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The Schuyler Fortune-5
Revenge was soon forthcoming from Wyoming. Within two weeks, experts in criminal justice, lasers, and surveillance systems were hired for Wyoming and New York City locations; a massive supercomputer system including face recognition software, movement-tracking software, and large databases had been purchased and set up on the ranch as well.
In Wyoming a large NASA-style room at Angelo's ranch had been quickly remodeled for a strike at the New York crime family. Large overhead high-definition video monitors were fed from separate, specially designed air-conditioned quarters for a Dell Pearcey-like HPC cluster which managed racks of servers all connected to deal with enormous volumes of data. The monitors occupied a semicircular array serving the entire room in front of the employees at their own desktop computers.
A similar array of monitors lived in a similar room in Manhattan connected to the same computer by wide-broadband optical Internet connections.
A Denver business customer had ordered the supercomputer and had suffered a cash flow problem. Dell had been happy to re-route the trucks further north to Wyoming.
Several hundred workers had been hired at several locations in Manhattan for `cleaning work'.
These workers, ex-military, organized themselves in teams who specialized in non-lethal force. The teams were hired and trained to deal with dealers and chronic users including the users who were associated with gangs and those with prison records for drug offenses.
Each day, the teams used computer-prepared lists of persons to 'neutralize'.
The initial work began. The first task assigned to the computer was collecting and analyzing arrest records from all of the precincts below Central Park to Battery City. The second was doing the same work for the northern half of the island.
Names of convicted dealers were logged into a database with their current locations: prisons, hospitals, clinics, rehab houses, rehab programs, halfway houses, and recurrent dealer spots, if any, were noted carefully. Electronic medical records were carefully and systematically hacked for patients with recurrent drug-related testing.
Major hospital lab computers, insurance company lab charge databases and commercial lab databases were appropriated and mined for data. Unobtrusive video cameras were placed in fast food bathrooms, joints and dives of all stripes, the Port Authority buildings, Central Park, the docks and a thousand street corners and known crack houses. Vast quantities of money paid for equally vast amounts of data until the dealers and users in Manhattan were identified.
Thousands of existing video cameras on the island were accessed. On every face, dozens of facial parameters were measured in millimeters. After crunching the numbers, the computer assigned a numerical ID to that unique collection of facial measurements for a person so rapid screening of many faces could occur.
Practice runs began. Carol slow walked to the top tier desk at the back of the room to watch. One record was accessed by the computer system of a twenty-three-year old man who had been arrested multiple times, was back at his usual corner and was selling his usual drugs. The same attorneys that bailed him out of jail each time worked for the New York family that had staged her accident and taken her family away from her.
An operations manager checked the camera placed at the opposite corner, verified the identity of the dealer and the whole room watched the monitors as a little lady approached the dealer and began to ask him a question. While he was distracted, two large men moved in behind him and asked him if they could make a private deal. The three climbed into the back of a truck, the truck doors were seen to close rapidly and the vehicle moved slowly toward the East River and into an otherwise deserted warehouse. The truck entered through an open bay and the bay door closed electrically. What happened after that was not recorded.
The dealer was not seen again.
Buyers showing up at the corner for the first three or four hours afterward were filmed and their faces logged into the database as well.
Another dealer showed up to the same corner within twenty-four hours. The same scene was repeated along with multiple similar scenes every day south of Central Park.
Another dealer a few blocks over noted warmth in his left buttock during a buy. A focused portable high-energy microwave array from a parked van a few feet away was busy cooking his gluteus maximus muscle on the left side. The warmth became a fiery stab of pain. The dealer stepped forward and toppled to the sidewalk screaming.
Over the next 36 hours, several dozen drug dealers were incapacitated in nearly as many ways. There was no media response. There was no public response. Just a silence.
An uneasy New York crime family struggled with the disaster, foundered and knew they couldn't ask the police for help. They didn't know the resources behind the attacks, the motive, the person or persons. They had lots of questions but few answers. Then reports came in through lieutenants that similar activity had begun near Central Park and north on Manhattan Island.
In the next forty-eight hours, the family lost several hundred dealers and users. Mob income was way down. Buyers had cold feet. Once a corner or other location was sterilized and after some places acquired a really bad reputation in the community for being dangerous, they tended to be remembered in that light.
The unforeseen difficulty turned out to be human nature. Carol and company had simply underestimated addiction. Although certain territories in the city controlled by the family were not producing income now, the family still had access to their product, addicts were still in the market, the family was willing to sell their product and the traffic simply moved into other boroughs of the city and upper Manhattan.
Other families did not appreciate the local competition and internecine warfare broke out which had the effect of not-so-civil war with inter-family casualties.
The upshot of that was that police and FBI agents with ears to the ground began to notice, wondered what had precipitated the war and began to sort out the mess.
Marcus and Michael had just downed lavender ice cream (organic) in Michael's suite and were considering a sugar-haze nap on a wonderfully hot fall day in the city. They lay sprawled on a large couch.
Marcus contemplated this guy Michael, his best friend. An idea began to form. Anyone who liked lavender ice cream was at least a friend and maybe someone to present to his mom for her opinion. He didn't know why but turned to Michael and the impulse grew.
"Michael," he said, "what are you doing this week?"
"Hanging out with you, I hope."
"Any chance we could go out to meet my mom?"
"Uh, sure."
They flew commercial first class two days after that exchange direct from JFK to Denver, stayed for a day and then drove toward Cheyenne in a rental convertible.
That afternoon, they stopped at a bed and breakfast which featured a dude ranch next door. After registration, Michael decided it was time to bring Marcus up to speed on the trust details. He was through hiding his entire self to his guy. Over lemonade 'made with Colorado water, fresh-squeezed lemon juice and sugar only', Marcus and Michael sat on deck chairs around a pool at a table sporting a large overhead umbrella. A sunny patio in the back yard close by was empty.
