GRANT MARSDEN, TRENDSETTER: THE CASUAL CHIC LOOK IS SWEEPING THE NATION
—American Gazette
The previous week’s events were starting to take their toll on Grant’s work. He finally had a free day with no press visits or meetings at the Mission. He sat in his basement working on several projects that needed attention. He was tinkering with an injectable knife, which allowed an assailant to not only stab their victim but also inject a poison at the same time. He wanted an automatic release where there wasn’t even a button-push required.
Grant thought about the men in the training facility. These were people with formal education, working on classified projects. Grant could have easily ended up in their shoes, but he had picked up his trade in a more peculiar way.
What are you doing here?” the man asked.
“Looking for food,” Grant said. He had only been out of the orphanage for a few months. It was the first time he had been this close to a gun, but he wasn’t afraid.
“I should shoot you,” the man said.
“Then do it,” Grant said. He took a step forward. Grant had six years to live through until he enlisted.
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
“The way you’re dressed,” Grant said. “And the way you smell.”
The man raised an eyebrow.
“You look bad and you smell bad,” Grant said. “This is a beautiful house and it’s not yours. You’re trying to rob the place. If you kill me that means a loud noise, which will wake up the owner, who will kill you.”
The man grew flustered at Grant’s comments. Before he could speak a sharp whiz came through the air. The man lowered his gun and fell to his knees. Grant looked past him to see a man standing in silk pajamas and a robe. His dark hair was parted to the side with the previous day’s styling gel in place. The house’s true owner. Grant gave a smirk before the man shot him in the shoulder with a dart and Grant joined the dirty old man on the floor.
His concentration was broken when a knock sounded through the laboratory.
Grant rolled his eyes. His staff knew better than to disturb him down here. He had both phones in his pockets; if it was an emergency they knew to call. He ignored the sound but again it echoed through his private space. Grant got up from his table and stormed over toward the door. He looked at his security system and saw Brandon standing outside. Grant pushed the intercom button.
“Go away,” Grant said.
“Sir, I am so sorry to bother you, but you have visitors.”
“Tell them to go away,” Grant said.
“It’s . . . it’s . . . the grand commander and his family,” Brandon said.
Grant watched his employee’s face glow. He did not share the house manager’s emotions. Grant didn’t appreciate surprises and wanted to continue with his work.
“Tell Ian he can . . .” Grant rethought his situation. “Tell him I’ll be right up.”
When Grant was running the country many things would change, and one of those would be that nobody would ever be allowed to interrupt his privacy. Until the position was his, though, Grant had to play along. He slid on his blue moccasins and grabbed the cardigan he’d brought down with him, pulling the white sweater over his yellow polo. He unlocked the door to his studio and climbed up the staircase.
The house had been built to Grant’s specifications, and that included a secret tunnel system, making it easier to cross the giant structure. There were two entrances to his workshop; one was hidden behind a bookshelf in his office and only Brandon knew its location. Grant came out into the office behind his desk and started walking toward the foyer. There stood the First Family.
“Ian,” Grant said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“I saw your schedule was clear and thought we’d pop in,” he said. “This place is a compound.”
“Just my humble home,” Grant said.
“This is my wife Nancy,” Ian said. “And I brought along my daughters Lyndsay, Tamara, Erin, and Nina.”
The four girls giggled and bowed. Erin and Nina were the seventeen-year-old twins. Lyndsay and Tamara were just slightly older. All four were stunning.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Grant said.
The five women bowed. Grant wondered which one was his future wife. Not that it mattered; any of the four would do.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” Grant said.
“We’d love a tour of your home,” Ian said.
Grant nodded and called for Brandon. “Have some lunch ready in the courtyard for us in an hour,” he said.
Brandon’s grin couldn’t be contained. He bowed and ran off toward the kitchen, knocking into a table on the way out.
“Let’s start upstairs,” Grant said.
The party moved up the stairs, the girls whispering to one another. Grant tried his best to keep a smile on his face, but the whole time his annoyance festered.
And finally we have the ballroom,” Grant said.
It was larger than most banquet halls and could easily handle five hundred guests. The floor was made of gold marble. No event had ever been held here, but that wasn’t the point of having a ballroom. The fact that Grant’s home was large enough to house one was reason enough to have one.
“What’s through there?” Nancy asked.
Ian turned and gave her a sharp look.
“I meant nothing,” she said. “Only your house is perfect and from the outside I can tell it’s still larger.”
“You are observant,” Grant said. “That’s the east wing. I keep it closed off. I thought more employees would live on site, so it’s mainly single rooms.”
“Your servants don’t live here?” Tamara asked.
“Some,” Grant said. “I refuse to hire unserved boys. They should spend their preservice time in the real world, not sheltered in a giant house. Most of the workers have wives they like to go home to.”
“What did you do for your preservice years?”
“I apprenticed for an engineer,” Grant said. “He planned roads and sewage ducts, nothing ladies should concern themselves with.”
“It sounds interesting,” Nina said.
“It’s not,” Grant said. “Let’s head outside to the courtyard. I have two swimming pools and some wonderful landscaping. I’m sure Brandon can round up some swimsuits.”
This made the girls clap their hands with delight. He ushered them out of the ballroom and looked over his shoulder at the door to the east wing. He didn’t want any more attention brought to it.
“Maybe while the ladies take in the outdoors you and I can continue with our conversations,” Ian said.
“My pleasure,” Grant said.
The grand commander started talking about foreign relations again. Grant was starting to see Ian less as a respected man and more as an outdated fool who made his teeth grind. This was the fourth time Grant had heard this speech in as many days. He couldn’t think of a worse way to spend his time than listening to the old man babble on.