3. ETHAN
3
ETHAN
“Why do I have such weird dreams?” I ask, staring into the mirror.
They tell you when you sign up to serve that combat changes you. Some guys I’d served with had it bad. PTSD, nightmares, the whole nine yards. Thank God I’ve never experienced that despite some of the fucked-up missions I had been on.
One time we were tasked with taking out a senior terrorist leader. We broke into his house in the dead of night and carried out our mission. The only problem was his wife and little boy were there and watched the whole thing go down. It wasn’t something I was proud of, but I didn’t lose any sleep over it.
My dreams are just weird.
Last night is a perfect example.
I’m hanging out on a beach in Yemen with this hot girl, which is strange enough in itself because there are no beaches in Yemen that anyone would want to hang out on, and there are no hot girls. At least I’ve never peaked under any Burkas to find out.
Anyway, this girl, a beautiful Arab girl with an olive complexion, coal black hair, and these sparkling violet eyes, is starting to get amorous, and we start making out.
All of a sudden, I come up for air, and the girl in my arms is Sophia Delgado.
I mean, I haven’t seen the girl in maybe a couple of years, and now she’s showing up in my dreams.
I shake my head and turn on the shower.
I’m meeting an old Navy buddy, Graham Powers, in Virginia Beach for lunch. He’s just co-founded a top-tier security firm, government contracts and the works, wants to know if I’m interested in signing on. I’m still on the fence.
It’s not like a lot of former SEALs don’t find themselves doing this kind of work. We’re expertly trained, and the pay is awesome, but I think my family is kind of thinking that, OK, I’ve had my play time, time to get serious about what I’m going to do with my life.
Last time this conversation came up, there was some vague talk about law school, you’re still a young man, and blah, blah.
I did well in school. I could pass law school no problem, but do I really want to do that? There were some plusses. If I got into a top-tier law school – which would probably be a cinch with my folks’ connections – I'd be going up against the best of the best, but that was gradually losing its luster. After all, going up from a Navy SEAL is damn near impossible.
As I get dressed following my shower, I worry that my interest in Sophia might be more than just a passing thing.
Most of my previous conquests were nothing more than that. The fact was, most of the women I ended up being interested in were shallow and uninteresting. What did that say about me?
Maybe what interests me about Sophia is that she’s not that. It’s actually her defiance and disinterest in me that I find charming.
Of course, it will never work. Liam is the closest thing I ever had to a brother, though I never really thought of him that way. I would never allow myself to become that close to anyone who’s not immediate family – and maybe not even then.
It would change things between us, though, and that wouldn’t do. So, that would put her off-limits from the start.
The second roadblock would be my family. Any serious romantic relationship would necessarily involve them. It’s one of the reasons I tend to avoid entanglements. Bad enough I had to deal with them, why would I willingly subject anyone else to that?
That’s not to say I don’t love my family. Clearly, they care about me. I’ve never wanted for anything or been denied. That probably has a lot to do with the fact that I’m the only one to carry on the family name, and, lord knows, I’ve often been a disappointment to them.
I am a little concerned, however, because my presence had been requested (take that to mean an order had been issued) for me to appear at a family meeting tonight. No doubt to address my vagrancy since returning from the Navy, though almost any vagrant would kill to live as I do.
I check myself in the mirror before heading out. I wouldn’t call myself vain, but I hold myself to a certain standard. And why not? Almost never do you see a successful guy out and about who looks like shit.
My Aston Martin is my prized possession. I’m rather proud of the fact that I paid for it with my own money. Meaning that I scraped the 195 grand together from a combination of my own Navy salary and the generous trust fund left to me by my paternal grandparents. Granted, my Navy pay didn’t cover the vast majority, but at least my parents couldn’t hold that over my head.
The four-liter V-8 roars to life before setting into a throaty purr. With this much power at my command, I couldn’t understand why anyone would have any desire to own an electric vehicle.
Power. That’s all it really comes down to, isn’t it? The big difference between the haves and have nots is not money but power.
The conventional wisdom is that money can buy power, but not always. My family has destroyed countless other families, some that had even more money than we did. It was the people we were connected to that made the difference.
People tend to oversimplify the dynamic between the monied class and politicians. It doesn’t come down to who could grease who’s palm, but the relationships and long-term interests. Padding a person’s bank account doesn’t guarantee success.
Naturally, over the years, there were some who tried to buck the system and bite the hand that was feeding them. That never lasted long.
Ever wonder where those sensational scandals that destroy careers and lives ever come to light, seemingly out of nowhere?
The power brokers always have their armies of private investigators trailing their friends who roam the corridors of government. Their every move is being monitored. If they get out of line, the evidence is collected – or manufactured.
It doesn’t really matter if it’s true or not. The mere accusation is usually enough to do the job.
In fact, that’s what Graham’s “security” firm is all about. Any old guy who’d been in uniform is capable of providing physical security. All you have to do is be fit and look intimidating.
Graham’s operation requires a staff who can think as well as act. Only the elite will do. It also requires men who don’t think in terms of black and white. Nuances of the shades of gray are more important.
In that, I excel.
I guess that’s the real core of my issue with my family’s business. They don’t feel the need to justify what they do as long as it benefits them personally. I don’t have any qualms about bending a person’s will to make them do what I want as long as the ultimate goal is noble.
Ruining lives or careers out of pure spite or personal ambition is something different. I don’t know if I could bring myself to do that.
I pull into the parking lot at Roughy’s a fairly nice seafood restaurant whose name is a reference to the species of fish, not the ambiance of the place. Graham’s Audi is already parked out front.
As I exit my car, a flash of movement to my left catches my eye, and I turn to see an attractive woman exiting a shop called Belle Couture . It takes me a couple of seconds to realize I’m looking at Sophia.
Fortunately, she’s focusing on something in her hand and hadn’t seen me arrive. I wonder if she works at the store or is just shopping. Probably the former since she’s not carrying any purchases.
I don’t believe in karma or signs or any of that supernatural nonsense, but why am I constantly encountering this girl?
Shaking my head, I enter the restaurant. The salty smell of fresh seafood fills my nostrils, and I spot Graham sitting alone at a table in the back. He’s a few years older than me, and his family is connected as well. That’s one reason we had become friends in the first place: shared trauma.
I’m able to joke about it because, while there is no real trauma involved, I’ve noticed that people who come from families who exist in this sort of alternate reality of obscene wealth aren’t like everyone else. Living outside of that bubble involves a profound sense of culture shock.
I take a seat and order a beer while Graham and I engage in small talk.
“So, listen, I’m really interested in this position you have at your company, what more can you tell me about the role?” I ask.
He looks at me curiously. “What are you talking about?”
“What do you mean, what am I talking about? That’s why I’m here.”
He’s shaking his head. “Aw man, I’m sorry, I thought you had heard.”
“Heard what?” I ask. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Your dad. He called me yesterday. He said he was going to talk to you,” he explains.
Tell me what?” I ask. Why would my dad call Graham? I have no idea he even knows who Graham is.
“I can’t tell you more than he told me, but he called and said that he knew you were interested in working for our firm, but that you wouldn’t be able to do it because you were going to be working in the family business. He was quite clear that I wasn’t to offer you a position. And I know your family’s reputation well enough to know that it was not just a request.”
Furious, I stomp out of the bar, the blood rushing to my brain. I think maybe it’s time I have a little talk with my father.