"Marcus," he began, "I need to tell you about the Schuyler trust." Michael sat with his lover and explained once again how the trust came to be and how it was structured.
"There is an immense amount of value in the trust now and it is growing faster than I can spend it. You know about my finances. This is another chunk for you to know about." Michael ticked off the stocks, properties, cash, and art objects, and the jet. He also detailed the value of the Manhattan repository with its vast art and gem collection (his grandfather's original collection).
At age twenty-five, I take control of that trust entirely. I am already the beneficiary, the owner, since mom was declared deceased by the judge in Pennsylvania.
Marcus thought he already knew about Michael's finances. He sensed something heavy in the air flying right toward his head. The dimensions of the Schuyler fortune shocked him once again. A few minutes later, Marcus wasn't thirsty or hungry.
"Why did you wait to tell me?" he asked.
"I wanted to know if you would be my friend, my other me... to see if you liked me without knowing about the damn money. I wanted you to love me for me, not my money. I never had a friend before you, really, who didn't know about the money already."
Marcus stared at Michael for a while with a serious face, gathering his thoughts. Then with a happy smile, he told Michael the 'truth'.
"Honey, I like you a lot. I love your money. Big difference, fucker!"
Michael reached over and playfully boxed Marcus' ear, then growled.
"I'll show ya `lovin'! Them's fightin words."
Both dived into the pool's sunshine, laughing. Michael relieved of that task, Marcus stunned and happy to see Michael laugh again.
They drove north to the entrance of the ranch, directions courtesy of Joseph, an acquaintance of Blossom, Marcus' mother, who was staying with a private duty patient at the ranch courtesy of friends and coworkers, Marcus guessed.
They arrived late at night, but Blossom was up to see her son. He sprang into her arms and grinned at her.
"Mom, you remember my friend, Michael Ross!"
Blossom turned to see the same young man that Marcus had met at the art home that day. She didn't understand all (actually any) of the nuances, but had one functioning characteristic, a heart of love for any friend of her child. She drew Michael into her substantial hug and told him she was delighted to see him again. And meant it.
"We have so much to talk about," she said, "and we need to continue over breakfast in the morning." Carol's assistant can show you to your room, which has two beds. Hope you don't mind sharing a room."
"There's a Carol here too?" Michael said with more than a trace of sadness, "My mom was named Carol."
Blossom, who had changed her gaze back to her son for a moment, experienced a frisson, which she could not explain, a shiver she didn't understand. Her brain summoned up Carol's face, compared it to Michael's and the beginnings of a thought and a question nearly came to her tongue. Since Blossom was Blossom, seemingly genetically possessed with an on-off switch between her brain and her mouth, she promptly suppressed the idea for evaluation prior to expression. She turned off the switch. She forced herself to remain silent and showed her professional RN face.
As she made her way to her own room that evening, she could not ignore the salient facts in front of her. Her son had flown all the way across the country to introduce her to a guy. A white guy. A guy she had already met who owned a square block of Manhattan with a home that looked a little like a palace full of paintings and held hands with her son. A guy that looked at Marcus like a little boy looks at a doughnut in a bakery...who looked a lot like, no, a dead-ringer of Carol. Who had actually said his mother was named Carol...using the past tense. Who had not yet met Carol Ross upstairs. Who had the same name as the man Joseph Weber mentioned as taking over the Schuyler trust.
It took me a while to figure this out, she told herself. This is Carol's son, part of the family she has been missing so much and he's been here right in front of me the whole time and in love with my son. She burst into tears in her room. After a few minutes she prayed for strength and courage and a way to keep her son and his friend in her heart.
Blossom was not allergic to drama. She decided that there had to be a word for what she was feeling, something like "surreal." Or something deeper. What would her younger son's reaction be? She thrived on happy endings and through the long night hours without sleep she tossed in her bed, her mind going over questions she could not answer yet.
Why Marcus? How serious was this guy thing? How would Carol react to all this? How can I get through this? Do I need to do anything?
She decided she loved her sons. Period. Both of them. All of them. Finally, she fell to sleep for a few hours.
Without answers, Blossom slept without any real rest and awoke for a hurried shower and breakfast. The alarm rang, she remembered where she was, what she was about, dressed and hurried down to the dining room, arriving first.
At breakfast, the sideboard was loaded with a huge amount of food, including eggs, tomatoes, hash browns, biscuits, grapes, oranges, and fresh honeydew melon from somewhere, other fruit, cottage cheese, steak, sausage, cheeses, and strawberries.
Blossom had no eye for food that morning and couldn't wait to see her son again.
The door opened, and Carol walked in, beaming and crying, with two happy men on each side. Michael had seen his mom in the hall, had instantly recognized her, taken her into his arms for a hug, had broken down and then had, through all of their tears, introduced her to Blossom's oldest son Marcus, his new partner and broker.
"I love him, mom."
Michael, at that moment, decided that something might just might have been worth it all.
After all, Trillium had been found.
Blossom had never thought her son might have a male partner.
Like some other parents, she reviewed his life and nurturing and wondered briefly if there had been clues she missed or 'mistakes' she had made. She turned to a search engine to find out more and was comforted.
She soon learned that Carol had willed everything but the account previously at New York Trust, now in Cheyenne and her bag of emergency diamonds to Michael, with provisions to share with Barbara as he saw fit at a future time. She decided that Marcus and Michael would have enough money to live and then some.
Her initial response to this was not a word, but a hug for Carol and another for Marcus and Michael. She had too much to think about to formulate a coherent response. Her first random thought was Marcus won't have to worry about his career, and then had questions.
For her, hard work brought great rewards. She knew that Marcus had worked hard in college and worked hard at Fidelity Investors but wasn't certain what he did and for whom.
