Our new monetary system is working well. I hate to admit how thrilled I was with the salary assigned to my position as a government employee, but I still worry about where the money will come from if we don’t tax the people.
—The journal of Isaac Ryland
The phone rang. It was the grand commander. Grant had no desire to speak to Ian again, but he put on his best smile and picked up the phone.
“Good evening, sir,” Grant said.
“I’m sure you’re as sick of my phone calls as I am of making them,” Ian said.
“Nonsense,” Grant said.
If Ian was calling only to rehash their earlier conversation, Grant knew he would have a difficult time not lashing out at the man.
“Well, I was pleased to hear the explosion was only an accident,” Ian said. “That is one less thing we have to worry about.”
“Did you give any more thought to my request?” Grant asked.
“I think the RAG agents are capable enough,” Ian said.
“Of course,” Grant said. “But I could use the distraction of finding the survivors of the ‘accident,’” Grant said.
“The press conference will be in three days,” Ian said. “I need you here early; your speech will be prepared.”
“What about notifying the French?” Grant asked.
“They’re already informed,” Ian said.
“Are they rioting in the streets for your head?” Grant asked.
“She wasn’t well liked for her American sympathies,” Ian said. “And her second is already making a play for backing.”
“Will the people be shocked once she is elected and also shares her sympathies?”
“The illusion of democracy saves us every time.”
Even Grant had to chuckle at the man’s joke.
“The real reason I’m calling is about your request,” Ian said. “With all of this happening I think it’s best if you spend every day up until your wedding at the capital. This is a good time for you to get some hands-on learning.”
This was unacceptable to Grant. He knew Mia was in the country and planned on spending every waking moment hunting her down.
“I’m getting nervous,” Grant said. “Pre-wedding jitters.”
“I’m surprised anything gets you nervous.”
“Your daughter is quite beautiful,” Grant said. “And there’s another reason I want to take on this task.”
“What for?”
“My last few days as a single man,” Grant said. “I thought maybe I would do some last-minute traveling. Inside the country, of course. Reflect and prepare for my next stage in life. I might as well have a goal while I’m at it.”
Ian was quiet.
“Sir, you are going to live a long, healthy life; I’ll have plenty of time for hands-on learning over the years,” Grant said.
“I already have you booked for The Greg Finnegan Show twice before the wedding,” Ian said.
There was nothing Grant wanted less than another spot on Greg Finnegan’s talk show. The country might have respected the man but Grant found him tedious and annoying.
“Don’t you think my absence might increase the public’s desire for me?” Grant asked. “Maybe make the wedding seem more grand?”
Ian paused again. “Be here for the press conference. If there is anything else I need you for I will give you advance notice.”
“Thank you, sir,” Grant said.
“Stop with the ‘sir,’” Ian said. “You know I hate it.”
“Good night, Ian,” Grant said. “I’ll see you in three days.”
Grant did not wait for a reply before he hung up the phone. He had not anticipated Ian turning down his request to chase after the survivors of the French disaster but was happy to finally have the clearance. Tonight he would meet with Hansen; they would go over the possible places Mia could be and whether or not it was worth it to wait for her to come near the capital, since he now was certain of her final destination.
Grant went over to his walk-in closet and looked at the hanging mirror. The sun was down now and he had missed his chance to wear shorts. Instead Grant picked navy blue pants with a light pink and navy striped shirt. The stripes were vertical, which were supposed to slim Grant’s figure, but he didn’t need it. A knock on his door diverted his attention from his perfectly parted hair.
“Come in . . . Hello, Brandon,” Grant said, greeting his head of staff.
“Sir,” Brandon said, “we took care of the incident at the home on your property. I am about to retire for the evening, unless there is anything else you desire?”
“How was Hansen?” Grant asked. “The new occupant?”
“He was quite helpful in the cleanup,” Brandon said.
“Good,” Grant said. “I’m going to visit with him now.”
Brandon bowed and started to walk out of the room.
“One more thing,” Brandon said. “There was an alert on one of your items of interest.”
There were multiple things across the country Grant wanted an eye on. If there was any news regarding these spots or people, Grant wanted the information. They were growing so numerous with his new undertakings that he’d passed most of them off to Brandon to monitor and personally tracked only the newest.
“Did someone else die?” Grant asked.
“No,” Brandon said. “This was a report on a house. One in the Midwest Area. It went up in flames. I suppose there could have been people inside though. That wasn’t in the news.”
Grant stopped admiring himself in the mirror and turned to face Brandon. A second fire in as many days.
“Where in the Midwest Area?” Grant asked.
Brandon struggled to remember the details, but Grant knew what house he was talking about. The Morrissey farm. Amelia’s father’s home. She was turning into quite the firebug.
“It doesn’t matter,” Grant said. “Get one of my smaller planes ready. I will fly it myself, no pilot necessary.”
“Yes, sir,” Brandon said.
Grant pushed past him and out of the room. He started toward his massive staircase, eager to get Hansen and bring him along for the flight. Grant needed to know if Amelia had died in that fire. If she’d survived the fire and was stupid enough to return to her father’s farm, that meant she would be easy enough to track. Amelia would be his by the time the sun rose.