Hypergeniture Bk. 01 Pt. 01

"Then I should take you to Paris."

"Or N'Orleans," Tash teased, making her best effort at the appropriate accent.

"We could travel the whole world," I mused happily, but with my words came a change in Natasha's expression. She pulled herself closer to me, but I felt her fade further away.

09 • Breakfast

Natasha left the following day with a wink and a kiss but didn't promise to return. She disappeared again for the next two days, and I was left pulling my hair out.

Nothing my cousin did made any sense. At the moment, she was always sure, and her doubts never overpowered her desires. Yet, things fell apart when she had time alone — time away from me. It was like something 'out there' was urging her against embracing what we had. What we both knew we had and surely accepted was real.

With Tuesday came new problems, and soon, Tash would be the least of my worries...

Usually, the housekeeper set the table, and breakfast was prompt. Along with the food, there were always some newspapers laid out.

It's the only thing I'd ever asked her to do.

I'd always enjoyed the British papers, even when I was a boy. When I lived with my aunt and cousin, I used to read the national ones every morning. At boarding school, we had every major European publication in the library. There, I started reading Le Monde and Süddeutsche Zeitung to improve my French and German.

On the fourth morning of my stay at the townhouse, I woke up to find the breakfast table bare. Still, I took my seat, assuming that things were just a little delayed. But, after a few minutes, Isabelle rushed into the room with a steaming plate of breakfast. Half the food was burnt and her face looked grim.

"Jeez, what's going on back there?" I asked. "You better not let the cook abuse you."

My driver was huffing as if she'd just run a marathon. "The thing... Boss... Well..."

"Calm down," I soothed. "You can have a seat if you'd like."

Isabelle shook her head. "No, thank you. The cook... Well, the cook didn't show up to work this morning. Nobody did."

Remembering how staff looked at me when I arrived, all I could do was accept inevitability. "I guess it was going to happen sooner or later. Don't try and pick up the slack; your job isn't domestic. We'll hire some replacements once the money is free. Meanwhile, I can do my own cooking."

I heard steps from the other side of the room as Alicia entered. "It's no trouble at all, sir," she assured. "We're your Swiss Army Knives."

Looking from one to the other, both Alicia and Isabelle were steadfast in their support of me. With everyone else gone, they could have left too, but they decided to stay.

"Could you get me the newspapers?" I asked, anxious to restore a sense of regularity to the day.

The looks I got in reply to my question were startling. My companions seemed frightened.

"Is there something about me in the news?"

The ladies nodded apprehensively. They were the definition of uneasy.

"And it's bad?"

Isabelle tried to spin things positively, saying, "It's not bad, boss. It's just that people have found out you're Miss Wharry's heir, and..."

"They don't approve of a young man inheriting the empire of a woman who shattered the glass ceiling?" I completed.

I liked to think that I was a competent strategist. I'd seen the reaction coming, but I assumed I'd have a little more time. I planned to sell my stake in the company, so I wasn't a burden or a circus act. It didn't matter how the business world responded, so long as I could cut ties with the fortune intact for my family.

Alicia and Isabelle explained what I'd find in the papers between them. It was worse than I expected...

There were mass resignations at Pellinore, the company I now owned a majority stake in. About two-dozen staff decided to pack their bags and leave, happily telling the press all about it. These people knew nothing about me, but they would rather be without their massive salaries than spend a day working for me.

I shouldn't have been shocked, but I was. I was hurt...

With my head in my hands, I found myself unable to restrain a solitary tear that rolled down my cheek — warm, wet, humiliating. I wanted to avoid crying in front of anyone, let alone the two women charged with protecting me.

Perhaps noticing my sadness, Alicia spoke forcefully. "Excuse my language, sir, but they can go fuck themselves. They'll never get another job in the City — not after pulling their little stunt. It can be no reflection on your character or competence if these people have never even met you."

"That's right," Isabelle echoed. "Fuck 'em! Don't even worry, boss; we'll have your back. Speaking of which, we need to go make the bed, and then we'll figure out what to do for lunch because I can't imagine you eaten the breakfast I tried to make."

"I've been jonesing for some junk food," I suggested, seeing Izzy and Alicia off as they left to do the chores.