The conversation that followed filled in the gaps for her and the amounts that were mentioned casually over time were surprising, unsettling even. How would Marcus pay tithe on that much income at Fidelity? Would he remain faithful to what she had taught him through the years? She felt that a relationship to Jesus was vastly more important than money and was determined that Marcus have the choice to find that out for himself. Marcus had already bought her a few gifts that seemed expensive from his Fidelity income, a Gucci bag, a Givenchy scarf and a Hermes purse among them.
He was now telling her to listen up, that they were traveling back to Manhattan the next day.
Carol was overjoyed with Michael's ideas for the inherited funds and her precious gems and art objects. She wanted to visit the Schuyler museum, as the park and art home were now officially designated by the New York City council, as soon as she could get there.
Michael and Marcus had no immediate personal plans to present to their mothers. Carol realized, however, that no matter what their relationship in the future that she loved her son and could learn to love any partner of his. Blossom worried what she would tell her preacher but didn't particularly care when it came right down to it; it wasn't her job to tell her son whom to love.
Carol was delighted with the discovery of her familiar beloved art objects in each room and their presentation. She was taken on a thorough tour of the entire museum and was struck with the possibilities of hosting heads of state at the museum while in town for United Nations meetings and other quintessentially New York events...and just for a great place to live and learn.
She visited the Manhattan storage facility with Michael, Barbara, Marcus and Blossom the next day and found the remaining pieces there to be in great shape. These art objects were her old friends as were the gems she had collected through the years. She felt that they were in good hands.
It was on a Tuesday morning that Carol, sitting comfortably at the Manhattan center, reviewed the drug user activity for the day. The users for each day scheduled to bite the dust or to be disabled had to have Carol's direct approval on an individual basis.
She read to about the sixth line down on her computer screen and stopped at a user named John Jones of Brooklyn, New York whose photo looked a lot like Marcus Jones and a deep chill accompanied the impossible thought in her mind.
Carol noted the time and asked her program manager on duty to double-check the algorithm that had placed John on the user list for the day.
"The algorithm picked him out because he had an HIV test a few months ago in a community screening van. The test result was 'unknown'."
If the test is in a screening van, the computer cannot always obtain the result, he told her. These tests were often done on site or sent out to an unknown' lab and so the algorithm is set to mark those people who are test positive' or result unknown' as users'.
The second chill of the day along with deep frustration seized Carol, who had just had an intimate face-off with the personal aspects of revenge along with a realization that money, computers and revenge are a combination of factors that can be dangerous.
She gave the order to immediately remove John from the day's list, shaking in fear and loathing at what she might have done. There was a line and she had crossed it. She nearly threw up.
In the haste to design the system, no one had happened to think about and design a way to easily remove someone from the list and keep him or her safe. A red circle began to blink in the bottom right corner of each computer screen and overhead monitor in both centers, alerting the system to a priority project now being run by Carol herself.
Multiple other screens opened in front of her allowing her and the entire room to watch and hear the progress of the emergency. The Dell knew exactly where John had been seen last and the nearest cameras in his hotel and on his street transmitted what they saw to the Dell for analysis. Another screen had audio of the attempted call to John.
He did not answer.
Blossom, bringing Carol's morning meds to her, took one look, listened for a few minutes, and decided that she couldn't handle much more of this; on the other hand, she wanted to track John's safety so told herself to stay quiet and turned off the switch between her brain and her mouth yet once again.
Since she believed in prayer, she prayed.
Facial recognition software by then was screening thousands of individuals a minute in the areas with cameras closest to John and a hit found him in Central Park, walking toward the Metropolitan Museum from the southwest corner of the Park. The supercomputer relayed the recognition hit to Carol and to the largest monitor in the New York center.
On the street, one of many small teams of removers was unaware of the change in their daily schedule. A of the team received a text, which he did not hear because he had turned his cell volume off during the night so his four-year-old daughter could sleep through her toothache...and so he and his wife could get some rest too.
Another team member received a telephone call, but it broke up because of a very low battery. She had forgotten to charge it up last night and had not checked the battery status this morning.
The third man on the New York team noted that John was nearly to the Museum, ignored his ringing cell and told his team that they should get this done before the subject entered the structure. They agreed.
In the annals of strange things that year which will never be printed or mentioned, except perhaps in quiet conversations, somewhere exists the memory of what happened next.
A group of several tourists surrounded John and walked him right into the museum.
Blossom stopped praying just long enough to shout "Glory" and Carol slumped back into her chair.
A bicycle messenger intercepted the team and asked them to call the Manhattan Center, where they heard the order to step down for the rest of the day and to cancel the order for this particular man, John Jones.
John never knew what almost happened. He enjoyed the day looking at the wonderful collection of Titian's large paintings and Rembrandt's luminescent work (including `Man with the Golden Helmet'). He looked over the collection of Roman army face gear from the time of Christ and wondered if Jesus had ever seen any of them. He decided that it would have been unlikely based on the numbers, but possible.
Then he decided that his life was unlikely based on the numbers, but possible. He wondered about Marcus and Michael. He wondered where his mom was. He hadn't seen her for a few weeks after she took a patient out to Wyoming. He didn't know that by now that cameras in the Met were tracking his movements in the museum and that the take from those cameras put his every movement on display to a proud mom, a loving brother, a concerned wealthy woman named Carol and his brother's friend, Michael Ross, among hundreds of other employees now all tasked to keep him safe.
As he continued to spend a few hours there, a little lady came up to him, asked him if he was John Jones and gave him an envelope marked Urgent. Inside was a note asking him to go to an address in Manhattan where his mom was waiting to see him along with Marcus. John hailed a taxi and soon found his family.
Carol decided to compete with the mob.
Carol Schuyler Ross then began an internal review of her motives, her goals, her feelings and her methods. Within a day or two, Manhattan was quiet as Manhattan could be.
Dealers and users were safe enough. The head of the snake still existed. Those who had permitted other mob families to attack her family and whose business it was to ruin lives in return for money still existed. Carol thought about her resources. She thought perhaps if she worked a little smarter, perhaps she could remove a patriarch here and there to discourage lieutenants from moving on up.
What if she could compete and take their business away from them?
And then an idea sprang into the churning, almost random stream of thoughts that crowded in and were as quickly discarded from Carol's mind.
What about competition? She didn't think she wanted to set up a dealer network or anything and extortion wasn't her bag. She couldn't cure anyone's addiction.
Carol struggled to define the problem.
Putting the answers together, Carol decided that power and money kept popping up in the analysis. She remembered that her father had said something about money being power to some people.
Years with her family had been taken from her. It was fair, she thought, to take back what the crime family owed to her.
She called Joseph, the Salvetti brothers, Michael, Marcus, Blossom, the IT chief and after a supper with them, told them that she was considering going into competition with the crime families that dealt with drugs in New York City. She was willing to commit significant resources to the problem.
She knew other foundations that would might donate to a worthy cause and felt the DEA might come up with some funds if perhaps a private bill introduced by the Senators from New York and Pennsylvania were to pass and she also felt that the President would sign it if he knew that there was good reason.
It was Joseph who surprised everyone around the table. No one expected what came next.
"Carol," he said, "why don't you hire a few of the best narcotic researchers away from Pfizer and Merck and find the best University brain chemistry researchers. Tempt them with high salaries, a huge sign on bonus and other benefits and let them work from their labs with free access to supercomputers. Set up a grand reward, a prize perhaps, for the lab head and a whopping lab donation for the person and lab that comes up with a pill like methadone, only with no GI side effects, and absolute safety with the other things that people use it with.
He told them about his fiance who died from an overdose. His fiance had taken a combination of methadone and Valium. The two drugs had slowed his breathing rate so much that his oxygen level went down. Permanently.
"I've always wondered," he went on, "if a pill that was effective for severe pain that gave a mild high without any side effects or drug-drug interactions would sell and compete with drugs associated with trouble." "I wish my fiance had been given an access to that option."
The Salvetti brothers volunteered to find the experts and make them offers they could not refuse.
Marcus and Michael volunteered to hire a human resources company, an accounting firm, a legal firm, a Washington lobbyist, and keep track of the business and administrative talent.
Together they would ask this group to form Ross Pharmaceuticals.
Blossom thought about things for a few minutes and finally told the group that she had always wanted to be a community activist.
She said that the largest populations of users were in cities and since human trials would eventually have to happen, she wanted to help choose and liaise with those populations to help convince them to participate.
Carol thanked her and told her that when the time came, she had her pick of anything she wanted.
It became clear, then, that Carol had the remaining tasks. She would, with the IT chief, design the project, measure the effect on the crime family and be available to provide resources for doing the necessary FDA studies for safety and efficacy after a suitable compound was found.
Some weeks later, Carol's team had assembled tax documents, SEC filings, public records, media articles, Internet resources, Library of Congress materials and court records going back thirty years relating to the families operating the New York City Metro area, New Jersey and Pennsylvania.
The Dell supercomputer was not stressed at all. This was database material only. Actual computing speed, although available, wasn't being used yet. Less than three per cent of the processes and threads available were active. Even the data mining would not raise the CPU core temperatures much or shorten the life of the Pearcey-like HPC cluster.
The Salvetti brothers quickly identified prospects for employment. All but one hired on immediately hearing the salary, benefits, independence and possible fame and money for their lab.
The newly formed Ross Pharmaceuticals turned out to be a wholly- owned family firm. The group had decided not to spend the time playing to profit and stockholders, although the future side benefit of the enterprise wasn't lost to them. An IPO could be considered in the future if a product emerged.
It was a few weeks after that company filed for incorporation and obtained their EIN number from the IRS, incorporating in Delaware for tax advantages, that requests began to flow in from the scientific teams for supercomputer time.
The supercomputer 'learned' the actual molecular structures of the receptors in the brain that recognized and responded to narcotics in the blood. It could model the molecular structure of compounds in many ways and gave a more than educated guess as to whether that compound would fit those receptors and whether any difference in cell function would occur.
The Dell also featured advanced artificial intelligence that identified known relationships between molecules and cell receptors and kept close track of a vast number of factors that suggested the fastest track toward their goal. As more information was added and analyzed, the Dell would crunch its effect on that track.
Carol called the Dell Corporation directly at a high level and presented the work that she and her team were undertaking. They had a customer who had ordered a Pearcey-like HPC cluster that was willing to wait a bit for a good cause.
Shortly, Carol's project had double its computing power, a massive collection of lightning-fast machines that did quadrillions of floating point operations per second. Dell decided to donate the cluster.
A handful of compounds over the next six months were identified that way.
The tough part was finding a large enough group of theoretically eligible compounds to raise the chance that one of a larger group would fill the FDA safety and efficacy requirements.
Setting up a pharmaceutical company wasn't easy. None of Carol's group had experience. The executive vice-president for operations, the CEO, the CFO, and the executive vice-president of research and development were chosen from four major pharmaceutical firms.
Their contracts specified a ten-year length of service, massive remuneration with more for success, golden parachutes and use of a separate Gulfstream G650ER with 24/7/365 availability from Teterboro.
The new executives quickly took charge of daily operations and made certain that the mission statement of the new company matched that of the owners. They discussed trade secrets management with all of the employees. They also were given unlimited supercomputer access, which the Dell took as a slight hiccup only.
They did not have to deal with an IT department since Carol's staff performed all of the programming, analysis and software and hardware maintenance tasks along with the Dell representative on site.
Anticipating the demand, the CEO looked for an industrial site for Ross Pharmaceuticals. He found large tracts of land off of I-95 south of Philadelphia, one with a pre-existing plant that with modifications would work.
It had adjoining warehouse space which could be made secure, lots of parking, and adequate utility services including abundant, reliable electric service and an OC-3 optical Internet connection to a node on a piece of the Northeast portion of the backbone.
In turn, that node had very large fast and wide Internet connections to several of the Atlantic cables to Europe.
The CEO knew that good water and sewer connections were crucial. The county documents and inspector's reports clearly showed adequate utilities.
Even though the building was only two stories tall, the architect assured him that the building had been pre-stressed for five stories and that adding that height would not be difficult or overly expensive. One of the requirements on his list was rail and also truck access to the factory. The building had both.
Although truck traffic up and down I-95 could be overwhelming during the day, most of the night traffic skewed to an even higher percentage of large trucks and they didn't seem to slow down much at night. Newark and Philadelphia airports were reasonably close.
The CEO needed all five stories because of the tall vats and enormous amounts of piping for chemical processes, control equipment, and raw materials needed for making medication.
Carol gave her immediate approval after seeing pictures of the site and authorized the building project. She asked the CEO to submit applications to the relevant state, county and city agencies for permits to proceed.
The Dell cluster started doing serious work around the clock when the molecular modeling work began. Several hundred compounds were quickly narrowed to several dozen and the known information about molecular stability, toxicity, and interactions winnowed that list by half.
Early testing showed exactly three compounds that activated brain receptors without any known toxic side effects. Initial studies showed efficacy and safety.
Human trials of the first began soon after. There was a body of rules for human experimentation in the US, designed to measure and fix the abuses of human experimentation and to provide true informed consent by the recipient.
Each and every step in the process was documented carefully to arrange compliance. The National Institutes of Health researcher guidelines were requirements after all, not suggestions.
The big surprise reported to the pharmaceutical world revealed an application for a new drug by an upstart named Ross Pharmaceuticals had been submitted to the FDA for pain relief. The drug was described as an alpha agonist which meant that up to a certain dose the drug acted like opioid narcotics, but over that dose, no further abnormal side effects were noted such as breathing suppression.
No major drug-drug interactions were described. The pill could be crushed, but its excipients inactivated the compound if that occurred. The ensuing pressure-activated chemical reaction did not prevent shooting up but removed the effect. If injected, the drug was uncomfortable in the extreme.
The drug did not appear to induce physical dependence. Physical tolerance did not occur. It gave a mild high comparable to an alcohol buzz but did not impair judgment, driving or display other alcohol-like side effects including diuresis so that users reported needing to empty their bladders more frequently and a higher volume as well.
The FDA full panel approved the drug on fast track. The drug was reported widely in the media and it came on to the market quickly. Physicians took their usual time to try a new medication, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Addicts asked for it.
Those in pain asked for it.
Pain clinics competed to obtain supplies. Ross Pharmaceuticals had planned for the problem and scaled up production quickly.
Doctors and pharmacies clamored for the drug as well as inpatient addiction programs. Carol kept track of the crime families estimated incomes from the sale of narcotics.
Nothing happened over the next few weeks. It became clear that another factor affected street sales of narcotics. If one could obtain medication for whatever reason without the cost of a doctor's office visit, it became cheaper quickly.
The FDA kept a record of the reported adverse consequences of the new drug and found very few. Less than aspirin and ibuprofen, as it happened.
After one Senator's son was stabilized on the medication, the Senator mounted a drive in both houses to make the drug available over the counter.
The makers of the more dangerous narcotics complained vociferously but could not match the safety profile of the new drug.
The FDA was petitioned for permission to sell this compound over the counter and to take it off of the controlled substance list. They did.
Carol then noted that the crime family's income began to slide downward with serious hurt to their bottom line.
Barbara Ross lived in the Evergreen Project.
Nearly sixteen hundred people lived in the Evergreen Project, a single large lower-income housing unit in Brooklyn consisting of hundreds of units.
Since poverty is diverse, the mix of people who ended up here was equally diverse. Hispanics and African-Americans headed the list, followed by Asians and non-Hispanic Caucasians. The only two Caucasian families consisted of a single mother and her five-year-old girl; the second, a girl in her early twenties, who lived with three men in a two-bedroom apartment, widely assumed by most at 'the Evergreen' to be her lovers.
One was. She was accompanied by one or more of them sometimes to and from town. Their apartment was plain, clean and even tidy. The neighbors said they never heard a thing through the walls (notoriously thin in the project). No one knew his or her names, but the door tag said "Beware of Dogs" which fooled no one who lived there. That was code for "our name(s) are none of your business." Nobody was afraid of dogs there.
They didn't buy the local illegal products for sale in the building. They, like everyone else there, didn't mingle, socialize or look at groups of teenagers in the hall while passing by and sometimes, if it was convenient, would duck down the stairwell or go back to their apartment if a situation arose.
She and her friend or friends together had lived there for some years, companions, without visible means of support, without outside interests seemingly, and without visitors.
Only two of the men slept in the second bedroom. They slept at night. They would have been horrified to think that someone would wonder if they did anything more than sleep.
The girl and the third man slept in the first bedroom. Their activities in that room included all the usual plus some others. They kept their laptops in that room in a backpack, which accompanied them when out of the apartment. As it turned out, they went nowhere in the absence of the laptops.
The girl and her partner had joked in post-coital moments about how the other guys were missing out and a couple of times had actually considered including them, but neither knew how the other two would react to an invitation.
Barbara missed her parents; she especially grieved for her brother Michael.
Money was not an issue. Barbara Ross had lost her family some years ago and remembered just enough after the accident to access a safe deposit box in Flourtown. The key she had found in her bedroom in Flourtown the day after the accident along with a scribbled bank savings account number and password. In the bank box she found her grandmother's pearls, her ruby collection passed on from her mother and a very large amount of cash that her grandfather had given to her on some birthday past "for her future."
Pretending to be poor, she and her three closest male friends originally from Flourtown High School, Billy Charnock, Norm Ivy, and Jack Darnell, had gone to make their way in New York, found living costs to be outrageous in Manhattan, and ended up in Brooklyn.
Billy Charnock was the computer programmer of the bunch, the technical guy. Norm fixed cars and was an expert at Subaru bodywork, maintenance and parts--everything Subaru.
Jack, a serious, tall, with a head full of European art facts, his head covered with dark hair and a thin mustache was well-proportioned everywhere Barbara had looked at first and in other spots she enjoyed later.
He did Art History consulting gigs when he could get them, making full use of his studies in European art history from Bryn Mawr. Barbara appreciated his immense, well, talent.
His most interesting job recently had been for a renowned group of architects in Manhattan planning a new museum to be built in a home. He had not actually interviewed the owner. Due to lack of sleep the night before, he had missed the name of the project and in any event, his team's project didn't get picked. Jack was mildly disappointed but figured that the experience was worth something. Consulting for the firm of architects looked good on his resume.
Barbara had visited a Starbucks near the Project one day early on and watched a new barista provide spectacularly poor effort with a poor attitude try to make what she thought should be a simple 'make it and smile' process. A couple of weeks later, when she saw the sign advertising for a new barista, she applied and interviewed.
She was honest about her newbie status and stated she was a longtime Starbucks customer and loved everything about the Starbucks culture except the recently fired guy who made her sad for the company image. The manager blinked and hired her. The pay and benefits would not have, by themselves, been enough to live alone, but she wanted to chip in for the room and expenses.
Billy cooked. His 'mac and cheese', doctored up with sour cream, parmesan, cottage cheese and ricotta with a hint of lemon juice and vinegar, was the only really good food at first but it became a menu feature in the apartment. Barbara insisted that he attend some classes at a cooking school nearby and she paid for it.
After a few weeks, the menu broadened some. Norm actually liked to wash, dry and fold clothes. Barbara was a cleaning fool.
Jack paid bills from the communal account and his own personal account. Jack and Barbara bought most of the household supplies subject to input. All of them wrote a check for shared stuff to the communal account every two weeks.
The ambulance had dumped Barbara after the accident at the nearest fifty-bed hospital in New Jersey, bleeding, with lacerations, contusions and, much later, a hazy memory of the whole thing. After being discharged too early the next day, she had remembered her home in Flourtown, gone into a further painful funk over the house now devoid of family. The staff had taken a few days off to mourn and plan their own futures.
She met up with her friends at a café in town one evening and the rest was history. Along with a backpack of her valuables from the bank, she and they had gone to New York to begin again.
Barbara walked into a bank in Brooklyn on arrival and asked to open a safety deposit box. The key she put on a very sturdy chain and that chain stayed on her person every minute, including the shower and at night.
She gave her Social Security number to the banker, filled out an application for an account and watched his eyes bug out over the initial deposit. He told her that the deposit appeared reportable by the bank because it was over a certain amount. She didn't mind.
Barbara and her friends had looked for affordable housing in Manhattan, had been astonished that anyone, like, lived there at those prices and looked at the Bronx, which had neighborhoods that horrified all four.
Queens didn't suit them and Staten Island was, like, actually a boat ride away for heaven's sake.
It was, like, the curse or something living in New York City. Like the Three Bears, however, one borough turned out to be suitable.
Brooklyn, having gentrified some, had nice places, none of which any could afford for long, so they talked about living together for a short while to save money.
The Evergreen Project had been recommended by someone in a park in Brooklyn and the dude that had done the recommending patiently taught them where to apply, what to say, how to dress and what documents to, uh, like obtain and where to, like, obtain those.
They listened carefully, obtained the proper documents from the proper persons and applied for a two-bedroom apartment.
The group was amazed when, after a two-week interval, an acceptance letter arrived.
They had a suitcase apiece. No furniture. No mattresses. No dishes. No food. So, Barbara sold a ruby or two at a jewelry store in Brooklyn and soon were faced with the decision about what to bring back to the Project. Should they bring back new furniture? If so, should they plan on keeping it longer than a few days? They had seen all kinds of furniture and other items being taken from the Project by gangs and had no wish to lose anything.
They finally decided to go to Goodwill, buy everything used, box it up and bring it in small boxes at night with fewer prying eyes watching. That seemed to work. For the furniture, Ikea was willing to wrap their furniture boxes in plain brown paper and they arranged delivery early in the morning at the Evergreen.
None of the group wore a watch or jewelry. They dressed way down and wore nothing new. Each of the four who worked kept uniforms or work clothes at work and changed there.
Grocery shopping wasn't so hard. They shopped at the closest corner markets like everybody else and always went in groups of two or more, always during the day. Someone was scheduled to be in the apartment nearly all the time. They quickly fell into the Project routine, keeping a low profile and taking great care to avoid Project crowds and events.
They learned what groups of kids operated there and made their peace with them. Billy, the computer guy and Norm, the car guy were popular enough with the kids so that they and their roommates were rarely harassed. The four took few chances, though, and although not advertised, a Glock 17 and pepper spray lived in the same apartment they did.
In August a letter arrived from the IRS. It began as a `Dear Barbara' letter with her Social Security number at a cursory glance. It ended with a demand for a great deal of money in tax, penalties and interest and threatened the usual dismembering of soul, body and/or assets if not paid promptly.
Barbara knew she didn't owe anything of the sort. Mystified, she called the IRS with the letter in front of her. An agent finally answered, and she related her difficulty.
He asked for her name. He asked for her Social Security number. She gave it. There was a pause and the agent asked her to repeat the number.
He asked her if she could wait a minute while he researched the letter. When back on the line, he told her he had found the letter, but with a different Social Security number.
He asked her to hold while he checked another database.
And what's more, he said, it's only one digit...then he stopped. After a long pause, he told her that on occasion Social Security numbers in some places were similar according to place of birth and it was not unheard of for family members of the same generation to be only a digit off from, say a brother or sister.
He asked her if she had a sibling. "No, not anymore," she explained, "he went missing after our family's auto accident."
"But this money was earned, and taxes accrued in the last five years..." The agent stopped then suddenly. He said no more, suddenly aware that he had given information about another taxpayer.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" He replied. "Please ignore this letter. It was our mistake."
She went home delighted and thought no more about it until right about 1:48 a.m., which coincided with the end of a session with Jack, that was, to say the least, filling in more ways than one.
After this and during some blissful physical rest, she had relaxed her mind as well then suddenly sat up with a shriek which nearby neighbors could hear clearly enough, then began to cry slowly, then more easily and steady on Jack's chest.
It was there she told him about the call to the IRS.
"Michael might be alive somewhere," she said.
With some difficulty, Jack walked her through the problem and together they hatched up a plan. Jack urged her to involve all of the roommates in the effort, to start on the cheap to avoid attention from the project office, which might jeopardize their income eligibility for the low-income housing apartment, and to consider hiring someone who looked for people for a living.
That night Billy and Norm, wakened by a shout from the next bedroom, knocked on Barbara and Jack's door. Being reassured that all was well, they headed back to their room. Norm squeezed past Billy to his own bed, sat down, and was surprised by a low cry from Billy, now kneeling in front of him.
"Billy, what are you doing?" Norm whispered in a stifled way. He knew exactly what Billy was doing but he just didn't believe it. Billy had grasped Norm's knees and was beginning to gently rub Norm's cock.
"Hey Norm, we've been listening to Jack for several years now through the walls and we aren't getting any action. I need to cum with you. Please?"
As he spoke he was gently tugging on Norm's flannel-bottoms, then finding his prize, his mouth closed tight and hot and wet around Norm's cock. Billy's tongue rasped over the sensitive back of Norm's little head.
Norm thought it probably wasn't fair to play ball without a full team on the field, so he reached over and drew Billy on to the bed and wrestled Billy's flannels down. Norm nestled his friend's balls in his hand, encouraging his actions. A few minutes later, Norm began to squirm.
"Change in the lineup, buddy." Norm turned Billy over on to his stomach and knees with Billy's butt in the air. Using spit for lube, Norm attempted entry and they both decided that finding some soap in the shower would be a better option. They headed for the shower, finding Jack already there minus Barbara.
Jack, startled at his two naked friends' appearance and by their marching into the shower with him without a 'by your leave' being spoken, took a look at their equipment, high and erect.
He figured that he was extra to this game and finished his shower and made his way to the door, not before having a good look through behind him at activity he hadn't expected to see, as difficult as it was seeing through a foggy now steamed-up glass shower wall.
He knew what he saw and figured they had put up with Barbara and himself for a long time. He tried to analyze it from a straight point of view. He knew all about pent-up needs but had always had Barbara. Perhaps they should have included these guys earlier.
From the sounds he heard and the action he saw, they certainly weren't hurting each other. Norm was in the middle of fucking Billy when Jack's cock stood straight up. He jumped when Barbara's voice at his shoulder began to whisper.
"Jack, you need to get in the shower and show them some love. They need a daddy. I'm going back to sleep. See ya in the morning."
Jack entered the bathroom quietly and opened the shower door. Norm didn't miss a thrust, Billy was lost in space somewhere. The resulting meld of their hearts and bodies occurred tenderly at first.
Jack and Norm kissed while Billy reached around, knelt and sucked them both. Billy asked Norm if it was OK for Jack to fuck him; Norm told him to ask Jack, who had already begun to slip his bat into Billy.
Quietly, Norm knelt and sucked Billy's now hammer-like dick. At some point tenderness went out the door and Billy's ample posterior got pounded, Jack ejaculated, and Norm got his reward from Billy at the tap, swallowing.
"I love you guys," declared Jack. "We've been through a lot together. I don't want to have or make your babies, but sex with you is a great way to show you how I feel about you both. If you two decide over time to continue to be partners, I want you to know that I will always be your Jack from high school. We all have each other's back and we were kids together and...
"Shut up, man," Norm started to cry, hugging Jack. His cock began to rise again, perhaps expecting more pleasure, but settled down. "We love you too, huh, Billy?"
There was no response. Billy, naked and apparently happy, was already asleep on the floor of the shower, legs askew, looking a little like a Buddha, face uncommonly innocent, relaxed and he sat, breathing.
Nothing was said the next morning.
Jack loved Barbara and expected he would forever.
For Norm and Billy, the world gelled, fell apart and re-solidified... they remained lovers out and proud and together for the rest of their lives.
Over coffee, scrambled eggs with feta cheese and spinach, and cream of wheat topped with chopped dates, blueberries and honey the next morning, the four decided to continue to look poor.
They liked their low rent apartment.
Billy didn't find much in the way of cheap private investigators in Brooklyn, so he turned to public records in Pennsylvania. He noted the Flourtown address and idly wondered who paid the taxes on it. It was an outfit named the Schuyler trust with an address in Pennsylvania. Barbara recognized the name but had been too young to fully understand the nature of the trust and what it might mean to her future. She and her parents had not had that talk before the accident.
The next day, Norm drove the roommates to the address of the trust office. The trust office took up a medium-sized building on a quiet side street in a really good business neighborhood in Philadelphia. They walked in and asked to speak to an officer of the trust.
While they waited, it was Billy who looked at the pictures on the wall and found a girl who looked like Barbara in one of them.
Barbara didn't recognize the lady who spoke to them.
She just told her story and they watched the place erupt. The conference room filled with people: trust officers, accountants, secretaries, old and young. Someone ordered someone else to go out and get a cake and flowers and glassware; another was sent to get champagne and ice and a bucket. Someone else went to a dollar store and got candles and party plates, and a knife to cut the cake, along with a yellow tablecloth and yellow cutlery and napkins. An impromptu party began and continued.
By then it was early afternoon and after the telling and talking, after the warm breezes had begun to chase leaves out in front, a couple of men walked into the trust office to conduct some business. Finding no one at the front desk, Michael and Marcus walked down the hall to the conference room, saw the noisy crowd and almost left, thinking some employee was having a birthday party or something.
Then, curious, Michael stepped inside the door, looked to the head of the table, saw Jack Darnell (what the hell!) and a girl next to him... he saw her there, and felt himself suddenly grow still... alert, stunned.
Barbara saw him, at first, out of the corner of one eye, then with a wide-eyed stare and a great cataclysmal effort to stay calm which didn't work at all for her, salty tears sprang to her eyes, a gasp escaped her throat and a frantic hope rose into her soul.
"Barbara, where," Michael was moving, "have you been!" Seconds later, big brother and little sister were hugging, Michael's eyes moist, Marcus' face a study between "Who is this?" and "What is this?" Jack and friends got it, tried to absorb it.
The room filled, if possible, even more with people, tears, noise, and laughter.
When the human drama settled much later, Michael and Barbara asked the other friends to follow them for a late-night supper to eat and celebrate. Marcus noted the sun on Michael's face, his crazy-happy grin, once again wondered about life and what it was about this guy that he loved.
Then it was Marcus that suggested that another person might want to hear from them sooner than later. Michael looked back at him and clapped his own forehead.
"How come I didn't think...," he replied. "Guess I wasn't thinking, stud. Glad you were." Michael hugged Marcus and laid his face in his neck, his cheek alongside his lover's face for a second.
"Thank you, Marcus," he whispered, "for rescuing me."
At the nearest fancy pub and grub, they wangled a private dining room. Michael pulled out his cell phone, motioned them to silence and rang Carol's cell. Two hours earlier in Wyoming, the ringtone summoned Carol to answer.
"Michael! How was your day?"
"Mom, you'll never guess who is here with me in Philly."
"Well, I have a story for you too, Michael. Do you remember the little filly that... "?
"Mom. Stop! Barbara's here."
A long silence. A choked sob. An intense whispered effort to talk, to breathe, when she really wanted to scream or shout or holler. "What..."
"Barbara is here with her friends from Flourtown, mom. She's fine. She lives in Brooklyn. She's alive!"
"Michael, it can't be...this had better not be a joke and..."
"Mom, it's Barbara," cried Barbara, yanking the cell away, "Is that you?"
A long, loud conversation followed then, an intense mother-daughter moment, strong women, survivalists, and now survivors somehow.
Carol asked, "Can you bring everyone out on Rainier tomorrow from Teterboro?"
When Carol clicked the red "hang-up" icon on her cell, she made her way to find Blossom, who after a single glance knew something wonderful had come to Carol.
"What is it?" "Thank you, Jesus!" "How's your heart, dear?"
The news spread quickly on the ranch, flight arrangements were made, celebration plans were begun. Rainier was at Teterboro. The jet was provisioned and fueled that evening.
The Gulfstream flew out over western New York from Teterboro Executive Airport the next day with happy passengers, two pilots, a flight attendant or two, a flight chef, great food and drinks and a whole planeload of happiness. Norm shyly asked Michael if it was ok if he and Billy took a nap in the back for a while...Michael, smiling, told him it would be fine because he, Michael and his friend Marcus didn't take up very much room.
"If we all take our clothes off, there'll be enough room."
Sure enough...
Carol's now larger family wanted to tour their new home. After a week of enjoying her family and new friends in Wyoming, Carol decided she would move in to the Schuyler museum in Manhattan and her new suite there. Michael invited all of the family and their friends to consider living at the museum courtesy of the trust. Barbara's friends were told that they now had permanent digs there to use whenever they could.
They used Rainier and another rented jet to transport everyone to Teterboro. A convoy of limousines drove into Manhattan that day and into the long half-circle driveway that bordered the front entrance. The full uniformed staff met them at the entrance as the museum had been closed for the day.
"We'll have tea at six p.m. and supper in the Rose dining room on third floor at eight p.m. and celebrate." Michael volunteered to lead a tour in a half hour for anyone who wanted one.
The housekeeper and her staff introduced the crowd to their new suites to rest and relax for a few minutes and then tea was served in the Rose dining room at 6 p.m. for those who couldn't wait for supper.
Michael had already ordered the trust to transfer funds from the trust to Barbara for her use.
The four Evergreen Project residents quickly became museum residents, each with their own permanent suite. Barbara, however, decided to leave hers free for guests and moved in with Jack. He provided her with genuine pleasure and she thought she might talk him into fathering children one day, grandchildren for Carol, and new park users to boot.
Norm and Billy decided to share a suite. They didn't want to ever leave their bed for a few days, then surfaced for air and sustenance. They asked Jack if he still had their back, received confirmation and soon Jack had asked Michael if the two might have a footman be responsible for their suite instead of a maid. Michael didn't even raise an eyebrow. "Of course, don't know why I didn't think of it sooner."
Jack was thanked properly and ended up getting thanked again in their shower. Every couple of months, sometimes more often, Jack joined Norm and Billy when they invited him to come and play. He shared his activities with them with Barbara, who was at times glad for the rest and happy for Jack's rejuvenation in the V relationship.
Marcus decided to follow Barbara's lead. He, after a talk or two with Michael, decided to leave his unit free for guests and moved in with Michael. They became known as the power couple at the Schuyler museum.
Marcus, dreaming ahead, knew that perhaps one day he could talk Michael into adopting kids, thinking that Michael would be an awesome dad, providing grandchildren for Carol, cousins for any children Barbara and Jack (and John someday) might come up with, and, of course, new park users to boot.