Before we start let me tell you this is going to be a very long story and i hope with every coming part you will get more exited about next one.
Edwin looked at the pile of paperwork on his desk and rubbed at his eyes. It had been a really long day, and only midway through what was bound to be a long week. It had begun with his friend Danny's death two days ago, and since then the Island had been a hive of activity getting things prepared.
In a couple of days time Danny's c***dren would arrive on the Island, having just found out that they were triplets given up for adoption, and they'd be meeting here for the very first time. On top of that he had a burial to organise for Danny on the Island. Add in organising supplies and planning for every contingency, and it was no wonder he felt exhausted. It was two in the morning and high time he had some stress relief.
He got up from his desk, winced at the pain in his back and moved to the door of his office, part of his home on the Island upstairs from the clinic, and headed for the exit, moving quietly down the stairs as was his habit. Once outside he smiled. He'd always loved the cool breeze that caressed the Island through the night.
He turned left and took the path down to the beach, taking a right between two large bushes on the narrow path the kitchen staff used to bring supplies into the kitchens. A couple of turns and he was moving around the edge of the building where the Islands food was prepared and stored, unstaffed at this time of night. He knew if anyone spotted him they'd just assume he was going for his habitual late night snack, but he knew different.
He bypassed the main doors to the kitchen and entered the small courtyard that served the dual purpose of somewhere to store the trash and somewhere the chefs and porters could sneak out to for a smoke. Casually he glanced around and seeing no-one he slipped over to the backdoor of the pastry kitchen and entered a code in the keypad, a different code from the one normally used to open the door.
A quiet bump sounded next to one of the bins and he moved to the corner, reached down and pulled the handle that was now protruding from the flagstoned yard. A small hatch appeared with a ladder heading down, barely visible in the moonlight.
He quickly slid himself into the narrow passage and closed the hidden hatch above him, seeing the dim lights illuminating the twenty three rungs below him. Reaching the bottom he turned around and punched another code into the wall and the small box beside it opened. He pressed his hand to the small screen inside the box and the door beside him swung open.
Edwin smiled in anticipation. He had a lot of catching up to do.
He entered the saferoom, or as he thought of it, the 'Bunker' where he could retreat to if the Island was ever attacked. He ignored the open plan living area and kitchen and moved straight to the door on his left, a control room where he could make contact with the outside world if need be, but his focus wasn't on the emergency facilities. He moved straight to the console housing the covert CCTV system that Danny Tripps had painstakingly built in secret over the last fifteen years.
His friends words came back to him, as they always did when he looked at the setup. "There's no point in being trapped in here. Much better to see what's going on outside. Then you retain an advantage the other side doesn't even know about. Information is power."
Edwin smiled and moved to the large leather desk chair facing the bank of fifteen screens. Three large screens, a dozen smaller, all assigned letters from A to O. The one hundred and thirty eight cameras hidden around the island were numbered, making the system incredibly simple to operate. Simply type in the letter for the screen then the camera number, hit enter and that's what you saw.
The whole system was set up on a motion-activation principle, immediately discarding data that had nothing happening and that suited Edwins purposes perfectly.
He settled his fingers on the keyboard, typed A68 and hit Enter. The first of the three large screens flickered into view, a camera situated in the bedroom of Danny's favourite PA, Patricia,. She was one of Edwin's favourites too, a hot, toned blonde with a bundle of intelligence and determination. It wasn't her intellect that interested him at present though as he watched the live feed from her vacant bedroom, his memory providing him with hundreds of images of her sl**ping in that very bed.
He felt the familiar stirring in his groin and smiled. Time to move the recording back.
His fingers found the small dial next to the keyboard, punched in the camera number and then rotated it back. The simple system allowed him to review all recorded footage from that particular camera and he was viewing it in reverse. A couple of chambermaids darted around briefly at high speed, and then the footage caught up to Patricia undressing then sl**ping. The footage continued in reverse at high speed, skipping past hours of her lying still. She'd been asl**p for five hours or so when he saw her leap out of bed, naked, and grab a towel, then disappear backwards into the bathroom.