Alone, I felt another tear roll down my cheek; a second, third, fourth, fifth... Too many tears to count poured out of my eyes as I reflected on loneliness and the love I'd just been shown.

I couldn't wait to hug my sisters and invite them into this new life. For the moment, I had Alicia and Isabelle and seemingly no one else. As good as that was, it wasn't enough.

Where was Natasha? When would my sisters arrive?

What about my mother?

Ah, yes... My mother.

• • •

The news had reached Toronto. After a call with my sisters, I decided it was finally time to talk to Mom, and my siblings agreed.

I was sitting in the back of the Maybach, making my way to an 'urgent' meeting with the Prime Minister. With the news out, no one in London didn't want to see me. Alicia was left fielding their calls with my staff pretty much gone, and we decided the trip to Downing Street should get priority.

As we snaked through London's busy streets, I noticed how the pedestrians moved. If you fix your eyes on the right spot, it's like a wave bobbing up and down — masses of people washing over the streets. I asked Isabelle to take the scenic route so that I could watch and somehow soothe myself. Then, I took a deep breath and dialled the number I'd been dreading to call.

I didn't have to wait long for my mother to answer...

"You have a fucking nerve calling me after a week!"

"Mom—"

"I have to read in the news! The news!"

"Mom—"

"How dare you do this to me, Oliver?! You've betrayed me!"

I felt my heart beat faster, my fist clench, and my vision blur. My mother could be harsh, but this was worse than ever before. Even over a poor connection, I could hear her nostrils flare. I could imagine the spittle building in the corners of her mouth.

"I knew you'd turn on me eventually."

"Turn on you?" I begged for clarification. "Look, maybe I should've told you sooner, but I was still figuring things out—"

"You were plotting to destroy me with the media and your money! Trying to flush me from your life like you've always wanted!"

I snapped, "I'm not the one who's been keeping secrets and telling lies!"

"You bastard..."

"I know everything now, and I won't forgive you. You told me I had scholarships and let me believe everything I got was because I worked for it. That was bullshit! I would've begged Elizabeth Wharry to pay for Tecla and Elle to get an education like mine. I'd have never accepted her charity! Instead of telling the truth, you spent years sulking while I had to pick up the slack and be the parent!"

"Listen here, you self-righteous—"

"Goodbye!"

I almost threw the phone before remembering I was with people and had to get a hold of myself. The conversation had not gone as planned and as the line went dead, I began feeling something I hadn't felt in a very long time. The feeling came with knowing I was the one guy keeping my family afloat.

Nauseous, light-headed, sweating, and feeling my chest tighten... I almost asked Isabelle to pull over so I could vomit in the street.

Since I could remember, I had to take care of everyone — including my mother — and now it seemed harder, not easier. I had no idea what I was doing and the dread only got worse as we pulled up at our destination and I took a few deep breaths.

The absurdity of life hit me as I looked out the window and saw the black bricks of Downing Street. The prospect of photographers snapping my picture was anxiety-provoking. Yet, we were at a seldom photographed side entrance. I was about to meet one of the most powerful people in the world and I found that funny enough to crack a smile. Still, my palms were sweaty and nausea doubled as the door to the Maybach popped open.

A civil servant dressed in grey met us at the car. On the way, Alicia would stay close, but not close enough for my liking. Our trio seemed like a big mass in the surprisingly tight corridors of power. I decided to ask for the bathroom, wanting to take a beat and a breath.

My bodyguard found a way to get close and whisper into my ear. "If you're going to throw up, fine. But don't go in there and stick a finger down your throat. Forcing it won't make you feel any better, sir."

I went pale as I realised how apparent my anxiety must have been. Stepping inside a tiny powder room, I ran the sink. It wasn't much, but splashing some water on my face helped soothe me. But then I felt this pain in my side, and it was like madness took hold.

"You don't get panic attacks, Oliver. You don't..."

My incantation seemed to work. I was less nauseas and could move again. The pain in my side was still there, but it slowly eased and in its place came this ungodly laughter I couldn't control.

"Ha! Hahaha!" I tried to shut my mouth, keeping it to myself. "Ha, haha! Wow... I am losing it."

