Chapter 5
KAEDE
White shirt? Check.
Charcoal gray suit, fresh from the dry cleaners? Check.
Red power tie, with a perfectly tied Windsor knot? Check.
Square toed Oxfords shined to the point I could count my nose hairs if I wanted? Yep, and trimmed.
In fact, I’m feeling pretty pumped. It’s been nearly eight months since I’ve been in a corporate environment and I’m eager to see if I’ve still got it.
I check myself in my mirror and am impressed by what I see. The uniform and persona go back on with ease as I pose, one hand in my pocket and the other on the buttons at my center. I’m a little John Wick, a little Matrix Agent. Either way . . . “You one bad mutha!”
It’s a little joke I’ve used for years, but in this case, it really feels true. I’m ready for today’s meeting. I might not be the corporate ninja I was eight months ago, and the skills might be a little rusty, but I can handle this meeting like a pro, no doubt.
We’re going for a contract signing and a little back slapping celebration, not actually pitching anything. The hard work is never done, but this deal is a lock.
A beep from outside interrupts my thoughts.
Grabbing my keys, I head out the front door to meet Ross.
He lives downtown in the Andrews-worthy penthouse he had as a VP, but that was never my style.
After a short stint in a high-level condo, I invested in a brownstone in an up and coming area just outside of downtown proper.
It lets me come and go without polite niceties in the elevator or hallways with my neighbors and have a space to let the day fall away, and long-term, it will provide the best return on investment as the area grows.
Huge, by city standards, with two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and now, with a little help from Violet, it’s slightly less bachelor pad and more . . . home.
On the street outside, Ross waits in his Mercedes Maybach. The neighbors probably wonder who picks me up in the flashy car, but I don’t talk to any of them to answer any questions.
Climbing in, I see that Ross is also dressed for success in a sharp navy-blue suit with a golden-hued tie. We’re equally badass and ready for whatever comes.
“I see Violet let you borrow the Mercedes today?” I deadpan.
Ross laughs but feigns throwing a punch my shoulder’s way.
I don’t even flinch, trusting him implicitly to not hit me, at least not before a meeting.
I’ve given him plenty of shit over the past few months that his lovely wife has his balls in a jar on her dresser, an expensive hand-blown glass one, of course.
But the fact is, my best friend’s never looked better or happier.
With Violet at his side and the completion he’s found deep in his soul, Ross Andrews has found something that very few people ever find.
I’m happy for him and not at all jealous. Not even a bit.
“Just for that, I’m driving.”
As if he’d have let me drive. He pulls away from the curb, instantly making the engine growl like the deepest demons of hell are under the hood, and a small smirk lifts my lips when I see blinds moving as people peek out their windows.
“We’re good for today, right?”
Ross has asked me that question before countless board meetings, investor discussions, and even games back in the day.
I give the expected answer, “Abso-fucking-lutely. Like finding shit in a pig pen.” I don’t even remember how we came up with the crude version of ‘taking candy from a baby', but it works for us as a sort of superstitious habit.
Pulling up to the Sanders address is an experience.
I’m not unaccustomed to opulence, having virtually grown up at the Andrews estate with more bedrooms than I have fingers, more bathrooms than bedrooms, a resort-worthy pool, an outdoor basketball court, and an indoor gym the size of One Life’s studio space.
But this? This makes the Andrews house look frumpy and middle-class.
The huge estate’s tall, wrought iron gate is solid and imposing, towering an easy fifteen feet before curving into an archway of scrollwork. The whole complex monstrosity is topped by a gilded ‘S’ in the middle, as if there’s any doubt of whose property you’ve arrived at.
Driving up the crushed pink marble gravel driveway, we look left and right, both of us slightly agog.
The lawn’s easily the size of a city park with manicured hedges, rows of nearly identical fruit trees, and emerald green grass that’s so bright it’s almost impossible to believe.
I don’t think grass dares die in this lawn.
It’s too afraid to disturb the nearly Oz-like perfection.
The house is just as amazing. With three-story Corinthian columns and lots of white, it looks like the White House’s richer cousin, more ornate and less severe. It’s not the home of a president. It’s the vacation palace of an emperor.
“I don’t know,” Ross quips as he puts the car in park. “I was expecting something flashy. This is so basic.” The dry delivery breaks the tension in the car, and we chuckle, the nerves about this meeting relaxing a bit.
We’re greeted at the door by a butler straight out of central casting, right down to the old-fashioned tails on his coat, before being shown upstairs to a ‘waiting room’.
“Mr. Sanders will be with you shortly,” the butler, who never introduced himself, says in an impeccable British accent before disappearing. I glance at Ross, who’s taking it all in stride.
We’re silent, standing comfortably. Well, Ross probably is in truth, and I’ve learned to fake it so well that it’s impossible to tell that it’s a front, even to myself sometimes.
Visually, I scan, checking out the waiting room.
I’m curious to see if the books lining the walls are real when the door opens and Jeffrey Sanders comes in.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Sorry to keep you waiting. I was just having another business conversation. How’s your day been? ”
He’s back to cold and distant, not sorry in the slightest and reminding us that we’re only one of many irons in the fire he’s stoking. Put on guard, I wonder if perhaps this is more of a continuation of our business meeting than a celebration?
“Excellent,” Ross says with a business smile, having caught on to the same vibe. “And you?”
“Ready to make a future,” Jeffrey says, going over to one of the bookshelves and pulling one of the books. Fake, I knew it! It’s a hidden latch, and the bookshelf pops open, revealing that it’s actually a door. “Shall we?”
“Impressive,” I admit dutifully as we step through the door. “Must be great when you need to make a quick escape.”
“It also doubles as a panic room,” Jeffrey gloats casually.
“An insistence from my family that we have one. It was a month of annoyance as the workers did renovations before my daughters convinced me to go on vacation.” He lowers his voice as if sharing a secret confession.
“I would never tell them, but they were right. A week in Dubai was exactly what I needed.”
“It’s the most luxurious one I’ve seen,” I tell him truthfully, conveniently leaving out the fact that his office is also the only panic room I’ve seen. The closest thing I’ve got is locking the front door and setting the security alarm.
“Thank you,” Jeffrey says with a small lift of his lips, apparently pleased to have impressed us.
“Gentlemen, please sit.” He holds out a hand to a semicircle of leather chairs in front of his desk.
“Before we get to the contract, I want to discuss why I am choosing One Life as one of my investments. You see, I have a vision. One where someone can live a full and meaningful life under the Sanders umbrella.”
I blink and take an invisible breath to calm myself.
One Life is our vision, not Jeffrey’s, and we have no intention of changing to meet whatever dream he has.
We’ve checked the paperwork multiple times to confirm that the gym stays true to us.
Yes, Jeffrey’s investing a lot. But Ross and I maintain majority control of One Life with the investment and incorporation deal set up to insure that—we’ll control twenty-six percent of the company each while Jeffrey will have forty-eight percent.
“What exactly does your vision involve?” Ross asks carefully. I’m glad he asked because his attempt at pinning Jeffrey down is gentle compared to my current sledgehammer feelings.
“I suppose that did come off as a bit megalomaniac, didn’t it?
” He waits for us to disagree, but Ross and I stay silent, not playing his games.
He sighs lightly and continues, “I’ve invested in health care, in schools and education, in farming and grocery stores, in banking and construction, and quite a few other industries.
Each company has had one thing in common, and that’s an eye toward the future and in giving their customers the best experience possible.
Experience of the consumer ultimately creates loyalty and continued revenue as well as a fuller, richer, more active life for us all. ”
It’s a hell of a monologue. Not quite a speech, but at the same time definitely worthy of a TED talk on becoming an enlightened, semi-philanthropic one-percenter.
I feel like we just attended a symposium on his corporate mission statement.
It’s good, slick, and practiced, but that’s exactly why it sets my hackles up in concern.