna need to be tutored in how to invest. And at least a little bit in accounting stuff so they'll have some idea of tax consequences for a given action. Shit like that..."

"So, you're saying they'll need some period of guidance..." J.R. asked.

"Of course they will. Who in their positions wouldn't?" Brad said. "I think maybe some of them will do OK in the end, and others might not. We all have to be ready to admit to ourselves that not everyone has the same abilities or will be so careful with what they'll be given. And that's life. So anyway, they gotta have some idea of what they're playin' with here," Brad said. "And it's up to us to do that properly. Then after that we should let go and it ends up however it ends up."

"I agree,'' Sean said.

"And with 14 of `em babysitting them would be a full-time job," Brad said. "It's just not practical."

"Maybe we need to beef up the financial department to let Brad do this?" Sean asked. "Let's bring Scott and Kevin Masterson on. They got offices in our building anyway."

"Well, here's what I think," Kathleen said. "I think if we decide to dissolve the Consortium we cross that bridge when we come to it. And we'd need to have a fair billing mechanism in place to pay for Brad's services, too..."

"Sean takes care of my `services,'" Brad said with air quotes.

The room dissolved in laughter. J.R. who was not quite as adept at mixing fine cocktails as Brad but no slouch brought out a tray of mojitos with a backup pitcher and ice. While J.R. handed out the drinks Sean lit a joint.

"I'm really glad this went well tonight," Sean said. "I was a little nervous..."

"YOU? NERVOUS?!?" J.R. asked, feigning surprise.

"Well, yeah, Bambino. I mean, people don't like having their apple carts upset. And if we do this it's gonna mean big changes for all of us, really..."

"We all have to face the future," Kathleen said. "And we all have to be OK with it."

"You talk to Dix?' J.R. asked Sean.

"I did. He understood. He said he'd talk to Brett about it. If it ends up that we're all on board here, then we'll have to take some time to agree on a mechanism of how to do it. This isn't gonna happen overnight, anyway... That would be impossible. It'd take somewhere between two to three years minimum the way I figure it."

"That's about right," Brad said. "Could be more than two but I could see three years for sure anyway... Maybe four at the outside. It'll take however long it takes..."

The conversation wound down as they enjoyed the mojitos and the joint. Sean and Brad were shown the new deck on the rear of the old Victorian home as well as the second story covered bridge that they had built to connect their bedroom to the old apartment over the garage which looked to Sean and Brad for all the world like a pleasure den. It didn't go unnoticed that the separate entrance at the side of the garage had been kept in place as well as somewhat camouflaged.

Once back at the Alamo, Sean got a text from Tim that Brett was in agreement. Now the hard part began. To devise a scheme to liquidate the assets of the Consortium with the absolute minimal tax liability and to come up with a fair method of allocation.

Sean decided that he would put the twins, Kevin, and Brad in charge of developing an overall liquidation plan and that he himself would come up with a few allocation plans and then present all the members of the Consortium with his recommendation as to the best one.

This could call for several meetings. Some to finalize and approve how the liquidation would go and at least one or two more to approve final allocations.

And then there was the "what did I get myself into" moment as Sean remembered that he'd said he would run for the School Board.

Sean knew he'd win. He always had. In every election he'd ever been in. And with his offer to pay off the debt and to fund the rebuilding of the high schools and a fourth middle school, he'd surely win. Sean knew that he would deliver because he knew the other members of the Board wouldn't dare to go against him with all that money on the table. If they did, Sean would see them off the Board. Either that or they would face the taxpayer's wrath trying to sell a massive real estate tax hike which Sean knew that at heart they were too chicken shit to do. Oh well...,' Sean thought, It's mine.'

He sat down to start out planning on how to divide the assets.

The easiest way would just be to add up all the people and give everyone equal shares. That would come to twenty people: Sean, Brad, Tim, Brett, J.R. and Kathleen, and added to that the fourteen kids.

Then he thought about dividing the assets six ways to the original Consortium members to divide out then as they wished, or to leave the liquidated value as inheritances which seemed far too cumbersome.

Then he hit on a sort of hybrid plan. Fifty percent of the Consortium's assets would be equally divided between the six original members with the remaining fifty percent divided equally between the fourteen kids. He did a quick calculation. The Consortium, if it was in round numbers worth $60 billion, then each of the original six members would get around $5 billion and the other half divided fourteen ways would leave each of the kids a little over $2 billion.

And he thought as well that some of the Consortium's investment mechanisms could be revived at any time after the liquidation, and since the experience and track record were already there it promised a good starting point for the kids. It was all that Sean felt he could do as far as ensuring fairness. He asked himself if that's what Ginny might have done, and he didn't think she would have objected.

With the proper tutelage and enough initial capital to start out with that's all that could be done. As Brad had said, somewhat bluntly, one or two of them at least in all probability would piss their money away or simply make poor decisions.

There was no way around that. And if it were to happen that way, it would happen at some point no matter what.

Sean reasoned that there was probably a better chance for a better outcome if things were done along the lines of his thinking that rather than all the kids thinking that a lot of money simply appeared in the form of checks every quarter seemingly out of nowhere and that it always would. Someday the kids would be faced with responsibility for their own actions anyway so a policy of delaying that any longer appeared to have little attraction or rationale.

After all the oldest kids, the twins, were just over thirty now and the youngest, Maggie, was in her early twenties.

Hell, even Tommy's gonna be nineteen...,' Sean thought. But then he had to remind himself that out of the division of the Consortium Tommy would not get anything as he was a generation removed. It'll be up to the twins to bring Tommy along. I keep out of that one. It'll be fine. I guess it has to be.'

The next evening Sean together with Brad and Kevin who flew into Janesville on a private flight from London and would return in two days, met for dinner at the Country Club. Given the magnitude of what Sean had to talk about, the meeting was in the Founders Room with the food cooked in advance by Sean and Brad mixing the drinks.

"OK, guys," Sean began, "Here's the deal. I need both of you to come up with a mechanism for the liquidation of the Consortium's assets within a time frame of two to four years and with the absolute minimum of tax liability. Bear in mind that I'm planning a donation to the city and to the school system that would total, let's figure, a billion. Factor that into your tax calculations."

Kevin looked as white as a sheet.

"What's the matter, Kev?" Sean asked.

"Nothing," Kevin answered. "I mean I'm not worried about money if that's what you think. Living in the UK all these years Tory and I have put a good amount of money back and of course it's all offshore as you would think. That's not it. I just want you to know that the liquidation part won't be the hard part. The hard part will be avoiding taxes, in particular US taxes. Not so much for the Consortium because it's mostly all long-term cap gains but on the establishment of the new funds..."