Shaking my head one last time, I made sure I didn't look terrible before emerging to meet up with the entourage again. We took one last turn from the bathroom into an empty ante-room — like a sub-office — where I hoped we wouldn't be waiting too long.

I wanted to get the day behind me as fast as possible, but a regal voice broke my impatience and drew my interest. "The man all the papers are talking about!"

Somehow, I'd missed the presence of a tall blonde with killer blue eyes and a daring smile. She was gorgeous, if not perfect. Her dark brows contrasted her light hair, and her thick lashes drew attention to her vivid irises.

This girl dressed to kill, and there was something powerful in the way she extended her hand to greet me. "Romy. Romy Mansfield, if you must know the whole of it."

"Ah. I'm here to see your father," I mentioned, realising this was the Prime Minister's daughter.

"I came to see him too, but I've been sent on my way... It seems you're more important than me, Mr Orwell," the blonde narrowed her eyes, inspecting me before she beamed a huge smile. "Never mind — I don't hold grudges. In fact, I hear you've moved into a place in Mayfair. My mother and I are practically your neighbours!"

"Is that an invitation?" I asked. "To be fair, I should probably get to know people in town... If I need someone to check the fridge when I'm away."

"I hope you don't plan to be away too often," the blonde winked, passing me a card with her number before making her exit.

I got a sizzling glance over the shoulder from Romy, making Alicia edge closer and praise my efforts. "Very suave, sir."

The little meet and greet was a confidence boost as I turned my focus back to the reason for my visit. I was less nervous and as the doors to the meeting room swung open, I marched forward with determination.

Like the flick of a switch, I realised Alicia was no longer with me. I got flustered, alone in the lion's den, my safety blanket torn away. The panic that realisation incited was probably plastered all over my face because a gruff voice was quick to remark on it.

"Not to worry. You're quite safe in here, or at least I hope so! The pound would collapse if any harm befell you, so we must not let it happen! No, no... We shall fight on the beaches, and such and such, Mr Orwell."

I was spinning around like a ballerina, trying to find the audience. "No... I... Where has she gone?"

Sensing movement in my peripheral vision, I finally turned to meet the voice's robust and not-at-all regal owner: Prime Minister Alistair Mansfield.

"Your protection agent?" he raised an eyebrow. "She's right outside with the rest of the staff, Mr Orwell. We can't have anyone else in here for our very secret and most confidential discussion!"

The PM was loud and brash. He had a good laugh, and he pulled the politician's signature move of holding my shoulder as we shook hands. It was reassuring to know I 'understood' something about the man, as fake as it all was. Yes, I'd seen his type on television and even met a few politicians before then.

He may have been high-ranking, but he was no more sophisticated than my old class president.

The small sitting room consisted of four occasional chairs arranged in a circle. There was no surface to put a pen or paper, which I guess was the idea. The room was bare, and I wondered whether this was the case with all world leaders.

Two other people joined us in the room. I recognised one as the Chancellor of the Exchequer. He was a tall man with a ghastly moustache that seemed as out of fashion as his fiscal policies. The fourth person in the room was a total mystery to me. On the older side, the lady in the bright-red suit seemed rude and gracious all at once. She looked like the type who'd get rowdy in a pub but dressed like someone who made a habit of attending high tea at the embassies.

Taking my seat, I was asked by the Prime Minister himself if I wanted a drink. Then, he and the Chancellor started a charm offensive of note.

"We want to do anything we can to help," said the one.

"Indeed, anything! We want to speed up the process of your inheritance. We want you to have the money tomorrow!" declared the other.

"Yes! Tomorrow, if not today! We can make that happen, you know? Haha! Easy!"

"Yes, Prime Minister, awfully easy if we were to apply our minds," the Chancellor affirmed.

After a few minutes of their back and forth, I was punch drunk but not stupefied. It was clear they wanted something, and I had the mind to ask. "So, you help me on the condition that I...?"

There was a silence in reply to my question. I let it hang in the air, watching as the two men digested my words.

Eventually, Prime Minister took a deep breath and dropped the buddy-buddy act as his tone turned serious. "Mr Orwell, you're about to be the largest shareholder in a crucial business. We'd like you to take the helm of that business."

"I have no intention of taking over a company that would do much better without me," I said. "I don't know if you read the papers... I assume you do. No one at Pellinore wants me there."

"Don't be down on yourself," the Chancellor assured.

I shook my head. "It's not a matter of confidence but cold hard facts. The staff at Pellinore are packing their bags at the very thought of me. I also don't own the whole company. I don't have the necessary support on the board. Alone, my stake simply won't cut it!"

By this time, I'd forgotten there was a final person in the room who'd yet to say anything. When her voice came, it was the voice of a lifetime smoker and slimy politico. "Mr Orwell, we have already lobbied extensively to have you appointed as the next chairman. We will offer significant inducements to incentivise support for your candidacy. The board of Pellinore will not refuse."

"Sounds a little irregular," I blurted out. "As a lawyer, I'd even call it corrupt."

The Prime Minister and Chancellor tried to laugh off my remark, but the lady in red was not amused. "If you do this, you will be our friend, Mr Orwell. For all the money you're about to have, you can't buy friendship."

"Well, I do need friends, but who are you?"

"Baroness Trent, Secret Intelligence Service."

I straightened my back in suspense as the spymaster announced her profession. My chances alone weren't good. Without help, anyone could squander even the most fabulous fortune... But this was all very strange.

The three operators had me trapped. Their offer was too good to be true, made no sense, and even sounded dangerous. I'd never heard of a Western government interfering this directly in the affairs of a private company. Yet, despite all that, I was beginning to see the merits of a position and the friendship of the powerful.

My mind ticked along for a minute, weighing the options... I made a decision.

"Okay, I accept, but perhaps you can answer—"

The Prime Minister interrupted, "No need to worry yourself with the details!"

Suddenly, everyone was on their feet, and I felt compelled to join them. The PM grabbed my hand again and gave me a sly smile. "Did you meet my daughter outside?"

"I did."

"She's eighteen, chasing after love and very eligible, Mr Orwell. Very eligible indeed. A future countess, in fact!"

"I see—"

"Very eligible, Mr Orwell. You could do worse!"

Thinking about the other women in my life, I thought, 'I could also do better.' Keeping that thought to myself, I made my way back to Alicia.

10 • Fahrvergnügen

Our next stop was Canary Wharf and back to the place where I'd first learned of my inheritance.

This time the staff paid much more attention as I walked through the glass palace. I don't know if they were curious or upset but Alicia kept close in case someone tried throwing a stapler. In fact, we entered through a back-way, surrounded by half-a-dozen guards.

As we walked, I checked my phone for any calls or texts but found nothing. An assistant from my old firm offered secretarial support, but that was all show. I was walking into the meeting with nothing in hand. All I could rely on were the guarantees of the government; hoping they were true to their word.

We made our way to the CEO's floor, taking a rapid elevator that almost made you sick it moved so fast. As I entered the boardroom, everyone got to their feet and offered me warm introductions. There was a mix of age but not really of gender.

There were 10 board members in the room, excluding myself, and I was one of two men. There was another male board member, but he was some Earl who never attended these things. The team from my firm had tried to hammer home the importance of knowing key players' names. I was a poor student when it came to faces, but luckily everyone was eager to introduce themselves.

Government ministers had been courting these deacons of business for days. My nomination for chairperson came swiftly and without resistance. Well, almost without resistance...

Sitting opposite me, a lady with fiercely intelligent eyes scanned my face. She was the acting-CEO, Cassandra Nash, and she was undoubtedly the smartest person in the room. Her white suit spoke of unrestrained self-assuredness and her voice was solid as a rock.

"I spent my life working for the woman who made you her heir," she started. "Because I trust her judgement, I will support you. Now, wouldn't you say that's reasonable?"

"Very reasonable," I agreed.

"You seem like a reasonable man. Reasonable enough that you know an executive position for you would be madness."

Having spent enough time with corporate intrigue as an attorney, I caught on quickly. "So, I take a non-executive position on the existing board or we go the German route? Establish a supervisory board—"

Nash smiled, "No need to be too drastic... Certainly no need to be German! After all, the Kaiser did lose the war."

There was some restrained chuckling around the table, but I kept a poker face as Nash continued.

"We can have you as non-executive chairman on the existing board. You would approve all plans by the executive team, and you would preside over meetings... When you feel like it."