He reset the dial, his left hand coming to rest on his belt, and as the footage began to play on the screen he unfastened his belt and trousers.
Patricia appeared from the bathroom, her skin flushed from the shower, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, and as Edwin pulled down his fly and slid his hand in his trousers, she opened her towel.
Seeing her side on as she lifted the towel, her body taught and firm, her breasts pert and round, Edwin slipped his hand around his cock, slowly stroking himself as he watched her dry herself. She moved too quickly for him though, drying herself rapidly then slipping under the sheet on her bed, settling down to go to sl**p.
Edwin frowned and punched in B69, bringing up the footage from the en-suite bathroom in Patricia's room. He punched 69 in next to the dial and rolled it back, seeing her in a high-speed blur in the shower, moving it back to play as soon as the maid appeared who'd cleaned the bathroom earlier.
While he stroked himself in anticipation the maid finished her work, the lighting changed and Patricia appeared. Dressed only in a black thong, she walked up to the sink, her gorgeous breasts on display and as she brushed her teeth, Edwin zoomed the camera in on her breasts, stroking himself as he watched them jiggle back and forth with every motion of her arm.
"Come on, you hot bitch," he muttered. "Get in the fucking shower."
The teeth brushing continued for another minute and then she disappeared off screen, so Edwin zoomed the view back out, seeing her step into the shower cubicle. The water began immediately and he slowed the footage down as she stepped out the cubicle to remove her thong. In slow motion she inserted her thumbs in her waistband and bent over, sliding the black material down her hips, thighs and finally to the floor, and with a casual flick of her foot, the thong ended up back in the bedroom.
Edwins grip tightened on his cock. She always did this before she went in the shower. Always. He zoomed in a little closer.
Patricia stood up straight and stretched, her arms rising high above her head, her breasts jutting out. Edwin groaned, licking his lips in anticipation of what came next. Her right hand slid down over her taught, flat stomach, sliding down over her shaved skin until her middle finger made contact with her clitoris.
"Go on, you fucking slut," he muttered, his fist pumping as he watched.
Patricia's middle finger rubbed her clit up and down a couple of times, then in slow-motion, she moved it down her slit, rubbed up and down once, then plunged her middle finger deep inside her pussy.
"Fuck that dirty unwashed cunt, you whore," Edwin growled. His fist was pumping furiously on his cock now, loving what he saw on the screen.
Patricia dipped her finger in and out three times, and as Edwin zoomed the view back out, he smiled wickedly as she raised the finger to her lips and sucked it into her mouth, her head tilted back.
"That's a good slut," He grunted.
She stepped forward into the shower, and Edwin stroked his cock, watching the hot water sluicing down the curves of her body. "Come on, you dirty bitch. Do it." His fist was pumping rapidly up and down on his cock, his eyes fixated on the screen.
Patricia turned in the shower and squatted down, her back against the wall. Edwin smiled and zoomed the camera in, framing her as her legs came up and her buttocks rested on the shower floor. He could see her pussy, her asshole, tits and face and he felt his heart lift in excitement.
"Go on. Get busy."
She tilted one hip and her left hand appeared under her ass, her index finger rubbing at her brown puckered hole.
"Do it, slut," Edwin muttered.
Her right hand appeared between her legs, her fingertips brushing against her clit. Her mouth was open in anticipation, Edwin mirroring her expression on screen. Suddenly she slid two fingers into her pussy, plunging them in deep and her body stiffened in pleasure.
Edwin smiled. "And now the ass, you filthy little whore."
Patricia's finger that had been rubbing gently at her ass suddenly pushed, forcing her up to the first knuckle in that tightest of places. He watched as her expression turned nasty and she pushed harder, sinking the finger in her ass and the two in her pussy as deep as they would go. Her breathing was fast now, as intense as the expression on her face.