"Why's that?" Sean asked.

"The US government is likely to view it as the receipt of a gift. It's a bit of a gray area to me and it is to the IRS as well. If it was a few thousand dollars they wouldn't waste their time on it. But we're talking billions. They might just find a reason to care... Even with the write-offs that are already on the table with the city bonds and all that."

"Very well, we'll need to figure the best way around that."

"Got an idea..." Brad deadpanned.

"Shoot," Sean said.

"Well, it's gonna take at least two years to clear all this shit so in the meantime everyone who's gonna be receiving a portion of the distribution should change their citizenship before then to one of the British off-shore possessions where we have business. Like maybe the Island of Jersey, or Bermuda. But if it were me, and since I'm gonna personally benefit, I'd pick Jersey or the Isle of Man..."

"How come, Weed Hopper..." Kevin chuckled.

"Fuck you, Kevin," Brad said.

"I'll be here for two more days so you can fuck me at will," Kevin winked. "Anyway, why Jersey?"

"Because Bermuda is where every rich asshole goes and where every government asshole looks for `em," Brad answered. "And besides Jersey, our other offshore HQs are the Falkland Islands and the Bahamas. Nobody actually GOES to the Falklands, so nobody is ever gonna believe that all of a sudden twenty US citizens are gonna wanna move there. That'd be a huge red flag. And the Bahamas are just like Bermuda. It's where everyone goes... Jersey, Guernsey, or the Isle of Man is where you wanna be. I been following this for a while now. Places nobody ever thinks of. Not that we're gonna do anything illegal because we're not, but nobody wants to spend time on IRS bullshit that'd last for years, and years, and God only knows how it'd come out. I mean, everyone's gonna still LIVE here and pay taxes here and that's the point. All the money that's gonna be transferred is money that was built up out of income that's already been taxed and will be taxed on the income it produces into the future. To tax it on the transfers would be wrong and the government would get less money in the end, not that they'd understand that, but that's how it would work out. So, in order not to raise eyebrows and attract attention I say Jersey, Guernsey, or Man is where the citizenship would be."

Sean was shocked that Brad said so many words at the same time. He thought it was more than a day's worth of words.

"I see, Bradley... That is the correct answer," Kevin said, rubbing his chin.

"Do ALL you Dicksons do that `I see...' shit like that?" Sean laughed.

"Dad and Timmy and I do. David scratches his balls...," Kevin laughed.

"I can see David doing that... You know, all these years David really stayed out of everything. I always wondered how come..." Sean said.

"I dunno really," Kevin said. "I might have stayed out just like David if you hadn't hired me. Which I was always grateful for because I hated Chicago. I hated living there. And I hated my job at that bank. But if I hadda guess, David knows he'll be well taken care of once mom and dad pass, and his deal was always the Marines. He got as far as he could get. Lieutenant General, in charge of Marine intelligence for the DIA and all that..."

"I see..." Sean laughed, imitating Kevin. "In charge of Marine intelligence, is he... Well, if we get any shit from the IRS..."

"You won't. Trust me on that. If we do this the right way. Like Brad said. David's got enough dirt on enough people so that if we are at all within the rules they'll leave us alone," Kevin cut Sean off.

"Understood," Sean said.

Brad smiled.

"I figured one day it'd come to something like this," Brad said. "So, I been keeping notes on shit for a while now..."

"How long?" Sean asked.

"I dunno... Maybe seven, or eight years, or so..."

"WHAT?!?" Sean exclaimed.

"Hey! You guys pay me to be ready for shit, so I tried to be ready!" Brad answered, clearly upset. "For all kinds of shit. What the fuck, Sean, you're surprised? Like I was supposed to wait for my fucking instructions or something? And then when you said jump, I was s'poseta ask you how high? Fuck you, Sean! And I also figured out ways to run a lot of this divestiture shit through the Vatican Bank, too. Figured all that shit out with our Priest over at Saint John's and the Archbishop... For fuck's sake, Sean!"

Sean was taken aback as Brad was clearly angry.

"I'm sorry, Brad. I didn't mean to..."

"I know all that, but like I said you paid me to be ready for this kind of shit... And when it was time to be ready, I was fuckin' ready!" Brad stared at Sean with dagger eyes.

Sean looked sheepishly at the floor.

Kevin laughed.

"Fuck you, Kevin..." Sean whispered.

"Am I staying by you guys at the Alamo until I go back?" Kevin asked.

"Of course you are," Brad answered instantly, shooting Sean side eyes.

"Good, then I'll fuck Sean," Kevin answered staring at Sean.

"Please do," Brad said with a faux sourpuss look. "He needs something to improve his disposition..."

"And I wanna see that room upstairs at the Alamo that Timmy told me about..."

Sean smirked.

"OK, so I was an ass," Sean said. "Another round of drinks, Brad?" Sean said earnestly.

"As long as we're done with our business, sure," Brad said, sounding only slightly mollified. Well, are we?"

Sean and Kevin both shrugged and nodded. Brad got to mixing.

"This is a new drink I wanna try," Brad said. "Well, actually it's not new but we've never had it before... We're gonna have absinthe. Real absinthe with wormwood. Strained with ice like they did it in the 1800's. Sean, get the bong ready."

After the round of drinks, Sean, Brad, and Kevin repaired to the Alamo. In the bar, Brad set to readying more absinthe while Sean went upstairs returning with three jock straps.

"Strip and put on a jock! Now!" Sean said to Kevin.

"What?!?" Kevin balked.

"Was I speaking English?" Sean said with a bit of a leer.

"Everyone wears a jock at this bar, or they wear nothing at all. Even your brother," Brad smiled as he poured Kevin a drink. "And his husband..."

Kevin blanched, but being a good sport, he smilingly shucked his clothing and donned a jock as did Sean and Brad.

Sean had never seen Kevin before any other way than fully clothed. He had to admire Kevin's body. It was lean and supply muscled like Brad's. Sean thought Kevin's body was like his brother Tim's if someone stretched it. He had the same narrow waist with broader shoulders that sloped down slightly, the same complete dusting of hair across his chest, and even the same legs although longer and slenderer. Sean also saw a promising basket in Kevin's jockstrap.

Once Sean was in his jock, he fluffed himself a little bit in Kevin's direction while giving Brad a wink. Brad nodded slightly and winked back.

Kevin gawked at the semi-erection barely hidden by Sean's gossamer jock strap, feeling his own loins respond a bit. Sean looked at Kevin and licked his lips.

Brad, done with his absinthe preparation, placed the glasses on the bar, each glass on an authentic Victorian lace doily. The television behind the bar displayed an old black and white photograph of Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas.

Sean loaded the gatling bong with three hits.

