A soft knock came at the door. Derek went to the door and opened it. His girlfriend, April, stood there, wearing tight jeans and a blousy top. She had a heart-shaped face, a button nose, and straight red hair that hung past her shoulders.
April reached out and hugged him, squeezing hard, her body pressed against his.
Derek had called her a few hours ago, so she was aware of the situation. He’d also called his daughter, Lindsey, but she hadn’t returned his call or his texts. April lived in Washington DC, over two hours away from Luray, VA, but she’d dropped everything to be there. They disengaged from their hug.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course.”
They stepped toward Hannah.
“How are you feeling?” April asked with a sympathetic smile.
“I’m not dead yet,” Hannah replied with a small grin.
April was great. She sat with Hannah, held her hand, laughed, and empathized. She talked enthusiastically about subjects that interested Hannah, like knitting, food preservation, and Christian romance novels. Derek watched April with his mother, thinking about how much he loved both of them. April was nearly perfect: beautiful, smart, compassionate, and fun to be around.
He’d thought about asking her to marry him, but where would they live? As an accomplished DC lawyer, she made quite a bit more money than he did. What would he do? Sell the farm and live in DC? Outside of farming, he didn’t have any marketable skills. He doubted she wanted an unemployed husband. Their relationship was at an impasse.
Something else bothered him. Her ring. The Irish Claddagh ring passed down to her from her late mother. A silver ring with hands holding a heart. If the hands and the heart faced inward, it indicated that April’s heart was taken. Worn the other way, her heart was open to suitors.
They’d dated for nearly six months before she’d turned the ring inward, but now the heart faced outward.
10
Jacob, Captain of a Sinking Ship
The autonomous Mercedes navigated northern Virginia traffic as Jacob lounged in the back seat, scrolling through his email and sipping his coffee. He opened an email from his brother Eric.
From: eroth@rothnorthamerica.com
To: jroth@housingtrust.com
Subject: Meeting with Zhang Jun
Jacob,
I was able to broker a meeting for you with Jun. It’s on the top floor of The Regal Hotel in DC on November 23 at 9:00 p.m. I know it’s a Saturday night, but beggars can’t be choosers. You can thank me now.
Jun is eccentric and as power-hungry as they come. Don’t expect a fair deal. He believes the Chinese are superior to Americans. You might be able to use that to your advantage. Also, you will probably be walking into a party. He likes conducting business at parties. He thinks it gives him an advantage to distract his opponents with alcohol and women.
Watch out. He’s a snake. Try not to be too stuffy. He doesn’t like that. Drink his drinks but don’t get drunk. Accept the company of a woman, human or robotic, but don’t become enamored. If you can do that and keep your wits about you, you have a chance.
Good luck,
Eric
Jacob tapped on his tablet, adding the meeting to his schedule, to take place in eleven days. Conveniently, The Regal Hotel was only half an hour from his office in McLean, Virginia.
The autonomous Mercedes turned onto the sprawling Housing Trust campus. Six five-story stone-and-tinted-glass buildings were connected with glass breezeways. The grounds were impeccably maintained. Dark green grass, fresh mulch, not a weed in sight. The maple leaves were still bright green, fall coming later and later.
The Mercedes idled at the entrance to the main building. “You have arrived at Housing Trust Headquarters. Have a wonderful day, Mr. Roth,” the female voice said through the car’s speakers.
Jacob put his tablet inside his briefcase and exited the Mercedes. He yawned as he stepped to the glass doors. He was still jet-lagged from his trip to England over the weekend. The front door opened for him, the door sensing the badge in his pocket and the facial recognition cameras validating that his badge was, in fact, him.
Jacob took the elevator to the top floor. A few employees rode the elevator with him, but Jacob didn’t know any of their names. They had over six thousand human employees. The elevator was dead silent, everyone watching the numbers tick higher, a few exiting at each floor. Jacob was alone by the time he reached the top floor. He stepped down the hall and entered a glass door that read CEO Jacob Roth. Inside, he passed the reception desk and his new receptionist, Zoe Benson.
Zoe said, “Good morning, Mr. Roth.”
He nodded, stopping in front of her. “I’d like some coffee.”
Zoe stood from her seat, removing her headset. “Right away, Mr. Roth.”
She walked toward the kitchenette and the coffeemaker. Jacob watched the rock of her hips in her pencil skirt and the flex of her calves in her high heels. After all, that was why he’d hired the young brunette—or rather had okayed the hire by his assistant. Jacob continued to his office, stopping at the open office door of his assistant, Elyse.
“Good morning, Mr. Roth,” Elyse said, standing from her desk.
“Good morning, Elyse,” Jacob replied.
Elyse was tall, athletic, with high cheekbones, and long dark hair parted down the middle. She could pass for an Italian model, and she had the brains to graduate top of her class with a Harvard MBA. Elyse followed Jacob, intent on prepping her boss for the day. Jacob held the door for Elyse as they entered his corner office.
“Thank you,” Elyse said in reference to Jacob’s chivalry.
“You’re welcome,” Jacob replied. “How was your weekend?”
Jacob’s office was spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the rear wall, a mahogany desk, and a sitting area with plush leather furniture. He set down his briefcase and sat behind his desk.
“It was good. Perfect running weather. How about you?” Elyse sat down in one of the chairs opposite Jacob.
“It was long. I’m happy it’s over.” Jacob sighed. “Anything pressing?”
Elyse gave him the rundown. Jacob had a meeting first thing with Ramesh, the CFO. Jacob also had a meeting scheduled with the President of Subsidized Housing and the VP in charge of maintenance.
Ramesh Patel sat across from Jacob. The middle-aged Indian CFO was small and skinny but with the paunch of a well-fed westerner. He had a small chin, big wire-rimmed glasses, and a huge forehead created by his receding hairline. He resembled an alien.
“We are in big trouble,” Ramesh said. “We need either an influx of investor capital or better terms for our bonds. With these interest rates, our debts are compounding, and we can’t stop the bleeding without major restructuring and layoffs. The short sellers are killing us.”
Zoe entered the office without knocking, holding Jacob’s cup of coffee. The room went silent as she approached. She set the coffee on the desk.
“Thank you,” Jacob said.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Roth.” Zoe smiled, turned on her heels, and stepped toward the door. She stopped at the door and pivoted, standing silent for a beat.
Jacob scowled at his receptionist. “Did you need something?”
“Sorry, Mr. Roth. I was just wondering if Mr. Patel wanted something to drink.”
“No thank you,” Ramesh said.
Zoe nodded and exited the office.
Safely alone again, Jacob said, “But, if we have layoffs, we’ll have to pay severance packages, and we’ll ultimately take a hit to top-line revenue. These employees are doing deals. I know it’s not enough, but scaling back won’t solve the problem. We have to do more profitable deals per employee.”