Edwin realised he was strangling his cock, his grip was so tight, so he eased up the pressure a fraction and continued stroking at a frantic pace, his free hand pulling his black shirt up around his shoulders in anticipation.
Patricia began to plunge her fingers deep inside herself, fucking both her holes at once with vigour, and Edwin's fist pumped up and down his cock, imagining it was his cock going in and out of her ass like that.
She paused for a second, adding a second finger to her asshole and a third to her pussy, then pushing hard, she slid them all back in again.
"Fucking filthy bitch," he snarled, knowing what was coming next, feeling his balls begin to tighten in anticipation.
Patricia's fingers were plunging in and out of her ass and cunt, as hard and fast as she could physically manage, and then her entire body stiffened and her head smacked back hard against the wall of the shower as she came.
Her fingers flew out her holes, all of them going rapidly into her wide open mouth, and as Edwin watched her suck on them, he saw her pussy twitching as she came and her ass opening and closing in glorious, exquisite detail. He came too.
Hot cum splattered out his cock onto his stomach, one spurt and a second, the remainder flopping and dripping onto his pelvis, matting his grey pubic hair, coating his hand.
Patricia's mouth closed, sucking hard on those fingers that had been deep inside her wet pussy, her tight ass, her brow furrowed and her cheeks rosy as her orgasm washed over her.
"Fucking dirty little whore," Edwin panted, his eyes glued to the screen as his hand fondled his sticky cock.
Patricia recovered quickly, her fingers leaving her mouth only to quickly tweak her nipples once, then she stood, rinsed herself off, washed her hands and turned the shower off.
Edwin leaned in the chair, panting and grinning as she left the shower. "Filthy fucking whore," he muttered. Idly he wondered who he'd stroke off to tomorrow morning. Over the last decade his habit had sat him in this chair and made him stroke off to movie stars, musicians, models, hundreds of gorgeous women unknowingly recorded in their most intimate of moments while visiting the Island as guests of Danny. And Edwin had them all recorded and stored. All for his personal pleasure.
"Maybe the Doctor," he muttered. "Or maybe I'll get that slut to dress up for me again. Some new fodder arriving soon though." He smiled, having seen the files of the three triplets. The two girls were hot. He was looking forward to seeing both of them in the most exquisite of detail.
Edwin carefully lowered his shirt over his cum-splattered stomach then fastened up his trousers and belt, trapping the cooling semen against his skin. Carefully he stood up and walked to the exit, feeling it oozing down his stomach. He smiled, loving the feeling, the scent of his own cum, especially if he bumped into anyone outside. He'd deliberately hold them in conversation, just to see if they'd notice the smell. Few did, none of them figured it out though.
He left the 'Bunker' and entered the kitchen, taking the sandwich that the Chef always left out for him, munching on it as he walked back to his apartment above the clinic.
The phone rang on Kyle's desk. He frowned, not needing the interruption. For the last three days he'd been working twelve hours trying to get the recommendation done for his company to purchase EDIT, an electronic records management application and he was nearly there.
"Hello. Kyle Watson, Business Strategy Team. Can I help you?" He replied, the standard answer whenever an internal call came through to his desk.
"It's Reception. There's a Mister Crowler here to see you. Says he's a lawyer."
Kyle frowned. "I don't have him in my diary."
"He says it's urgent that he speak with you," The security guy at reception stated.
"Em, okay. I'll be right down."
"Cheers." The other end of the line went dead.
Kyle headed for the elevator, the frown still creasing his features, wondering why a lawyer would be coming to see him. There was nothing legal he was involved in at work, he knew he was a pretty well behaved guy, and he knew he was up to date on his loan payments and all that.
He entered the elevator and hit the button for the ground floor, leaning against the wall as he tried to think of a single reason why a lawyer would be wanting to see him, but by the time the doors opened and he reached the reception desk, he still hadn't come up with one.