"I never smoked weed before," Kevin said.

"Just relax," Sean said.

After a couple of hits, Sean was amused when Kevin became as goofy as Brett was the first time he got stoned all those years ago in high school.

"These itches are jocky!" Kevin said as he inhaled his entire absinthe.

Sean and Brad both guffawed.

"Fine! Fuck you guys then!" Kevin said, looking pissed off. He then removed his jock and threw it in Brad's face while scratching his balls and laughing.

"That's better! I want another hit and some more of that green shit in my glass!" Kevin laughed.

Sean and Brad looked at each other and shrugged.

The next morning Sean was up first. He put the coffee on and as was his habit poured himself a cup and went out on the patio to light up a Camel straight. He reflected on the previous evening. Kevin was, Sean thought, an eager sex partner although he spent more time with Brad. That was fine, Sean thought. They were well suited physically and were gentle and attentive to each other. And Kevin was sexy, too, in a way that appealed to Sean.

Alas, Sean thought, this one would have to be a one-night stand. Sean wasn't going to start a three-way affair with his best friend's brother. Besides, Kevin was too sweet. He had a husband who had helped him overcome his debilitating stutter and who gave him the self-confidence he previously lacked. There was no good reason Sean thought to play games with that.

But he did wonder about Tory. Maybe he'd ask J.R. if he thought Tory was still worth a roll in the hay. After all, Tory and J.R. still had their Brokeback Mountain time away when they wanted it.

Well, things to ponder...

Sean went back inside and started breakfast. Just a simple breakfast, Sean thought. Spanish omelet and fresh squeezed orange juice along with toasted English muffins.

Sean's thoughts went back to Kevin, and he found himself boning up. He went from the kitchen into the garage and rubbed one out onto the floor.

Kevin would be Sean's last dalliance until he met up with Tory in London some months later.

As it was, the divestiture of the Consortium's assets began moving forward along the hybrid plan Sean devised. In setting up the receiving accounts for the accumulation of funds as assets were liquidated and the daughter accounts for distribution Sean sought and, as Brad had promised, got help from his old financial companion the Cardinal Archbishop of Milwaukee with his access to the Vatican Bank.

Archbishop Taylor, although elderly now, had a few years back been offered the Archbishopric of New York which carried with it automatically a Cardinalate. He declined, making his superiors in the Vatican see the wisdom and value to the Church of leaving him in place in Milwaukee as the transaction fees earned through moving the Consortium's money were a not-inconsiderable source of Church income. Archbishop Taylor pointed out as well that it might be unwise to introduce a new Archbishop inexperienced in such local matters as he termed them.

The Vatican chose to leave Taylor in place but rewarded him with a Cardinalate anyway which had never before been conferred upon an Archbishop of Milwaukee. Sean has seen to it over the years that the old Cardinal Archbishop was rewarded for his sacrifice of higher office, and that both Saint John Vianney parish and the Archdiocese of Milwaukee were set up with education and capital maintenance funds that would continue long after all of them were gone.

When Archbishop Taylor initially balked at being offered some personal benefit in addition, Sean simply reminded him that, as he himself had said so many times over the years, we are all of us sinners and none of us Saints.

The Archbishop laughed, whereupon Sean just said that it would be the legacies they left in the end that would matter and not whether or not they had a comfortable enough Earthly existence. The old Archbishop decided not to press the point. He knew he wouldn't win. After all, a tithe was 10% and he'd forgiven and foregone a lot more than that... That a man like him could live like a millionaire but have ostensibly no wealth he reckoned shouldn't trouble him so much as it might if the majority of the mountain of money that Sean provided through the age- old transaction charge hadn't gone as Sean had directed it should to education and helping the less fortunate.

At any rate, Sean remembered that he had to get packing. He was off to Glen Muick Lodge for ten days until everyone else was due to get there and he had some things to get in order.

First, he needed to stop in at the car museum. He was having three cars made ready and transported to the lodge. He decided on the 1958 Fleetwood Sixty Special, the 1953 Buick Skylark convertible, and the 1966 Oldsmobile Toronado. All three cars would be hauled up in covered carriers, invisible to anyone else on the road, and secreted away in an airplane hangar where no one would see them.

Sean also had to lay in food, wine, and liquor which he had already ordered and would be ready for pickup at the Woodmans grocery store, packed to stay fresh on the trip. What Sean would not be able to get in Janesville he would have flown in.

Sean would drive up in the Suburban with Wizard. Brad would follow after the ten days, flying up with Joey, Lennie, Tommy and Aaron.

Tim, Brett. J.R., and Kathleen had been invited as well.

Later in the day, with the vehicles squared away and with Wizard in his cage and the provisions from Woodmans in the way-back, Sean swung the Suburban out on the road to Glen Muick Lodge.

There was to be at least one meeting to be had prior to everyone else's arrival, and other preparations to make. Not least of which was the verification of computer security upgrades, surveillance of the Wisconsin River and adjoining properties, and the provision of a covered boathouse along the Wisconsin River fitted out with a secure communications line to the Lodge.

Sean had had to keep these preparations secret and they had to be done in a way that no one would notice they were there.

At last, after all preparations had been made, checked and rechecked, and everyone else arrived at the Lodge and at the Dickson cabin, everyone piled into the cars and made their way to the runway. Tommy and Aaron were expecting Prince Philip to arrive from Canada where he was accompanying his grandfather, King William, on a tour of the country. Philip would be staying at the Lodge for a week and then with his hosts Tommy and Aaron at the Alamo for a month courtesy of Sean and Brad.

Right on time, the group saw a small VIP transport jet of the Royal Canadian Air Force circle the runway and begin its final descent.

Unbeknownst to anyone but Sean, four British Army snipers hid in the woods, monitoring the runway, as part of the security detail and were augmented by three Great Lakes Security masquerading as runway staff. It was all part of the deal that Sean negotiated to allow Tommy and Aaron to make good on their promise of hosting Prince Philip.

The RCAF jet made a picture-perfect landing, taxiing to the point of the runway where the hosts were waiting.

The door swung open. Two RCAF guards exited, extended the stairs, and stood at attention.

The interior of the aircraft was not visible for the first few seconds.

Prince Philip did not appear walking down the stairs.

King William did.

Followed by Prince Philip.

Everyone was gobsmacked. Except Sean. He knew all along that the King was coming.

That was the reason for Sean's early arrival at the Lodge. Ostensibly, King William wanted to accompany Prince Philip for a day or two to have a break in having to be `on' all the time at every Canadian appearance he made. His real purpose for the visit, which only he knew, was to meet privately with Sean.

