Walter Orenthal Harris was not having a wonderful day.
He’d been awake since the wee hours of the previous morning playing damage control because the people whom he paid to handle these situations were apparently woefully underqualified. It was one thing to be taken by surprise by a band of hippies traipsing through Miami with homemade sigils and a dog. To allow it to happen two more times was frankly insulting.
When he received the news that this Ginger Angel, or whatever they were calling him, had apparently killed five of his security personnel, he decided it was time he stepped in. Losing those men and women was a blow from more angles than these idiots reporting the news could even begin to fathom. Of course, any loss of human life was a travesty, but recruiting and training security officers was not cheap, and that’s not even mentioning the life insurance payout that went to their families.
“Henrietta?” Walter called, followed by a slow sigh as he signed the last of the checks and slipped it into its envelope. His niece was a sweet girl, if a bit slow. The pretty blond sauntered into the room, cellphone in one hand, chomping lazily at a mouthful of bubblegum. Were it not for her outlandish mannerisms, she could almost be mistaken for his daughter. Observing the woman move or talk for more than half a second would remedy the mistake, but he could understand it.
“Yes, Uncle Walter?” Henrietta walked up to the desk, clutching her cellphone in front of her.
Walter sucked in a sharp breath and put on his gentlest smile as he looked up at her. “I told you, while we’re at work, I am Mr. Harris.” He held up the five envelopes for her. “Take these downstairs to Andrea, she’ll know what to do with them.”
“Yes, Mr. Harris.” Henrietta took the envelopes and spun on a heel, hop-skipping out the door of his office.
This is what he deserved for bending when his brother asked him a favor. Getting up from his chair, Walter moved to his dry bar and poured himself a glass of Louis XIII. The French were a wonderful people, but this… Walter swirled the glass, lifting it to his nose and letting the cognac scent fill his nostrils. This was by far their best contribution to the human experience.
He sat back down at his desk, glancing at the translated newspaper on his screen. Originally published in Spanish, the translated headline read “The Ginger Angel Saves Lives”.
It was nonsense, of course, but one could be forgiven for assuming this was Marcus Tenneson’s doing. Ophelia had assured him that he was dead, and he knew his pumpkin wouldn’t lie to him. Not when asked a direct question.
Walter frowned.
She still hadn’t told him that she’d stolen the boy’s contract, or why. He hand’t pressed her on it. She was young. Puppy love was a thing. He didn’t particularly need an explanation. It would put his mind at ease, however. Walter sipped the cognac as he stared at the headline for a moment longer.
Nonsense.
He shook his head and closed the window.
After several hours of phone calls with his contacts in America, Walter had ensured that the Arcanex cure would be available for distribution in the continental U.S. by Thursday, which led to another phone call to his contact within the FDA. One more conversation later, and the FDA was ready to clear his drug for medical use.
Suddenly losing nearly fifteen million dollars in life insurance policies wasn’t feeling so bad.
Throwing on his blazer, Walter put an earbud in one ear and held down the button on the side of his phone. “Call Ophie.”
“Calling Ophie.” His phone echoed back to him.
The phone rang a couple of times before her tired voice lit up Walter’s face.
“Daddy?” Ophelia grumbled. “What time is it?”
“I know it’s late, pumpkin. I’ve got a trip coming up bound for New York. I was hoping you could take a few days and spend some time with me?” Walter gave the guard a nod as he stepped into the elevator and she pressed the button for the bottom floor.
“I’ve gotta work, Daddy. When are you going to be here?”
“I should be there Thursday through Sunday.”
“Okay,” she cleared her throat. “I can probably come up for the weekend.”
“That would be wonderful. If you wanted to come up early, I would obviously compensate you for any work you might miss.”
“You’re not paying me to spend time with you.” Her voice bordered on annoyance. Time to ease back.
“Of course not, sweetheart. The weekend would be perfect. I’m just excited to spend time with you.” Walter backpedaled for the only person who has ever, or could ever, make him.
“Alright, I love you. I need to go back to sleep.”
“I love you too. Good night.”
“Good night.”
The phone beeped, but he held it to his ear for a moment longer, a little smile on his lips. Finally, he tucked the phone into his shirt pocket and glanced at the guard, who was giving him a strange look. As if he’d just given her a gift, or something.
“Is there something you’d like to say?” Walter’s expression shifted back to stern.
“No, sir. Sorry, sir.” She straightened up, dropping the visor on her helmet as the elevator door opened.
Walter Harris loved his wife. Aside from his daughter, she was perhaps the only person who could draw out an emotional response that he’d not thought out and prepared for. This was not always a good thing. Recently, Daphne Harris had decided that he did not pay her enough attention. To her point, she was correct.
Professionally, he was at the highest point in his storied career, and the workload reflected that. This was not, however, a new development. When he and Daphne wed, Walter was running three businesses, one operating out of the trunk of his car. In his opinion, his increased workload was not cause for the snide remarks she liked to throw in his direction, and especially not the adultery she didn’t know he was aware of.
“Darling? I’m home.” Walter called, tugging at the sleeve of his blazer to pull it off and hang it in the coat closet near the front door of the spotless marble floored foyer.
“In the kitchen.” She called back in a tone that did little to hide her exasperation at his presence.
Walter stepped through his house, glancing at one of the maids as she scurried past him with out making eye contact. Frowning, he stepped into the kitchen where his wife was reading a comically large newspaper. She’d apparently gone to the effort of having the front page of the Daily Beat blown up to nearly three times its size for this little gag. Ensuring she was angled properly for him to see the headline on the front page, she dipped her head back to look around the paper at him.
“How was work, darling?”
Arcanex Stock Prices Drop As Public Questions Its Moral Foundation
Walter smirked, his gaze narrowing on the headline before rolling his eyes and going to pour himself a tea. “Interesting choice of reading material. There are certainly more reliable news sources.”
“Oh, I quite like this one.” Daphne leaned back against the counter, unable to remove her hands from the edges of the paper, or else its ludicrous size would fold in on itself. “We have similar interests.”
Walter turned on the electric kettle before turning to his wife again and leaning back against the counter. “Yes, biting the hand that feeds, apparently.” Folding his arms over his midsection, he didn’t give her time to remark. “I’m going to New York tomorrow. I have a very important press conference on Friday, and I would prefer that you are there with me. Ophie has also agreed to come up for the weekend.”
Daphne pursed full lips and attempted to scrunch her eyebrows together, but the recent Botox made it almost impossible. “I’ll see you Saturday then, I suppose.” His wife folded the newspaper and placed it on the counter, stopped, then flipped it over so it was headline up.
“Too much to ask for my wife to stand on a stage with me?” Walter asked.
“I’ve seen your press conferences.” Daphne moved around the countertop, platinum blond bob swaying as she stopped in front of him to make a square with her hand at roughly chest height. “You’re married to that pretty little Arcanex placard, aren’t you? I imagine your wife will be there.” She lifted up on her toes and gently kissed his cheek before sauntering out of the room.
Walter and his cup of tea retreated to his study, the smell of leather and old books comforting for his exhausted mind. Soon this would all be over. After the announcement on Friday the Americans would be the first to flood to their local hospitals. Then the cascade would flow through Europe and Asia until the Arcanex coffers were overflowing.
His eyes drifted to the eight by ten frame on his desk containing a photo of his family at an amusement park. Ophelia couldn’t have been more than six or seven. Long before Daphne insisted she be transferred to that godforsaken American school that stole so much of her childhood. Once this was all over, he could reduce the blightshrew presence and slow down. Then perhaps he could have times like those again.
Walter fell asleep at his desk and was only awoken the next morning by the incessant buzzing of his nearly dead cellphone in his shirt pocket. Grumbling, he dug the phone out and shut off his morning workout alarm. No longer a spry young man, he found it increasingly more important to push himself both physically, mentally, and magically to maintain a status quo. For him, this meant a five kilometer run, strength training with Fransisco Bernelly (trainer to the stars), and finally a self made magical obstacle course that pushed his quickfire spell abilities to their limits.
This process started his day at roughly four in the morning and pushed his morning tea to eight, before landing him in the office at nine. This morning would be different. After his morning workout, he would shower, change, and be in the Arcanex jet with no one but his security, the pilot, and Henrietta. The need for a new personal assistant was becoming a strain, his brother-in-law’s feelings be damned.
As he gazed out the window of the jet preparing for takeoff, the plan for the next few days played through his mind over and over again. Land in New York. Meet with researchers and U.S. security head to talk about this nonsense with civilians invading their quarantine zones. The final meeting with his FDA contact. Friday would be the press tour. Cameras following him around through the recovery facility they set up in New York, no doubt asking him hot button questions as American news networks were one to do. Then, finally, the press conference and release of VRX-9 to the public.
He sipped from the amber liquid in his hand and sighed softly as the plane leveled out in the air. Then he could spend time with his daughter. Hopefully, some real quality time. It had been so long since the two of them had sat and had an actual conver…
“Uncle Walter…errr… Mr. Harris?” Henrietta interrupted his thought process. “Are we going to see Ophelia while we’re in New York? I haven’t seen her since we were kids.”
Walter blinked at the girl before closing his eyes and letting out a slow sigh. He opened them again after a beat and gave her the faintest smile. “She’ll be in New York on Saturday.” He really needed a new assistant.