It was widely believed that Alastair learned his devious ways from his mother, Theresa. Her temper was legendary, and she had no equal when it came to staving off unscrupulous bankers and bill collectors. There wasn’t a creditor in the region that hadn’t been tongue-lashed by Theresa Holloway for trying to collect a past-due bill. She could at times be cordial and beguiling if it served her interest, but could just as easily become a she-devil so vile that it kept everyone on guard. Theresa Holloway’s language could be so profane, in fact, that even men would sometimes blush during her protracted tirades.
Alastair Holloway made his fortune in the oil business at a time when wildcatting resulted in fortunes for a lucky few and drove the rest into bankruptcy. Following World War II, America began an unprecedented economic expansion that was fueled by cheap oil. Because the Holloways hailed from Oklahoma-rich in oil and gas deposits-there was ample exposure to the overnight fortune possible if an oil strike was rich enough to cover the drilling and exploration costs. Oil derricks sprang up like toadstools following a midsummer’s rain. Alastair decided that he wanted in on the action, and convinced his father to let him drill a few test wells to determine if their property had oil. To everyone’s amazement, Alastair hit a gusher on his third attempt, launching his career in the oil industry.
Like every successful capitalist before him, Holloway reinvested his windfall into bigger and better equipment. He quickly expanded to a dozen oil derricks, thereby increasing the odds of a strike the more often he sank a hole. His luck was better than most wildcatters, and his wealth skyrocketed like the oil gushing from his derricks. This was the beginning of his avarice. He became obsessed with growing his company and looked for ways to more quickly capitalize the unparalleled opportunity before him.
To raise money, he founded the Triton Energy Group, LLP with a handful of select private investors. He rounded up ten partners willing to commit $2 million each to the joint venture, and established himself as the company president and general partner. This allowed him unilateral authority to take large positions in the oil futures market and other high-risk investments that he believed were potentially lucrative.
Through Triton Energy, he gained a reputation as one of the savviest investors in the black-gold industry and learned how to manipulate oil futures. Because he could control when he would deliver his oil commodity to market, he took large positions at below market price, knowing he could deliver the actual crude oil at a point he controlled in the future. This allowed him to pay back the futures contracts with oil he was currently producing. In only a short time, Holloway doubled his investors’ money. He subsequently bought out his partners and took Triton Energy private, never again willing to share the profits he generated with anyone.
Under Holloway’s fearless leadership, Triton Energy was the first to pioneer many innovative techniques that revolutionized the oil exploration industry. Triton developed the first offshore drilling platforms that allowed oil recovery in the North Sea, known to contain up to twenty-five percent of the world’s available oil deposits. Triton made advancements in drilling technology, including the first diamond drill bits, and commissioned the first supertankers able to transport huge volumes of crude to satisfy the world’s insatiable oil appetite. Holloway proved time and again to be peerless when it came to innovation and the wherewithal to surmount any technological hurdle.
Unfortunately, among the many pioneering advances Holloway developed over the years, it was the tragedy on one of Triton’s floating oil platforms that would forever mar his accomplishments. In July of 1988, 176 Triton Energy employees perished when the Lankis offshore oil platform exploded from a gas leak in the North Sea. It was Holloway’s staunch belief that the very nature of an oil platform operation-the extraction of volatile substances under extreme pressure in a hostile environment-entailed risk where tragedies did sometimes occur. He believed he paid a premium to those willing to accept this inherent risk, which fully discharged any further obligations. The victims’ families were coaxed by personal injury attorneys to file a class-action suit against Triton Energy, but the resulting lawsuit was settled out of court for the paltry sum of $91,000 per claim. The media vilified Holloway for the trifling sum he agreed to pay, and the public was outraged. Even fellow oilmen expressed their disbelief at the callousness with which Holloway responded to the catastrophe.
But, ultimately, this indignation had no effect and the disaster slowly moved off the front page of leading national newspapers. Those closest to Holloway claimed that the loss of 176 employees had no effect on him whatsoever. Within days of the accident, he was back to his normal routine: ordering and belittling staff, setting unrealistic deadlines, generally being his crabby and temperamental self, and remaining heartlessly detached from the terrible grief he had caused the loving families of these loyal employees.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Holloway,” said Eduardo Suarez, the captain of the Jurassic. “I trust you had a pleasant flight.”
“Yes, yes, everything’s fine, Eduardo,” Holloway responded, more agreeably than Suarez expected. “Is Angelina in my room?” he asked, rushing from the heliport toward the bridge of the yacht. “If not, tell her to get her skinny ass down there. And we’ll have dinner served while you give a report on the storm.”
“Right away, Mr. Holloway. We’re ready to depart as soon as Mr. Marlon disembarks.” He was speaking from behind, hurriedly trying to keep up with Holloway as he moved through the narrow passage off the bridge of the ship.
Holloway shook his head but continued walking. “Marlon… humph! Fucking prima donna pilots,” he muttered, under his breath, but still loud enough to be heard. “Why isn’t the boat standing by? I expected to be under way immediately. Must I really tell you everything?”
“The skiff is ready for Mr. Marlon, and I’ll be in your cabin in ten minutes. Miss Navarro is already waiting for you, sir,” Captain Suarez answered in staccato fashion, addressing each one of Holloway’s concerns. “The chef will send in your dinner as soon as we know your preference.”
“Well, see to it, then. I’m in no mood for delays.”
The captain watched Holloway disappear behind the elevator doors. The tyrant had arrived, so every crewmember needed to be at his best or risk the personal rebuke of Holloway’s displeasure. At times like this, being fired didn’t seem so terrible, even though the job was most enjoyable when Holloway wasn’t aboard.
The crew considered the Jurassic their home and they each took great pride in performing their duties. They sailed the world in the lap of luxury, staying close to wherever Holloway might fancy boarding his spacious multi-million-dollar yacht. But there was clearly no enjoyment whenever he was on board.
“Hello, Alastair. How was your flight?” Angelina Navarro asked as Holloway blasted into the spacious stateroom. “You look tired, honey. Is everything okay?” she cooed, rising from the sofa to greet him with a hug.
“Yes, yes, good to see you, Angel. You look lovely,” Holloway replied nonchalantly. Then he looked at her crossly, exasperated by what little she was wearing. “Please put on something more than just that negligee…you can see right through it. The captain will be here any moment.”
“Whatever you want, dear,” Angelina replied, pulling away from his cool embrace. She was grateful he didn’t seem to be in too bad a mood and hadn’t started yelling the moment he came through the door. She could usually soothe his temper, but was thankful that she didn’t have to immediately engage this repugnant chore.
Angelina Navarro was a strikingly beautiful woman. She was tall and slender at five-foot-eleven. She could have easily been a model had she not long ago entered the professional escort business in Los Angeles.