The King and Philip flew in from the RCAF base in Thunder Bay, Ontario which was between their tour stops in Sault Sainte Marie and Winnipeg. The week gap between the two stops had been planned in advance and no interruption would be made in the resumption of the King's unalterable Royal schedule.

It was the King's tour in any event as Queen Catherine remained in London to act as Counsellor of State in the King's absence with the Queen meeting with the Prime Minister and other Ministers as needed. Privately, some Ministers bridled at this arrangement but were firmly reminded by the Prime Minister that the Queen was in contact with the King, that any matter of import was discussed between them, and that the Queen spoke for the King. In that sense, Queen Catherine played a role not dissimilar to that of Queen Elizabeth, later the Queen Mother, to King George VI, or that of Prince Albert to Queen Victoria.

William and Catherine were both capable, and there were no secrets between them even though ultimately William was the Sovereign. King William had complete faith in his wife and the solid qualities that her middle-class upbringing brought to the table.

Sean stepped forward to greet his guests.

"Your Majesty, Prince Philip, I'm Sean Wyman. Welcome to Glen Muick Lodge," Sean said, extending his hand to the King. Sean knew full well that extending his hand was a breach of protocol. But he reckoned it was better to put his guests at ease by greeting them in the standard American way, which Sean was sure that the King would be aware of.

"We're happy to be here and thank you for inviting us," King William smiled, shaking Sean's hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir!" Philip smiled with a handshake of his own.

"Allow me to introduce the others," Sean said. "You already know my sons, Joseph and Leonard. And also, my grandson Tommy, and Aaron Washington. These other guys are two old friends of mine, Tim Dickson and Brett Dowling. And this is my brother, J.R. and my sister-in- law, Kathleen."

Everyone shook hands with Tim telling the King, "Wymo didn't say I'd be meeting the King of England!" Tim said.

"Well, technically you're not," King William laughed. "We entered from Canada which means I'm your guest as the King of Canada."

When it was Brett's turn, the King greeted him by saying, "Pleased to meet you, Governor. You might be interested to know that in my role as Sovereign I have the right to consult, encourage, and warn my government of the day. I've encouraged and warned a couple of my Prime Ministers to watch your speeches. It's an honor to meet you."

"I'm flattered, Sir," Brett said. "I only did the best job I could."

"That's why I recommended your speeches. I could see that you led from the chin and were dead set on the job you had to fulfill. Not only that, but you got out at the top of your game which is something I wish I could teach Prime Ministers to do... They tend to wait too long and go out only when their name is mud."

Brett let out a hearty laugh. "I had no plans to stay longer than I did, Sir."

The next morning after breakfast, Sean signaled the King who subtly nodded.

"I've invited the King for a little cruise up the river. We'll be back in an hour or two," Sean said.

Once on the boat, away from the pier and out on the river the King turned to Sean, "Thank you for your effort to make our conversation private. I appreciate that. Privacy is a luxury in my line of work."

"I thought it best to make it as private as possible, Sir," Sean said.

"At any rate, I want you to know that my family and I are grateful to the service that your sons have provided to my country and to my family over the years."

"I'm glad you appreciate it, Sir. I understand there is a matter that you wish to discuss with me. Let's make a start."

"Right. As you may or may not know I've been approached privately by the King of Germany. It appears that his country may desire, shall we say, at least tacit support by my country in a political matter that would be improper for me to express any public opinion on, and as you and I are not now in public, and you are not one of my Subjects, I can feel free to speak my mind."

"Well, Sir, I have had dealings in the past and still have some dealings every now and then with the House of Hohenzollern. But so far I follow you. Except for one thing: what is it that the German King wants?"

"He asked me to offer advice and assistance to him in the matter of leaving the European Union. Now, as you know some years ago Germany discontinued the use of the Euro as their currency and reinstated the Deutsche Mark. Apparently, this hasn't set well with all of their EU, shall we say, `partners.'"

"Is that all?"

"No, there is more. As you also may know, Germany reverted to Monarchy during times when they suffered after a long series of sclerotic governments headed mostly by long-serving but do-nothing Chancellors. At the same time, the office of President of the former German Republic was more or less powerless to break any logjam, as there was nothing that wasn't decided by their Parliament. That is when it was capable of making any decisions. Anyway, it appears that now Austria is suffering the same fate and there is agitation in Austria for a unification with Germany. From what I've read this all goes back to 1871 and even before that when Hohenzollern Prussia united Germany all except for Habsburg Austria. I can't expect you to advise me on the historical part as it's an issue that is, as you Americans say, above my pay grade. I'm interested in what I might say to the German King as one sovereign to another and then after that there is another issue."

"Well, Sir, I wish I'd had some time to prepare answers that might make sense but let's just take it from the top..."

Sean went on to say that he thought the King should probably say as little as possible to the German King and that he might advise his government to extend to the German government, behind the scenes and with the utmost secrecy, advice regarding the pitfalls of negotiating their way out of the EU insofar as anyone in the current British government could remember the happenings of so long ago. He also reminded the King that with respect to the EU, Germany was then still a member, and in fact the most important member. And that Germany gave the British grief over their EU withdrawal and didn't always deal in good faith those many years ago. Sean said that by King William's government dealing with the Germans in good faith now, they might gain a grateful ally where it didn't seem as if Germany had many, or any, European ones at the moment. He also told the King that in this matter it probably wouldn't be best to have the entire Cabinet involved but only the Prime Minister and, if the King felt the Foreign Minister was reliable, then the Foreign Minister, too, but that would be it.

"It would be important for as few people to know as possible that you and your government have these conversations with the German King and some of his government. And to have your Government limit any discussion in the House of Commons to a minimum. In other words, Sir, were I your Prime Minister I'd have no public opinion on the matter. There's no point."

"That's exactly what I think, too," King William said. "Loose lips sink ships."

"Now, as far as the Austrians go, I'd just stay out of that altogether if I were you, or if I were your government. I see no upside in you British even so much as having an opinion in public, or in private. I can't see how it would affect your country one way or the other, anyway..."

"That's also what I think. Now to the most important thing..."

"Yes. I had a feeling you didn't take time out of your Canadian tour to fly down here and talk to me about the Germans and the Austrians..."

"Very well, you're right. I'll cut to the chase. As you may know, I see all of my government's papers no matter the secrecy level. In addition, I also see a regular digest of all British intelligence and whatever supplementals I think I need by asking for them directly without going through any Minister. That is my right as Sovereign."

"OK... Go on..."

"It appears to me, and I've asked for information on this from every viewpoint that I could think of and in private briefings by the heads of all my relevant intelligence agencies and the military, but this is from my own readings. It appears to me that there is nominally espionage going on by an agency of your federal government, namely the Defense Intelligence Agency, against my country's military. And at the same time, this may be a help to a friend of yours."