"He's in there," The portly security guy grunted, poking a thumb in the direction of one of the vacant meeting rooms HR used for interviews.
Kyle looked over, seeing an elderly man, around the age of retirement, but there was something very sharp about him. Maybe the slicked back white hair, or the black suit, shirt and tie, but from his initial glance, Kyle wouldn't be surprised to find out that this guy was Lucifers lawyer. He had that supremely confident look about him.
His frown still on his face, Kyle opened the door. "Hi. I'm Kyle Watson. Can I help you with something?"
The lawyer immediately stood offering a surprisingly warm handshake. "I'm Mister Crowler, Kyle. Thankyou for agreeing to meet with me at such short notice."
"Sure," Kyle said, closing the door and taking a seat opposite the old man. "Do you mind if you tell me straight away what it is you want? We've got three of the Company Directors in the building today, so it's kinda busy upstairs."
The old man nodded.
"Very well. I'm sure you're wondering why a lawyer has turned up out of the blue to see you. It involves an inheritance from a relative and you're one of the listed beneficiaries."
Kyle's eyes widened at the lawyers words. "Oh."
"Not what you were expecting?" Mister Crowler asked, an eyebrow raised at the expression on Kyle's face.
"I didn't know what to expect, but this wasn't even on the list," Kyle admitted. "Who are we talking about here? I don't know of any relatives of mine that have died." He frowned as he thought about it. "Not in the last few years anyway. Are you sure I'm the right Kyle Watson?"
"I'm absolutely sure." The lawyers confident expression left Kyle in little doubt, confusing him further.
"So.. Em... Who died?" Kyle nodded.
"For that you'll have to bear with me for a few moments while I show you a few files," Mister Crowler said, flicking open his briefcase and removing several Manilla files, placing them on the desk in front of him. The old mans fingers tapped for a few seconds on the files before he cleared his throat.
"Kyle, you are twenty three years old, born on the 19th of March, correct?" The lawyer's tone was precise, factual, and Kyle nodded.
"What I am about to tell you may come as a bit of a shock, so please bear with me." He flicked open the first file, containing several photos. The first was a black and white image of three babies, wrapped in blankets and woolen hats and they looked like they were only a day old.
"Babies," Kyle said aloud, knowing he was stating the obvious, but if he had fifty guesses at what was inside the manilla folders, a baby picture wouldn't have even crossed his mind.
"Correct," Mister Crowler replied. "This is a photograph taken of a set of triplets several hours after they were born on the 19th of March, twenty three and a half years ago, Kyle."
Kyle's eyes shot up to the old man's, but the lawyers gaze was fixed on the photo. His finger tapped the baby on Kyle's left.
"This baby was named Katarina." His finger moved to tap on the infant on the right. "This one was named Kara, and the one in the middle was named Kyle."
"Yeah, I think you've got the wrong Kyle, buddy," He said immediately. "I don't have any s****rs, or twins, or whatever." He kept quiet the realisation that the central baby did look like him in his own baby photos, but Kyle wasn't convinced. Babies all looked the same to him anyway.
"Please, bear with me," The lawyer said firmly, moving the photograph to one side. Underneath the photo was a stack of papers, and Kyle could see Adoption Certificate written on the top one. His fingers deftly rotated the document so Kyle could read it.
His eyes met the lawyers a few seconds later. "I don't know anything about this documentation. I couldn't tell you if it's real or false. I know I'm not adopted though."
"Is this your birth certificate, Kyle?" Mister Crowler said, sliding another document in front of Kyle.
He checked and nodded, frowning as he wondered why the hell this lawyer could have a copy of what looked like his own birth certificate. "Could be, but I don't know how you have it."
The lawyer flicked another document next to the birth certificate. "This is a name change by deed poll that accompanies the adoption certificate," He continued in the factual, clinical and emotionless tone, flicking another two documents in front of Kyle. "And this is your original birth certificate."
Kyle f***ed himself to look carefully at what was in front of him. He knew that his own birth certificate was correct and couldn't see anything on it that was strange or unusual, so he began to read the name change document, and compared it with the adoption certificate. He could feel a knot in his stomach as he failed to find any inconsistencies, and with reluctance, he looked at the original birth certificate.
He read the name of the baby on the certificate and his eyes immediately shot up to the lawyers face, seeing an expression of sadness there, perhaps even a hint of empathy at the young man sitting opposite him whose very foundation was being pulled out from under him.
"The... The surname?" Kyle stammered.
Mister Crowler didn't say anything. He simply slid another photograph across the table, this time of the three infants, cradled in their fathers arms. It was a younger version of a familiar face, known the world over. For the past few days it had never been off the news.
Kyle looked at the certificate again, seeing the surname. Tripps.
He re-read the name of the person listed as the father. Danny Tripps.
Kyle looked back at the lawyer. "Seriously?"
Mister Crowler nodded. "Finding out that you're adopted must be a big shock, Kyle. Finding out your father was Danny Tripps must be just as big."
Kyle shook his head. It didn't make sense to him, this lawyer claiming he was adopted, let alone this absurd claim that Danny fucking Tripps, one of the wealthiest men in America, was his supposed father. A thought struck him.
"Did Ed put you up to this?" Kyle had two best friends, Ed and Casey. While Casey worked upstairs with him, their friend Ed worked as an illustrator on comic books, but was forever trying to punk them with practical jokes. This seemed right up his street, especially four days after the world found out Danny Tripps had died of cancer.
The lawyers expression turned serious. "Kyle, I assure you this is no joke. There is more information here for you, including a letter from Mister Tripps."
"A letter?" Kyle smiled, convinced this was the work of his buddy. He chuckled. "Let's see it then."
The old man frowned but opened the second file and pulled out an envelope, the paper rich and luxurious. Kyle didn't recognise the handwriting on the front, but he opened it up and unfolded the letter.
I imagine you're in a bit of turmoil right now. Try not to give Mr Crowler a hard time -- he's a good man and a good friend who's been stuck with a hard job.
Anyway, you've just found out I'm your father. Danny Tripps, billionaire, celebrity, playboy, entrepreneur, business genius, etc. I'm sorry to say that it's true, Kyle. And you deserve an explanation.
Twenty six years ago I met a wonderful woman named Karen, we fell in love and were soon married. I started my own business making computers and doing some programming, and soon my wife fell pregnant. Life was bliss. Then the business boomed, some of the software I'd written made me a small fortune and within months I was employing hundreds of people. The business side of things isn't important now, but a few more months passed and it was time to go to the hospital.
Karen gave birth to three infants, triplets, a month early, two girls and a boy, but immediately began to have complications. She was rushed into surgery, but it was no good. Just like that, the love of my life died. She was twenty five years old. She would have been a great mother.
I knew nothing about raising k**s, and I was so overwhelmed with grief that the only thing I could think of was to throw myself into my work. Anything to get away from the pain. A doctor suggested offering you and your s****rs up for adoption. I agreed, thinking it was the best for you. It was the biggest regret of my life. At the time though, it was the best decision I could have made.
You and your s****rs were put with loving families, raised in nurturing and healthy environments, and despite my promise not to, I kept tabs on you all, helping out in little ways whenever I could. Scholarships, jobs and the like. I know it's not parenting, but you and your s****rs are the only f****y I have, even if we've never met.
And that brings us round to the present. As I write this I'm dying. If you're reading this, then I'm already gone and you might have even heard about it on the news. Which brings me round to the point of all this. For twenty five years I've been building a business, an empire some would say, and along the way, tens of thousands of people have come to rely on me to keep their companies afloat, keep their jobs in place so they can raise their own families. It's a responsibility that I take seriously, which may well sound ironic to you, given that I haven't taken responsibility for raising my own c***dren.
I'd like you to meet your s****rs, Katarina and Kara. I'd like the three of you to get to know each other. All that I have now belongs to the three of you. My inheritance. I'm told it's quite a sum.
Mister Crowler will give you the details on what happens next, but here's the clip notes. Go to my Island in the Caribbean, get to know your s****rs, learn a bit about what's being asked of you and decide what you want to do.
Along the way you might even get to know a little more about me.
In hope and love,
Kyle looked at the date on the letter, noting it was only two weeks old.
Gone were the doubts that this was Ed's work. This really wasn't his style at all. The knot in his stomach was twisting as he realised he'd have to make a call and speak to his parents. He had to ask.
"Would you excuse me for a couple of minutes, Mister Crowler. I need to make a call." Kyle saw the old man nod, but he was already on his way out the door. He moved on autopilot out the front doors of the building and onto the street, crowded with the usual mixture of coffee-toting office workers, shopping housewives and tourists and stepped into a doorway. He dialled.
"Hi, Mom," Kyle replied, trying to keep his voice relaxed and casual. "Listen, I need to ask you something."
"Okay, honey, but you'll have to be quick. Your father and I are just about to leave," She replied. Kyle could hear a car door close in the background.
"Oh, right. Today's the hiking trip, right?"
He heard his Mom sigh down the phone. "I swear Kyle, you never pay attention."
He took a deep breath. "Mom, I need you to listen to me here, okay. I just had a visit at work from a lawyer called Mister Crowler."
Kyle paused as he heard his mother shout on his father. "Ben, you need to be in on this," He heard her say. "Okay, son. What did he say?"
"Mom, Dad. I've got to ask you. Am I adopted?" Kyle had his free hand held flat over his free ear, listening more intensely than he ever had in his life.
The silence that stretched into seconds on the other end of the line added to the sinking feeling in Kyle's stomach.
"Son, it's me," Kyle heard as his Dad came on the phone, his tone gentle. "It's true, son. We adopted you when you were only a few days old. I'm sorry you've found out like this. Do you want to meet up and talk about it? I can come and pick you up?"
Kyle pressed his face into the corner of the doorway, trying to think. It was true, he was adopted. His mind whirled with a myriad of emotions, feeling like his world had just been turned upside down, so he took several deep breaths, and thought about what he knew. His friends were his friends. His parents had kept this whopping big secret, but they'd raised him and been there for twenty three years for him. Did it really matter that they weren't linked by DNA? The thought helped him clear his head a little and he sighed.
After a moment he replied. "No, it's okay, and don't get all worried, okay. I know you're my parents, I know you're my Mom and Dad, you raised me and nothing's going to change that, okay?"
He could almost hear the relief in the tones of their replies, so he pressed ahead.
"Thing is, I've found out a little about who I was before I was adopted," Kyle added, not quite sure how to proceed with this bit. He opted for directness. "How much do you know about that?"
There was a hushed, whispered conversation at the other end of the line that ended abruptly after a few more seconds.
"We know who your birth father was, honey," Kyle's Mom said a moment later. "Do you?"
Kyle swallowed. "Yeah, I think so." His mouth was dry but he made himself say the words. "Danny Tripps, right?"
"That's right, son," His Dad said quietly. "We weren't supposed to know, but we did."
"Has he left you something in his will?" His Mom asked. "Is that why the lawyer is there?"
"Em, I think so," Kyle said, feeling more than a little nauseous now. "Listen, they're telling me I have s****rs."
"What?" Both his parents replied at the same time.
"That I have s****rs. Twins," He replied. "Well, actually triplets, but I'm one of them, apparently."
"Kyle, son, we had no idea," His Dad said, and Kyle knew deep inside that he was telling the truth. "s****rs?"
"Two of them," Kyle confirmed. "They want me to go and meet them."
"Then you should go," His Dad replied immediately.
"Absolutely," His Mom added. "Are you alright, honey?"
"Bit shell-shocked, I guess," Kyle replied. "Listen, I've got to head back in there. Are you guys okay?"
"Yeah, son, don't worry about us," His Dad answered. "We'll stick around here for a few days, I think. Why don't you come round for dinner tonight or before it you want, we'll have a chat."
Kyle frowned. "No, you should go on your trip. You two have been planning it for months." Every time Kyle visited his folks they had maps up of the areas of Canada they were hiking through and he knew they had various locations booked for the occasional night in a hotel and if they set off late they'd lose their reservations. "Honestly, I'm okay. You should go on your trip, and besides, I can call you if I need to. You guys can call me too, okay?"
Kyle could almost hear them silently discussing it with looks and gestures at the other end of the phone, something they'd done for as far back as he could remember.
"You sure, son?"
"Yeah, Dad. You and Mom go on your trip."
"You sure you're not pissed at us for not telling you?" His Dad asked bluntly, as was his way.
Kyle sighed. "Honestly, Dad. I'm not angry. I'm a bit shocked, and I can't say I won't be angry in the future, but if I get angry I know where to find you."
"That you do, son," His father replied. "You just pick up that phone and we'll come right back so you can vent your fury for as long as you need."
"Can I just ask, why didn't you tell me?"
"There was never a good time for it, honey," His Mom replied. "How do you bring something like that up in conversation?"
"Besides, you would have asked who your parents were, and we would have had to lie directly to your face, son," His Dad added. "We just couldn't figure out how to tell you."
"Fair enough," Kyle said, managing to sound calm while inside he just wanted to vanish somewhere quiet so he could process it all. "Have a good trip."
"Love you, honey."
"Love you too," Kyle finished and ended the call. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and walked back in to see what else the lawyer had to say.
"Everything okay, Mister Watson?" Mister Crowler asked as Kyle sat back down.
"I don't know if I'd describe it as okay," Kyle said a moment later. "Right, I've spoken to my parents."
"So you know I'm telling the truth then?"
Kyle swallowed and nodded. "Bit of a shock."
"I believe you. Shall I continue?"
"Might as well," Kyle replied.
"As he mentioned in the letter, Mister Tripps did his best to keep a discrete eye on you and your s****rs while you were growing up, and he kept private files with the information for an occasion such as this. As he also said, we'd like you to come to Mister Tripps private Island, where you can meet your s****rs and get to know each other without any of the constraints and pressures of the outside world."
"What does that mean?" Kyle asked.
"Pressures and so forth?" The old man asked. Kyle nodded, so he continued. "To give you one example, Mister Tripps was a very recognisable public figure with a long ongoing relationship with the press."
Kyle nodded, having seen him at movie premieres, award shows, chat shows and in the papers too.
"The press are already making enquiries about who will inherit the vast fortune of the Tripps Empire, and sooner or later someone will remember him in a hospital twenty three years ago and either do some digging, or simply open their mouth on their favourite social networking site. In todays instant-media world, it's only a matter of hours or days before you and your s****rs get tracked down and beseiged by the media."
"You're shitting me," Kyle blurted. "Seriously? That's what you think is going to happen?"
Mister Crowler blinked. "That is what will happen, Kyle. We have experience with this."
"I would have thought they'd....." Kyle trailed off, thinking about it, and he knew that the old man was right in what he was saying. There would be a media frenzy, and he'd be right in the middle of it. "Fuck me sideways."
"I see we're on the same page, Kyle."
"I guess so," he replied unhappily. "So what happens now?"
"There should be a car outside for you. There's a private jet due to arrive in," He glanced at his watch, a polished silver pocket watch, then dropped it back in his pocket. "Nine hours time, that's half past eight tonight. Take-off will be around nine o'clock and the flight from San Antonio to Guadeloupe Island, the nearest airport to the Island, is around seven hours. From there you'll take a boat for an hour to the Island itself, so you should be there at around sunrise."
"Overnight journey?" Kyle asked, frowning. "It sounds exhausting."
"Unfortunately we have to get all three of you to the Island as soon as possible, so it's unavoidable on this occasion. However." The old man paused. "At the airport will be a woman named Patricia, an Executive Assistant to Mister Tripps with many years experience. She'll be your liaison, your point of contact and your assistant for the duration of your trip."
"Why do I need an assistant?" Kyle asked.
"Because you'll have a lot of questions," The old man said simply. "Now, Patricia is very good at her job and she'll be a real asset to you, so make sure you rely upon her."
"We'll see," Kyle replied, knowing he still wasn't sure if he was going to go to this Island at all. The idea of buggering off with his folks seemed appealing, despite his well-known aversion to hiking.
"In between now and tonight you'll have a driver to look after you. Her name is Caroline, I'm assured she's very good, and she'll have a few forms for you to complete. I also have this for you."
The old man slid an envelope over the table. Kyle opened it and emptied the contents. A Visa card, a Mastercard, a clear envelope with cash in it and a small keyfob.
"What's all this?"
"The credit cards are for you to purchase some suitable clothing for your trip, the cash for if you don't want to use your credit cards or if you need to tip, and the keyfob is a personal alarm," The old man explained. "If you push the red button, a security team will converge on your location and extract you from any situation or threat in the vicinity."
"Like bodyguards?" Kyle asked, shaking his head. "This is too surreal."
"I'd imagine there will be many surreal moments in the days to come," The old man replied.
"Pin numbers for the cards?" Kyle asked, picking them up and looking at them. They seemed almost holographic.
"The year of your birth. We can change that tomorrow for you."
"I suppose they've got like a twenty grand limit or something extravagant like that?" Kyle laughed.
"Not quite, no." Mister Crowler smiled. "I believe they're somewhere in excess of a couple of hundred thousand dollars, but they were set up in a hurry, so we'll get that straightened out too in the next few days."
Kyle snorted with laughter.
"Another surreal moment?" The lawyer asked, his expression blank.
"Something like that."
"So I've got a driver, a load of credit and cash and a goon-squad on standby, just to cover me for nine hours until I catch a plane to an Island paradise?"
"Not a plane, a private jet, but yes, close enough," he nodded.
"Fucking hellfire," Kyle said quietly, the laughter and incredulity of the moment stopped. "So do I just go back to my desk until I finish work now? What happens?"
"Oh, good lord, no," Mister Crowler replied, looking taken aback for the first time. "Mister Tripps actually owns this company, although it's not widely known. However, no, you don't need to return to your desk. In fact you don't need to return to it ever again if you so choose."
"What about my boss?" Kyle asked. "Sometimes he's a real dick, and I don't want him to throw a bitch fit."
"Kyle," The old lawyer said, leaning forward across the table. "It'll take a while to get your head round some of the changes that are going to happen to your life in the next few days, weeks and months. However, if your boss is, as you put it, a real dick, then you can always deal with it by coming back here in a few weeks and firing him."
"Good point actually."
"Now then, onto the last file," The old man said, gathering the other documentation away.
"What's in this one?"
Kyle felt that cold sinking feeling in his stomach again and suddenly his mouth was dry. He realised he was craving a cigarette again, and had been for some time, which was unusual as he'd quit nearly a year ago and hadn't had a craving in seven or eight months.
"Okay, let's see them," Kyle said, feeling a hint of excitement and fear at the thought of having s****rs and wanting to find out who they were.
The lawyer opened the folder and slid two photographs across the table and Kyle's breathing almost stopped. His face turned white.
"Is everything okay, Kyle?" The old lawyer asked as Kyle stared at the photographs on the table. "You've gone a little pale."
In a voice barely above a whisper, Kyle said, "Oh, fuck, please let this be a joke."
To be continued ...
Posted by swapx 2 years ago Views: