John sat staring at the stark white folder on what was left of his desk as if he watched Ockham's razor itself. Inside was said to be truth, but he also knew it would bring a lot of pain. He wanted to believe Kiara in what it contained. He needed to. His mind was swimming with recent events. He knew Salome was dead, he did not know how, but he could feel the absence.
In the silence of the house, in the dark hours, in the quiet of his loneliness, he wept. He did not know why, or for how long, but it seemed to help wash away some of the pain. He wanted so much to trust things at face value, but he had other things that called to his attention.
Once he had calmed, showered, and dressed, he set the final details for the Masque Ball in place. Then he began to marshal his resources toward a very different task. If what he feared was true, he would have to go very old school on this project. computers were too easy to trace.
He righted the desk, propping it up on some of what used to be a chair. He then began reading through the file that Kiara had brought to him. He tried to organize it as best as he could, while still keeping everything in its pattern. Digging through the desk, he found a small box of post-its and started placing reference tabs in the piles.
At one point, just before dawn, he hit the call button on the intercom and received nothing but silence. This puzzled him until he realized that in his rage he had sent everyone away for the night. After raiding the kitchen and supply rooms, he piled what he had found on an end table near the desk and went back to work.
The cell phone began to rattle around on the floor where he dropped it last night. When he picked it up, he saw that it was almost noon. There was a text from Vincent asking if the staff was permitted to return. He responded and returned to his task. By now there were three desks organized around the chair, with the file spread among them, hundreds of little colored flags referencing and connecting them.
As dusk settled, the task was largely completed. Now he just had to make sense of it. Every answer he found had raised a dozen new questions. He pressed the intercom and was answer with that familiar crisp accent. Smiling at how used to Vincent he was, he set things in motion.
“Vincent, I will be moving my home to the Marriott hotel penthouse suites in Shreveport, you know the ones. This will likely be for the duration of the renovations you will be doing to the house. I want all the techno-garbage stripped from the house. I want it rebuilt like it was when I was a child, except for the security measures. UV and Silver spike countermeasures are fine, but I want them discreet. Only what technology is needed and find someone who can hide it in plain sight so it will not be so glaringly be out of place.”
He looked over the project he had tasked himself.
“Two more points, Vincent. I want the book in the lock-down room sealed and placed in the trophy room as a reminder to me. The rest is to be burned. Use the phosphorus torches. I do not even want ask to remain. Secondly, you will find a large file laid out over several desks in the office. Make sure they are kept as they are and moved to my suite in the Marriott without delay. Use trusted couriers only, Vincent…no outsourcing on this one.”
Smiling to himself, he pressed the key again…
“…and Vincent…thank you. You know me better than almost anyone…and you still put up with me. Reschedule the training bouts for the duration to the Shreveport arena. I feel like getting back in the ring a bit so I will be adding my name to the roster.”
In the silence of the house, in the dark hours, in the quiet of his loneliness, he wept. He did not know why, or for how long, but it seemed to help wash away some of the pain. He wanted so much to trust things at face value, but he had other things that called to his attention.
Once he had calmed, showered, and dressed, he set the final details for the Masque Ball in place. Then he began to marshal his resources toward a very different task. If what he feared was true, he would have to go very old school on this project. computers were too easy to trace.
He righted the desk, propping it up on some of what used to be a chair. He then began reading through the file that Kiara had brought to him. He tried to organize it as best as he could, while still keeping everything in its pattern. Digging through the desk, he found a small box of post-its and started placing reference tabs in the piles.
At one point, just before dawn, he hit the call button on the intercom and received nothing but silence. This puzzled him until he realized that in his rage he had sent everyone away for the night. After raiding the kitchen and supply rooms, he piled what he had found on an end table near the desk and went back to work.
The cell phone began to rattle around on the floor where he dropped it last night. When he picked it up, he saw that it was almost noon. There was a text from Vincent asking if the staff was permitted to return. He responded and returned to his task. By now there were three desks organized around the chair, with the file spread among them, hundreds of little colored flags referencing and connecting them.
As dusk settled, the task was largely completed. Now he just had to make sense of it. Every answer he found had raised a dozen new questions. He pressed the intercom and was answer with that familiar crisp accent. Smiling at how used to Vincent he was, he set things in motion.
“Vincent, I will be moving my home to the Marriott hotel penthouse suites in Shreveport, you know the ones. This will likely be for the duration of the renovations you will be doing to the house. I want all the techno-garbage stripped from the house. I want it rebuilt like it was when I was a child, except for the security measures. UV and Silver spike countermeasures are fine, but I want them discreet. Only what technology is needed and find someone who can hide it in plain sight so it will not be so glaringly be out of place.”
He looked over the project he had tasked himself.
“Two more points, Vincent. I want the book in the lock-down room sealed and placed in the trophy room as a reminder to me. The rest is to be burned. Use the phosphorus torches. I do not even want ask to remain. Secondly, you will find a large file laid out over several desks in the office. Make sure they are kept as they are and moved to my suite in the Marriott without delay. Use trusted couriers only, Vincent…no outsourcing on this one.”
Smiling to himself, he pressed the key again…
“…and Vincent…thank you. You know me better than almost anyone…and you still put up with me. Reschedule the training bouts for the duration to the Shreveport arena. I feel like getting back in the ring a bit so I will be adding my name to the roster.”