"A friend of mine, Sir?"

"Yes. Marine Lieutenant General David Dickson. I believe he is the Marine section commander of the DIA."

"You are unusually well-informed, Sir."

"That's my job. To be informed. At any rate, it's really not your government spying on us. And although it's in the DIA, it's not in the Marines. The spy is, I am one hundred percent sure, a bureaucrat acting on behalf of the government of a third country that is hostile to both your country and mine. That makes this matter even more, shall we say, delicate.

"You see, it looks like a problem for both of us. However, if the problem can be solved quietly then not only would it be beneficial to both of our countries but to General Dickson as well. If it isn't solved, then it could be a disaster for all. I've done my research, and only you with your connection to General Dickson is the way to get this intelligence through and acted on."

Sean didn't immediately reply but absorbed what the King had told him. He sat silent, piloting the boat for two or three minutes. He pulled up close to a sand bar and offered the King a beer while taking one for himself.

"I can fly to Washington as soon as possible to see Dave. That's not an issue. But I do have two questions."

"Shoot."

"Like I said I can go to Washington but first, what information would I be able to give Dave beyond that I had a conversation with the King of England, no offense. Second, is your government doing anything about this? Or is our federal government doing anything about it that you know of?"

"I'll tell you what I feel prudent for me to say. Yes, I brought with me an outline of the information that I have as well as the sources of that information. I have it with me and I will give it to you. From what I understand, you are notoriously close-mouthed, so I imagine that you have somewhere secure at the Lodge to keep it?"

"I do."

"Very well. In answer to your second question, yes. Rather `yes, but...' To put it plainly, I'm not satisfied that either my government or yours is handling this at all, never mind handling it with the urgency that my readings and briefings tell me that they ought to be. You were right to discern the main reason I came here with Philip wasn't to talk about the Germans. Of course not.

"I came here to see if I could help steer these other matters to where they need to be. And that's where General Dickson comes in, who I have no indication is aware of the existence of this spy. When I was crowned, I swore an oath to govern my peoples according to their laws and customs. I see it as a custom of my people that they, quite reasonably, expect the nation to be defended. I consider this to be more important than a matter of dealing with government officials as a constitutional Sovereign. I see it as a matter of the oath I swore to God and my people. And to me that oath outweighs everything else."

"You don't seem to have a lot of confidence in your Prime Minister..."

"It's not up to me to have confidence in the Prime Minister, it's up to the House of Commons. It's also not possible for me to go to the House and lay these matters out. The Sovereign isn't allowed in the House of Commons.

"Yes, I have brought this up in my meetings with the Prime Minister, but he is more concerned with the economy. He seems content to let the bureaucracy handle it and he doesn't have a large majority which of course he worries about the possibility of losing at the next election. I can understand the Prime Minister's position, but you see, I have the luxury of not having to worry about elections. So, I understand that right now I don't have a government that's well- placed to make waves. Least of all with our most important ally.

"I mean, how would it look for us to accuse your government of harboring a spy even if it's done behind closed doors? Besides, I believe my Prime Minister hopes the matter will go away on its own. I don't like the idea of taking chances with my country's security. I used to hear my grandmother complain about Prime Ministers who were indecisive like that. `Weak' is what she called them. She hated weakness."

"And you say our government isn't doing anything, either?"

"Forgive me for being blunt, but the way the United States government is structured it couldn't find its own asshole if it had one of its own thumbs stuck in it. So, no, they aren't doing anything. Not that I've seen anyway."

"I've never heard it put that way but you're right. About our government. In fact, I'm going to remember that one," Sean laughed.

"Just don't quote me," The king laughed.

"Not to worry, Sir."

"Do you know when you might go to Washington?"

"I'll give Dave a call once you're gone and set up a time. He'll see me."

"Thank you. And here is the information I have. It's on this thumb drive. Don't worry, there is no copy of this material in my possession back in the UK other than another thumb drive that I have placed in a personal vault at Windsor Castle that not even my Private Secretary can access. If you view it, please view it on a device that is not connected to the internet."

"Thank you. I won't be looking at it. How will I get in touch with you once I've seen Dave?"

"You won't. You will fly to London and go to your home in Flood Street. On the upper floor in a front window at precisely 10:00 at night you will place one candle if you were successful, two if you weren't. One if by land, two if by sea you know..."

"How will you know when I'm in town?"

"I won't. And you won't tell me. But beginning in a week from today I will have my Private Secretary drive down Flood Street at that time and he will let me know how many candles there are. Is a week enough time for you to see General Dickson and get to London?"

"I think a week or ten days at the outside should be enough. Can you do me a favor, though?"

"Shoot."

"I understand that this is a mission that both of us would have to disavow. Like I said, I'm not even going to look at what you've given me. I'm gonna go to Washington, hand it to Dave, and then that's it. I'm willing to help, Your Majesty, but I also want a peaceful life."

"A peaceful life wasn't going to ever be my lot, but I understand what you say."

"I never thought of it that way, Sir. I apologize. You're taking a risk and I'm not."

"The risk to me is whether or not I uphold my oath. That decision is mine and mine alone. If my people ever found out that I knew something that needed to be acted on to defend them while I thought their own government to be less than totally focused, then the question could fairly be put that if I had such information then why I didn't act in some way. And that makes the decision for me. I have no other choice, do I... I have to pass this information on. I must act and then after the fact my government can handle it. And trust me, I will hold them to account."

"You are a true King, Sir. Like what I've read about your great-grandfather, King George VI."

"I swore an oath before God and my people."

"So do our Presidents but most of them are twats compared to you."

"So, you will deliver this?"

"Yes. And no one will know, Sir."

Sean turned the boat around and headed back to the Lodge. Dinner that night consisted of fresh trout wrapped in bacon and pan fried served on wild rice and wild mushroom pilaf, sauteed fiddlehead ferns with butter and white balsamic vinegar, and for dessert a grapefruit gelato of Sean's making.

The King sat in the place of the guest of honor with Wizard on a stool directly across the table from him. "I've never had dinner with a cat before," King William quipped at which Wizard meowed loudly and swished his tail.

"Wizard's never had dinner with a King, Sir," Brad said and then offered up a toast. "I propose a toast to His Majesty King William and His Royal Highness Prince Philip," then raising his champagne flute.

King William side-eyed in the direction of Prince Philip who rose. "My grandfather and I propose a toast to our hosts, to our friends around this table, and to continuing good relations between our two countries." King William nodded approvingly as it was obvious that Philip had the makings of a King himself.

FIVE DAYS LATER

Sean and Brad boarded a United Airlines commercial flight at O'Hare Field in Chicago bound for Reagan National in Washington, DC. They traveled incognito, Sean as Bryce Cummings and Brad as Dylan Lafferty. After landing they picked up their rental car, a somewhat nondescript but comfortable enough Toyota, and checked into a Presidential Suite at the Watergate Hotel. David of course knew, through Tim, that they were coming and had, again through Tim, given them an address of where to meet him at a safehouse in Potomac, Maryland.

On arrival, Sean and Brad were met at the door by a woman who greeted them as Mr. Cummings and Mr. Lafferty, invited them in, directed them into the living room and then disappeared. Presently, David Dickson entered the room with three 16-ounce Pabst Blue Ribbon cans.

"Jesus Christ it's good to see you guys! Fuckin'-A! This is a secure location. You can speak freely."

"Good to see you, too, Dave," Sean said. "You remember Brad, right?"

"I sure do! And it's Bradley. Good to see you again! None of us can thank you enough for what you've done for Sean here. You're a good man, Bradley."

"I do my best with what I have to work with," Brad smirked. "Anyway, should we get down to business?"

"That's what we're here for," David said.

"Here you go, then," Sean said, handing over the thumb drive.

"Where's this from?" David asked.

"All I can say," Sean replied, "is that it's from a person at the highest level of British intelligence."

"How'd it end up in your hands? Sorry, Wymo, but I gotta ask this shit..."

"I know," Sean said, "but all I am at liberty to say is that it was handed to me by the source. Who is at the highest level."

"The Prime Minister's office? GCHQ?"

"I said highest level and that's really all I can say."

"You don't mean..."

"Highest level of British intelligence, Dave. For the last time... Jesus, you're worse than Tim!"

"Understood."

"With this info, Dave, you could have a chance at being the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs...."

"Don't want that. I'm gonna be eligible for retirement soon and I don't want any o' that political shit. Never been a politician. I'm too rough around the edges. Presidents and Sec Defs come and go. Almost none of em know shit when they come in and even less when they leave. I'm supposed to teach those assholes the possible from the impossible with real data, and then they all pull stupid shit anyway. Fuck that... I like operating where I'm at. If there's anything actionable here and I make it work, then I make em gimme a fourth star before I retire cause believe me I got enough shit on enough of em to make em want me to go away. That's how this dirty business works. I know it and they know it. It's not like it's a secret. They get the credit, I get my fourth star, and then I go back home. And they can keep telling the voters all their bullshit that for some reason enough people eat up to keep the whole fuckin' merry-go- round spinning. It's sickening but that's how it works... I always knew that. BUT! There's an upside, guys. And the upside is that I do my job by saving lives. The lives of our folks in uniform. That's my job. It's what I do. And the fucking politicians? I couldn't give two fucking shits less about any of em... They're all useless cunts."

"What about your brother-in-law?" Brad snickered.

"You'd have to bring that up," David laughed. "He was a Governor, but he was never a politician. He didn't give a fuck about any of those clowns, and they knew it. And they knew he was way smarter than they were. Because he was. Even on his worst day. And people believed in him. He's a winner as my mom says... Guys like him come along once in a lifetime, if that. I told Timmy that a hundred times if I told him once..."

"Well, General Dix," Sean smirked. "You take a look at what's on that drive and lemme know what you think."

"Tell ya what. I ain't gonna know the value for a few days or so. Whatever's on here that I don't already know I'm gonna hafta vet. And it might not be stuff I can assign to someone else. But I'll letcha know.

"How ya gonna do that?" Sean asked.

"How'm I gonna do that? OK, here's the deal: I know that you guys are gonna fly to London and go to your place in Flood Street. From your upper floor front window at precisely 10:00 at night if you see one light in front of the house across the street then this shit has legs. Two if it doesn't. One if by land, two if by sea you know..."

"You're good," Sean deadpanned.

"It's my job,' David said.

"I guess we're done here," Sean shrugged.

"It's best to keep these things short," David replied. "And now if you'll excuse me." With that David disappeared out of the living room. A few seconds later the woman who let them in reappeared.

"Thank you for coming gentlemen. I'll show you out. Enjoy the rest of your day."

Sean and Brad left. Somewhat flummoxed, but they understood. They checked out of their room at the Watergate and took the first available flight to London.

TWO DAYS LATER

On Flood Street in Chelsea, London at precisely 10:00 at night Sean placed one candle in a second-floor front window. One car drove by the driver appearing to slow down and glance up at the lit window. At precisely that same moment, Sean noticed a single light appear in a window of the home across the street. The light stayed on for approximately ten seconds and then went out.

Having been the time frame Sean and Brad figured it would be, they repacked their bags. They would be flying out of Heathrow the next morning aboard a British Airways flight to Pyongyang, the administrative capital of the Northern Division of the Republic of Korea.

Several years before the North Korean government had fallen with a whimper. Some years prior to that the Kim family had been removed in a bloody coup staged by North Korean military Generals and the intelligence apparatus. As time went on with neither the military nor the intelligence able to gain control of the country, and with different factions of each warring amongst themselves, the world was presented with the fiction of a compromise government but with the real powers conducting what amounted to a civil war behind the scenes, and with the attendant breakdown of what little economy North Korea had and the country falling into a famine. In the end, exhausted and powerless, the nominal North Korean government in its dying hours invited the South Korean government to enter the country to feed the people and to restore order.

Initially, China drove a hard bargain. But with the South Koreans supported by every other Asian country including India, and also with Australia, Britain, Canada, and the United States, the Chinese had to content themselves with instituting martial law in the area of a twenty- kilometer line south of the Yalu River. The Chinese insisted nevertheless that the South Koreans feed, clothe, and house the people in that area.

Immediately upon restoring order, the South Korean government dissolved all existing government structures in the North and invited foreign investment. Typically, they did it in an almost mercantilist fashion meaning that, also typically, the Korean Chaebol such as Hyundai, Samsung, LG and the like got the lion's share and choice pickings of industrial and infrastructure contracts while foreign companies were allowed only where deemed to be needed. In addition, foreign companies were restricted to twelve years of operation after which their holdings would be sold to Korean companies with preference given to new companies domiciled in the north.

Sean saw an opportunity at the time in an economy starting from zero. He saw money to be made fast in what was most immediately pressing: the basics of food and shelter. So, Sean invested in farmland and housing. His reasoning was that not every North Korean needed a Hyundai shipyard, but they all needed to eat and sleep. The expertise gained by ownership of the dairy farm was used to supply milk, dried milk, dried and canned meat, and shelf-stable cheeses. For housing, Sean bought tracts of land, platted them into American-style rectangular blocks and built small 900 square foot three-bedroom homes on lots measuring 30 feet of street frontage and 100 feet deep.

The simple homes were built to four different variations of the same plan, each with the same amenities, and delivered in kit form from Saeth who had set up in a disused old North Korean factory in Kaesong. Sean sold the homes on what amounted to a Land Contract to employees of the farms he owned. Sean and Brad found their North Korean buyers to be almost uniformly scrupulous in paying their installments on time and, if they could, to pay some ahead.

Sean and Brad went to Pyongyang to finalize the sale of the farms to North Korean cooperatives that were set up figuring that as long as people were paid fair wages for their work and had decent nutrition and housing, in the end they'd make a go of it knowing, as they did, that the Republic of Korea government had always provided generous agricultural industry supports. Korea, while wealthy, was much like Britain in that it could not totally feed itself and therefore encouraged domestic production as much as they could. In addition, this was part of the divestiture of the Consortium's assets.

The paperwork for the transfer of ownership was already prepared, and their North Korean accountants, Jung Ha-neul and Kim Kang-yoo, had already cleared the sales of assets with the Korean government's FINoKo Department, the Department of Foreign Investment in Northern Korea.

No sooner had the meetings concluded and the deeds for transfer of ownership of the various farms signed than Sean got a startling text from Tim.

"Wymo, Jesus, man! You gotta see the letter to the editor that was printed in the Gazette!"

"Whadya mean..."

"Want me to send it to ya?"

"Nah, let me get back to my hotel. I'll read it and give ya a holler back."

"How long's that gonna take?!?"

"Gimme half an hour."

"Fine!"

Upon returning to the hotel, Sean and Brad stopped at the bar and ordered a beer along with a kimchi appetizer. Sean went to the Gazette's website on his phone.

Finding the editorial page he scrolled down to the letter in question, reading it intently.

The letter started out with the headline "IS SEAN WYMAN JANESVILLE'S TEFLON DON?"

The body of the letter read:

"Sean Wyman, former long-time Janesville City Council President, has thrown his hat into the ring for the School Board by making Janesville voters an offer they can't refuse.

"By offering to pay off the balance of the City and School Board's bonded debt as well as foot the bill for expansions of both high schools and the cost of a new middle school it sounds like something that's too good to be true.

"And it could be.

"It was well known in certain circles around town that when Wyman was on the City Council, according to one former Council member, "The City Manager didn't take a dump unless Sean Wyman told him he could.

"When his long-time friend, former Governor Brett Dowling, was in office, the state government moved several not inconsiderable departments to Janesville all housed in properties conveniently owned by several LLCs which list Sean Wyman as managing director.

"Wyman started off here in town with a welcome redevelopment of the once-abandoned Monterey Hotel and ended up owning almost every building of historical importance in the entire downtown. And in the case of every one of them he pushed around the Preservation Commission in order to maximize the value of his properties.

"Wyman, according to information independently gathered, has regular meetings with the Cardinal Archbishop of Milwaukee, a man now in his 80s. A man who even when he was here in Janesville as a parish Priest displayed an uncanny ability to enrich his parish seemingly far beyond its members' capacity to pay and who, in Milwaukee, has continued that seeming ability.

"Wyman owns a public accounting firm downtown that has long been suspected as nothing more than an arm of his financial empire. An empire that would seem unlikely to have been amassed by a man who for his time in town hasn't held a job with any company anyone can name, or who it seems ever gained a college education.

"There is a public record of violence against his home.

"What's at stake for the School Board is whether or not we have democracy on the Board, or if money talks. Whether we have a Board that can work for everyone, or a Board that when one member says Jump!' the others ask, How high?'

"In other words, a Board run by one man.

"It is for everyone to consider whether all that glitters is gold."

The letter was signed "Citizen."

Sean chortled as he closed out the browser window.

He texted Tim back "Interesting..."

"Let's go to bed, husband," Sean said to Brad.

Tim was a bit puzzled by Sean's one word response, and for his part was not only mortified by the whole thing but mortified that his husband might be dragged back into politics, and if he was to be dragged back, dragged back at the penny-ante level of a small-ish town School Board election.

"God damnit!" Tim muttered.

Then he burst out laughing. "You're a fucker, Wymo!"

On the way back to Janesville from Korea, Brad and Sean stopped for three days in Taiwan to complete the sale of the Consortium's assets there which would finish their Asian divestitures. The procedure would be easier this time. There would be a run-of-the-mill closing of business transactions done at a private club in Taipei between them and their longtime Taiwanese associates Xiang Hao Ting and Yu Xi Gu.

Brad reminded Sean that he thought doing business with the Taiwanese was like doing business with the British: straightforward. Doing business with Koreans was a lot like doing business with Germans: Byzantine.

Brad and Sean would enjoy the company of their Taiwanese hosts as business partners of many years, and also as a seasoned, non-prudish couple like themselves. To Sean and Brad, while the Asians were cut-throat businessmen, when business was over the pleasures were hard to match. Hao Ting and Xi Gu did not disappoint.

Brad and Kevin reckoned that the Consortium's divestiture of assets into cash was going as expected and they would continue with the winding up of assets owned in EU countries which would take longer and require more effort due to the European bureaucracy. The early supposition was confirmed that while the Asians and the British both did business in a brisk and efficient fashion, the Europeans wasted as much time on minutiae as they could get.

A week later Sean appeared on stage in the Auditorium at Parker High School together with his opponent for the vacant seat on the School Board.

Sean had done no preparation whatsoever for the debate, which he considered beneath him, beyond looking up his opponents Facebook page and noting that her first name was Karen and a photo of her in her kitchen revealed a Live, Laugh, Love wall decoration. `I have to spend an hour with an absolute nobody,' was Sean's disdainful thought.

Karen won the toss to go first in the debate and, as Sean predicted she would, brought up the Gazette letter right away.

She shrilly asserted that she would "be a listener" and "be a voice for everyone" and other such platitudes to the point Sean felt himself wanting to pass out from sheer boredom. Either that or vomit.

When it was Sean's time he hit the ground with gusto.

"My opponent is right. Let's talk about that letter that The Gazette printed. I've got a copy of it right here. And because everything my opponent just said was absolute nonsense, to say the least of it, allow me to clear the air.

"I'll concede that I'm a rich man. That's not a sin. Why hide it? I've got nothing to hide...

"I moved to this town when I was barely seventeen years old and I've never found anything here but fair opportunities, good people, and I've had a good life. I guess you could say that I could live anywhere I wanted to, and you'd be right. The fact is, I chose to make Janesville my home because of the good fortune I've had here. I'm not going anywhere. That wouldn't be right. This is my home.

"And I'm not promising to be everyone's best friend. I'm here to get a few things done that we all know we need to be done. And I'll literally be putting my own money where my mouth is.

"I'm not a young man anymore scratching to make his way and move ahead in the world. I've already done that. I'm middle-aged and now it's my turn to give back to the community that gave me the opportunities I've had. What would be a sin would be for me not to give back.

"I'll be giving back in a way that benefits all of the citizens of Janesville. I wouldn't be worth anybody's consideration if I thought that I deserved any kind of gratitude for making this offer. I don't. And I don't care about that anyway. I've always been a private person.

"I have the resources to make this offer to the community, and so I'm making it. For things that we all need.

"Tomorrow's Gazette will have a special section on the plans I propose for rebuilding the high schools and for the new middle school. In the following days I'll be taking questions from the public and from students at five meetings, one at each of the high and middle schools. I hope to see you all there. We can talk about the plans and any changes you might think are good, or things that may have been overlooked.

"This is the least I can do for the town that's afforded me the chance to have the life that I have.

"But don't give me your vote until you see what will be in The Gazette and we've had the public meetings. I want this done right."

"Thank you. I ask for your vote so we can move forward with improving our schools for the benefit of our kids and our community and making our community debt free.

"Again, thank you for your time."

Sean's opponent was incandescent.

"I demand to speak with the manager of tonight's debate! This wasn't a debate! This was a whitewash! I got no time! I was marginalized!

The moderator asked Sean if he cared to respond.

Sean shrugged and said, "I have no problem with Karen speaking with the manager. It seemed to me that we got equal time. I guess I'll leave it up to the manager."

Karen then demanded that she be given floor time at the five public meetings Sean had set up.

This Sean refused.

"Certainly not! I set these meetings up in advance on my own. I hate to say it this way, Karen, but if you want a platform, you'll have to create it yourself. I'll not give you one.

"I'm here to offer the community a good way forward to educate our kids and to pay off our debt, not to make sure that my opponent gets to have free airtime on my nickel.

"And I think that begs a question: If you were on the Board, Karen, what else might you want free on everyone else's nickel? I'm very sorry, but that's an important question for everyone to ask..."

Sean finished with a hint of undisguised disgust, "Now, if there's nothing else, I see the moderator is signaling that both of us have used our time tonight."

Two weeks later, Sean won the race for the open School Board seat with 94.2% of the vote. He issued an acceptance statement which said that as soon as he was sworn in, he would put in place the mechanisms to pay off the City's and the School Board's bonded debt and that construction on the high schools and the new middle school was ready to begin.

Sean called Tim. "Dix, I'm the one who sent that letter to The Gazette."

"I figured as much, Wymo," Tim laughed. "Bret chuckled about it, too."

After her humiliation at the hands of the voters, Sean's opponent in the election resorted to repeatedly calling in to the local AM radio talk show programs to harangue the hosts about how money and privilege controlled everything. They soon took to not putting her on the air. To most people around town, Sean was a hero.

Three weeks later, construction equipment and cranes bearing the logo of Saeth Construction were in place at both high schools, and at an open site on the edge of downtown constructing the new middle school which the Board unanimously voted to name Virginia Miller Middle School. The construction materials and prefabricated building sections appeared in the staging areas as if out of this air.

Sean rode herd on the new Board he'd been elected to. He made sure that there were weekly trips to the construction sites in order that everyone saw first-hand the progress that was being made and had the opportunity to ask any questions of the site supervisors. As long as the questions were intelligent. If they weren't, Sean cut the questioner off.

Sean was just returning from such an excursion when in the Alamo driveway he got a call. He saw the caller was his dad's residence in Miami Beach.

"Hey, dad!" Sean said.

"It's Marigold, Sean."

"Mrs. Chea... I mean Marigold! How are you? How's dad? What's new?"

"Sean, it's about your dad... I..."

"Is something wrong?"

"Your dad's had a heart attack, Sean. I... He's dead, Sean."

"I... I... I'll fly down tomorrow," Sean said.

"Very well," Marigold answered.

Sean at once backed the Suburban out of the Alamo driveway.

He drove to a liquor store on the west side of town that had a drive-thru window. He ordered a 750ml bottle of E&J Brandy and a highball glass. He drove to the cemetery.

Seating himself on a bench in front of a plain, but large, granite headstone bearing the names and dates of Andrew Leonard Churchill 1997-2027, Sean Branson Wyman 1997-, and Bradley Joe Fletcher 1995-, Sean poured a glass full of the liquor.

He downed it all. Just as he had done when Andy died.

He poured another.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out his earbuds.

He pulled up a song.

It was a Thai song he didn't think anyone else knew.

https://open.spotify.com/track/1A5x7W9ngcARjLCQbgiLUw?si=50a056d66c6447cd

Sean had memorized the lyrics in the song's native Thai but sang them in English.

As the tears rained down his face, Sean sang the words...

I won't ask to reach for distant stars

I won't reach out to gather and possess them

I won't ask the world to keep turning

I won't turn back time

In this universe

There's nothing with enough meaning

As much as you

The one thing I want to ask

Wish, I wish that you'd stay like this forever

Wish, I wish only for you...

For you to be my sky when I'm flying

To be my star guiding the way when I'm lost

Wish, I wish only for you to keep hugging me through the cold nights

Hug me a little longer

Hug me tighter than yesterday

I won't ask for anyone to understand

I won't ask for anything valuable

I won't ask for everything that everyone else

Wants and is always trying to get

In this universe

There's nothing with enough meaning

As much as you, the one thing I want to ask

Wish, I wish just that you stay like this forever

Wish, I wish only for you...

For you to be my sky when I'm flying

To be my guiding star when I'm lost

Wish, I wish only for you to keep hugging me through the cold nights

Hug me a little longer

Hug me tighter than yesterday

Wish, I wish only for you...

I don't know what it would be like if I didn't have you here

How many times must I thank you? Millions isn't enough

However cold it'll be I'm not scared

If it'll be hot like a fire I'm not shaken

I just want there to be you and me, that's all I ask for

Wish, I wish just that you stay like this forever

Wish, I wish only for you...

For you to be my sky when I'm flying

To be my guiding star when I'm lost

Wish, I wish only for you to keep hugging me through the cold nights

Hug me a little longer

Hug me tighter

Wish, I wish only for you...

For you to be my sky when I'm flying

To be my guiding star guiding the way when I'm lost

Wish, I wish only for you to keep hugging me through the cold nights

Wish, I wish only for you to love forever

Sean felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

And he heard his husband Brad tell him, "I'll hug you through the cold nights and I'll love you forever."

END CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN