Title: M-O-T-H-E-R Spells Monster
Author: Empress
Email: Empress@thewaysideinn.net
Distribution: Empress' Private Library and The Wayside Inn  All others ask first..
Rating: R – for language and violence.
Category: Number 28 in the Behind the Scenes series, following number 27 Reparations, Recompenses, and Rediscoveries.
Characters: A Hunter/Nan story, and anyone else I feel like playing with.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: None, unless you happen to be allergic to melodrama. And if so, well, face it. You're fucked.
Summary Quote: I was just thinking that even though I've always known logically why the French executed Marie Antoinette and all of those other aristos, that it's just brought home so much more clearly with a picture rather than reading about it.
Author's Notes: None really, except for a simple reminder that while I'm perfectly aware Mr. Levesque comes from a loving home, this story is fiction and isn't about Mr. Levesque. It's about the character of Hunter Hearst Helmsley. So I gave him the background of my choosing. Sick bitch, ain't I?? Man, the things I do to kids in this story…wanna hear something really twisted? While writing these horrible abuse memories? The whole time, I was listening to the Mary Poppins soundtrack! I probably need therapy and lots of it. Special thanks to Rosie for letting me have carte blanc with her characters! Love ya, Sis!
Feedback: Will write for feedback – and without it, the writing just may stop.
Disclaimer: All wrestling personalities and characters depicted here are property of the WWE and all of their subsidiaries and partners. I do not own them. I do not claim to own them. I make no money on the use of them in this work. I know I'm borrowing them without the permission of the owners. I just hope that should they ever find my insane ramblings, that they'll like what I've written enough not to sue me. Or, tell me to stop. Any and all characters and places not copyrighted by the WWE machine, belong to me. I do own them. And I'll play with them to my heart's content. On with the show.

What day is it?
And in what month?
This clock never seemed so alive.
I can't keep up and I can't back down.
I've been losing so much time.
It's you, me, and all of the people
With nothing to do and nothing to lose
It's you, me, and all of the people
And I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off of you.
       You and Me – Lifehouse

November 26, 2004 9:17 a.m. EST
Stamford Airport – Passenger Drop-Off – Stamford, CT 

"It will just be twenty minutes or so, depending on traffic before we arrive, Mr. Helmsley.  Enjoy your ride," the smart looking chauffeur informed them as he raised the privacy panel between the front and back seat, effectively cutting off their view of both the driver and Oz, who had met them at the airport.

Settling back against the expensive leather, Nan mused silently as the long black limousine pulled away from the curb.  It was odd, she thought to herself.  Before she'd begun dating Hunter almost three years ago, she'd ridden in a limousine only three times that she could remember and each of those times was for the funeral of someone she dearly loved.  Both of her grandparents Elliott and her Granddaddy Harrell.  Even once she and Hunter had finally gotten together, limos were rare.  Only used for very special occasions, as he was still in what she called his rebellious phase. 

But that had ended once he'd signed exclusively with RAW and changed just about everything about himself physically.  He'd cut his hair, shaved off his beard, bulked up more than he had in years, and…and he'd begun formulating the idea of Evolution.  And with Evolution had come the limousines and more changes.

Speaking of changes, she looked over at her fiancé, wondering what was going on behind that enigmatic whiskey colored gaze of his.  He looked tired, yet determined.  And that new haircut of his…she still didn't know if she liked it or not.  But she wasn't going to say anything.  With everything that had been happening to them in the past three weeks, along with everything coming up in the next three weeks, she figured his new haircut was the last thing to bitch about.  Now, if he cut it all off, that'd be something entirely different.

No, they had more important things to worry about.  Namely, who had been the person to break into their house the night before Thanksgiving and scared the life out of Tina?  She'd been so frightened that she had literally run out of the house in her pajamas, down the hill to the lake, in the middle of the night, just to sleep on the couch of the little one bedroom apartment above the boathouse.  With them. 

Hunter had thrown a duck fit.  Complete with bellowing unintelligible curses and spitting, he was so angry.  Scared, she corrected herself.  That was a scared response she'd seen.  Then and there, he'd contacted her brother-in-law to have all of his men come out and begin work on an eight foot tall brick wall with bits of razor-sharp broken glass imbedded at the top.  The wall was to cover every single bit of their property-line, all the way down to the lakeshore.  And it was to be finished by the time they got back from their honeymoon.  Hell, it took time to build a wall that big – one large enough to enclose twenty-seven acres, complete with iron gates at the front entrance.  But he hadn't stopped there.  He was also having a security company from Charlotte come down and install alarms, motion detectors, monitors, the whole works. 

And he'd called Oz.  Told him to pack up and get ready to be with them twenty-four seven from the moment they got back to Connecticut.  Indefinitely.

She chewed on her lip for a moment, feeling the uneasiness of fear begin to curl in her belly.  Something had Hunter scared so badly, that he was turning their home into a fortress.  Okay, a really big, cushy and unobtrusive from the inside fortress, but it was still a fortress no matter how nicely he dressed it up.  And for something to spook him that badly had her now scared shittless.  Because he wouldn't talk to her and tell her what was going on, claiming it was probably a rabid wrestling fan stalking them.  She had her doubts on that score, but nothing concrete to tell her why she felt that way.

Shoving those thoughts away, she really kind of felt relieved that they had so much going on in the coming weeks that they'd had to leave Moccasin Gap early.  Thanksgiving had been nice, but strained.  Tension was running high between Tina and her parents.  Nan stumbled mentally over that title, remembering all of the covert looks her older brother had keep shooting Hunter's and her way when he thought they weren't watching.  And then it had gotten worse when Robbie had found out that Lyon's Cove had been broken into and Tina had gotten a good scare.

Tina had gotten so fed up, even though she was still shaken over her experience, that she had left this morning when they did, rather than stay the remainder of the weekend.  However, instead of boarding a flight back to Connecticut with them, she'd claimed she wanted to go spend the weekend with a friend of hers from school…last chance and all that.  Neither of them had thought anything of it at first.  Hunter hadn't said a word, even though Nan could tell he wanted to.  But Tina was a grown woman and could do what she wanted.  So they'd seen her off at the gate, as her flight left after theirs did, and Nan just knew by the look in her eyes, that she was going to wherever her secret love was.  As she hugged her niece goodbye, Nan's gaze strayed down to Tina's bag and read the destination on the boarding pass – Bethesda, Maryland.

Sitting beside Hunter in the limousine now, on their way to Hunter's father's company, Helmsley Enterprises, Nan was wracking her brain.  But no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't for the life of her, name any wrestler who lived in Bethesda, Maryland.  Now, Stacy and John…they lived in Baltimore.  But if Tina were going to see them, she'd have mentioned it, rather than just saying a friend.  So who the fuck was from Bethesda?  It was gonna drive her nuts, she just knew it.

"You still mad at me?"

She spared him a brief glance.  "No."

His eyebrows shot up.  "You're kidding."

"Not at all."  She sighed.  "I'm sure you're going to piss me off with something else concerning WWE business.  I may as well try to get used to it."

He looked at her curiously.  "Baby, I'm not talking about that."

She turned her head.  "Then what are you talking about?  What else have you done to make me angry?"

He threw his head back and laughed.  "I meant the haircut.  I didn't tell you I was getting it done, and the way you are about my hair, I expected you to go ballistic."

Nan glanced at him slyly out of the corner of her eye.  "I figured by doing that you gave me free license to cut mine without your advance notice since you didn't seem to care about what I thought about it before you did it."

Immediately his smile fell into a dark scowl.  He reached out, and fisted his hand in those long coppery tresses just at the base of her skull, using his grip as a rudder to turn her head so that she was looking up at him.  She giggled once, then leveled that melted chocolate gaze on him.  He watched as her lips parted and her pink tongue darted out to moisten them.  Her eyes dropped to half-mast, and heat flared hotly between them.  Hunter groaned and shifted in his seat.

"You cut your hair," he growled at the knowing spark of mischief in her eyes.  "And I swear I'll divorce you."

She laughed richly again.  "You've not married me yet."

"Give me time," he promised, lowering his mouth to hers.  The tight grip on her hair belied the utter tender and gentle pressure against her lips, as he kissed her sweetly, tracing the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, then pulling away and dropping his hand before she could protest.

Nan dropped her forehead to his shoulder with a groan.  "You're a damn tease, Hunter."

He merely laughed at her.  "So you're not mad over the new doo," he shook his head, flipping his recently layered hair back from his face.

"No, I've not really decided on it yet.  Maybe I should be angry.  But honestly, Hunter, I just don't have the energy for it."

"Tired?"

"Mmm," she nodded.  "Exhausted."

Hunter lifted his arm to drape it around her shoulders, tugging on her gently until she slid closer across the leather seat, and laid her head back against him, his fingers dangling over her shoulder.  She reached up, and threaded hers through them, giving a contented soft sigh as he nuzzled through her hair to press a light kiss on her temple.  "It's just going to get worse."

"Tell me about it," she snorted.  "Today Helmsley's Enterprises.  Monday in Baltimore.  Then on to LA on Friday and back to Charlotte by Monday.  And have I mentioned how much I've got to do before I'm ready for you guys to show up in my building??  Tina's graduation is in New Haven on the following Saturday, the eleventh, and that Monday you've got to be in Alabama, while John and Stacy are with me at Lyon's Cove.  And that rolls right into the rehearsal on Tuesday and the wedding on Wednesday.  And in between all of that somewhere, we're supposed to pack up and get the whole house in Greenwich ready for the movers when they show up somewhere between Charlotte and New Haven.  I'm gonna crack up, swear to God," she ended on a groan, closing her eyes.

"Yeah, well, I'm getting ready to add one more to your load, baby."

She rolled her head to the side and squinted up at him.  "What now?"

Hunter took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "We're going to Hilltop on Sunday.  I need to take care of some things there, and that's the only day I can with that ridiculous itinerary you just mentioned."

"Hilltop…Hilltop…why does that sound familiar?"

He cut his eyes away from her.  "It's where I grew up."

There was a split second of silence before she practically exploded out of his arms.  "Back the fuck up!  You're taking me to meet your mother day after tomorrow?!"

"Only if she happens to be there," Hunter shrugged dismissively, trying to play it off causally.  He knew damn well that she'd be there; he was counting on it.  "Personally I couldn't care less one way or the other.  But like I said, there are some things there that need to be dealt with before I leave the state."  He paused, then turned his attention back to her.  "And some things you need to know."

Something cold gripped her stomach when he said that.  It was either the tone of his voice or the look in his eyes, either way, she didn't like the feeling she was getting.  "Like what, Hunter?"

He shook his head.  "I'd really rather wait until we're there before I try to explain anything.  It'll be easier that way."

Her gypsy eyes narrowed for a moment.  "You do like your little moments, don't you?  And here I thought melodrama was only a chick thing."

Hunter chuckled and tightened his arm around her.  His face smoothed over into an impenetrable mask.  "Remember when you told me about Bobby?  How you did it all at one time and made me promise not to say anything until you were done because you knew that'd be the only time you could dredge it all up again?"  At her nod, he finished.  "Same with me.  Only I'm more visual than verbal."

Her eyes just searched his face for a moment, and fleetingly she thought she saw the injured little boy behind that fierce countenance of his.  And she hated his mother in that very moment.  "I'm probably gonna piss you off.  Or embarrass you, one."

"Not possible."

"No, seriously," she countered.  "I cannot be held responsible to my actions over a woman who hurt the man I love so much."

Hunter turned his head deliberately, looking down into her wide gaze, reading nothing but empathy, love, and a fierce desire to protect in those gypsy eyes.  His mouth went dry, and he opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut again as emotions he thought he'd buried long ago suddenly clogged his throat.  He cleared it and tried again.  "She hasn't hurt me for a long, long time, baby."

Nan reached up and trailed her fingers down his cheek, ruffling the stiff hairs of his beard.  "She hurts you every day."

"Why?  Because all mothers are supposed to love their kids?"

She shook her head.  "No.  Not all mothers love their children. No where is it written that they have to.  They should.  But it doesn't always work out that way.  And I've seen kids whose parents didn't love them who found surrogates – grandparents, aunts and uncles, babysitters, teachers, whatever – and they turned out just fine."

Feeling his throat tighten again, he croaked out, "Then why?"

"Because she did more than just not love you.  She hurt you, in more than just one way," she murmured almost absently, her eyes darting across his face, reading the emotions there that he was choking on.  "And whatever it was, was so bad, that it continues to hurt you long after you've severed ties with her.

Hunter turned away abruptly, and coughed into his fist.

Nan settled back down, staring straight ahead, a hard look on her face.  "So don't expect me to be nice to her.  Hell, I may have to be restrained to keep from hitting her."

His cough turned into a laugh and he wrapped his other arm around her, dragging her up onto his lap.  "Baby, I wouldn't care if you body checked her against the wall then pissed on her in the front foyer."

Nodding, she grinned, cupping his cheek in her palm.  "Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart.  Because you just might get it."

"I'll tell you what I'm wishing for right now."  With a growl, he lowered his head to her neck.

Nan's eyes rolled back in her head in pure bliss as his lips and teeth began their erotic dance over her pulse point.  "And I'm…oh god," she moaned as his hand began to wander.  "I'm wishing…for…heavy traffic." 

~<>~

 
I'm ever upper class high society
God's gift to ballroom notoriety
I always fill my ballroom
The event is never small
The social pages say I've got
The biggest balls of all
I've got big balls
I've got big balls
And they're such big balls
Dirty big balls
And he's got big balls
And she's got big balls
But we've got the biggest balls of them all
       Big Balls – AC/DC

November 26, 2004 9:31 a.m. EST
Main Lobby – Helmsley Enterprises – Greenwich, CT 

Gary McLeod wasn't having a good day.  First, his alarm hadn't gone off.  His wife had already left with the kids to drop them off to school and daycare, so no breakfast for him either.  But hey, at least Valerie had made his lunch and left it sitting on the counter for him.  Snatching it up, he'd run for the door and stepped right into the cat's latest gift by the carport.  He'd stopped and tried to scrape the nasty mess off his shoe, but got thrown off balance as the dog raced for the outside.  He'd had to plant his foot to keep from falling over, only the foot he'd planted was the one with the cat crap on it.  It shot out from under him and he landed flat on his back, the cat crap now smeared up his pant leg.  Thinking he'd get to work and clean it up, he'd raced for his car, still believing he could make it to work on time, provided he pushed the envelope on the speed just a little more than usual. 

He'd gotten into his car only to find that the stupid thing wouldn't start for whatever reason this time.  He'd jogged four blocks to the bus stop, trying to make it into work on time, but no.  The bus was late.  Then he'd gotten stuck on the bus beside some fat guy who stunk of burnt cabbage and kept making these god-awful snorting sounds, like he was trying to suck fifty pounds of snot back into his head rather than blowing his nose.  By the time he reached the office, his uniform smelled of an ungodly combination of burnt cabbage and cat crap.  And it had started to rain…hard.  One of those quick flash downpours that caught everyone off guard.

And of course, the bus stop was two blocks from his building.  So by the time he reached the curb just outside of the rich royal blue awning over the main front doors, he was soaked to the skin.  He tried to remain upbeat, thinking the rain might just take some of the stench off him.  But when the brown paper sack containing his lunch slipped from his fingers and landed open end down into a puddle of water at least four inches deep, he gave up.  He was now cold, wet, stinky, and twenty minutes late.

Now, over two hours later, he still wasn't dry.  He still stunk.  He was hungry enough to eat the rear end out of dead rhino, comforted only by knowing it was just going to get worse as the day progressed.  And he was quickly losing his patience with the other employees who came and went from the building, each one muttering, "What's that smell?" as they wrinkled their noses and escaped through either the main doors or the elevators on their way to wherever they happened to be going.  And his boss had lectured him thoroughly, not even wanting to hear why he'd been late. 

"Humph," he groused softly to himself.  "Bet he's never had car problems in his life."  He looked up and smiled at those employees deigning to acknowledge his presence, and even called a few out by name, only to go back to his muttering in between greetings.  "Good morning Mr. Ellison.  And it's not like I'm always late or have problems.  Good morning to you too, Miss Connor.  No, I know I'm not undependable. Mr. Bracket, good day, to you too sir.  Done this job for six months almost to the day and not one sick day.  Hey there, Mrs. Banks.  How's Simon?  Good, good, glad to hear he's doing better.  And I've only been I've only been late three times.  Morning, Mr. Sandburg.  No, Mr. Ellison's already gone up.  Yes, sir.  You  too.  And all three of those times I called ahead to let them know!"

"Morning Ms. Charles," Gary grinned, greeting  the administrative assistant to the acting president, barely touching the tips of his fingers to his hat.  "Just lovely weather we're having this fine November morning, wouldn't you say?"

Hillary Charles laughed, shaking the water from her umbrella, careful to make sure the droplets landed on the carpeted mat just inside the door.  "Oh, just peachy Gary.  Say, have you seen Mr. Saxon come in yet?"

"No, ma'am.  Ran kind of late this morning myself.  He must have come in before I got on shift."

The brunette with the killer smile that made him go weak in the knees, and almost feel guilty about it, flashed that high wattage beam at him.  Right on cue, his knees almost buckled, but he steeled himself.  Shame she was so plain really.  Although there was nothing plain about that smile.  Or those impossibly high heels she always wore.  Other than that, she was pretty nondescript.  But she was nice to him, and that's what mattered in his mind anyway.

"Okay, then.  He can't gripe at me too much this morning."

Gary cocked his head, causing his hat, which had loosened a bit in the rain to slide down over one eye.  He saw her try not to laugh, biting her lip to keep from giggling, and it made him laugh.  "Sorry, " he spoke, laughter in his tone as he swiped the hat from his head.  "  Got caught in the rainstorm.  So why can't he fuss at you this morning?"

Hillary's hazel eyes widened a bit.  "Haven't you heard?"  At his negative headshake, she leaned in a bit and whispered, "Big wigs coming in today."  Catching a whiff of him, she quickly leaned away and faked a sneeze so she could rub at her nose without offending him.  "Sorry…allergies."

"Big wigs?"  Gary parroted back, not even registering her reaction.  "Who?"

She shrugged, while winding up her umbrella and securing it with the attached snap.  "Dunno, but big enough to have Mr. Saxon and Mr. Caldwell both in a bit of a stir," she explained, mentioning both the acting president – her boss – and the head of their legal department.

Gary's eyes widened.  "You don't think we're being sold, do you?"

She made a pshaw sound.  "Helmsley Enterprises, sold?  Are you kiddin'?"  Her cheeks pinked immediately at the soft drawl that had slipped out unwittingly.

Gary smiled.  He thought it was cute.  "No need to sell, huh?"

"I keep forgetting you don't know much about it all since you're still fairly new here."  She shook her head.  "Not at all.  Those people have more money than Bill Gates and some sheik somewhere put together.  They could drive this company into the ground before it even registered as a blip on their monetary radar." 

"Did you know them?  The Helmsley's I mean?"

Hillary nodded, a sad look on her face.  "Mr. Helmsley.  Mrs. Helmsley – his mother – was long gone before I came on to the scene, though I hear she was pretty cool.  But he was the one who hired me.  One year after dropping out of college for a bad marriage that was just starting to go south when he gave me a shot.  He took a chance on a stupid nineteen year old kid who was too starry eyed with a new husband to have enough sense to know she'd married too young and hadn't bothered getting a degree."

It wasn't often people stopped to talk to him, and he didn't really want to lose that just yet, so he asked, "How long did you work for him?" 

"Let's see, I've been here for eight, and he died four or five years ago, so it had to be about four years I worked for him directly."  She made a sad sound.  "He was a good man.  Handsome as sin on Sunday too.  The proverbial tall, dark and handsome type."

"What about his wife or the son?"

She shrugged.  "Never saw Mrs. Hearst-Helmsley, even though I had the misfortune of talking to her more times than I want to count.  Still do.  And the son?  Never met him.  But I watch him on TV every Monday night."  She hitched her purse higher up onto her shoulder.  "Well, just wanted to give you the heads up about the visitors.  So keep your eyes peeled." 

"Thanks," he noticed the clock on the wall.  "Ms. Charles, you'd better head on up.  You're already eight minutes late."

"And getting later, too."  She smiled at him again, and again he staggered under its power, calling out over her shoulder as she went.  "Thanks Gary!"

Mumbling thoughtfully to himself, he went back to his job, eyes scanning the monitors of the highly polished lobby, greeting the employees as they filed in, and signing in any visitors or guests.  He would then point them on to the bank of elevators after calling up to the appropriate receptionists announcing their arrival.  Ah, such was the life of the front door security guard at Helmsley Enterprises.  It wasn't complicated, but it paid pretty well.  And he liked it.

Fifteen minutes later, a long black limousine  pulled up in the circular drive under the awning, and Gary's eyes zeroed in on it.  He quickly placed his hat back on his head, straightened his tie, adjusted his brass nameplate, and waited.  But not for long.  The first to get out was on the passenger side in the front.  Tall guy.  Dark.  Sunglasses.  Black suit, nondescript white shirt.  Gary had to fight back a smile.  He looked like something out of  that alien movie…the one with Tommy Lee Jones….Men In Black...that was it.  But his smile faded when his gaze traveled upwards to the man's craggy face.  He was completely impassive.  Emotionless.  It was kind of creepy. 

Gary watched as it looked like the chauffeur went to move around to open the back door, but MIB stopped him, pointing back at the car.  With a nod, the chauffeur got back inside, and MIB reached around to open the back door.

And the biggest dude Gary had ever seen stepped out from the back seat.  He was freaking huge, easily head and shoulders above him, and those shoulders…the man could have played linebacker for his favorite team, the Oakland Raiders, and not needed any pads.  Long blonde hair lay draped on a very expensive looking charcoal colored topcoat.  And sunglasses covered his eyes, just like MIB.  Gary didn't like that.  It made a man too hard to read, which was precisely why this one did it.  He could tell from his arrogant carriage if nothing else.

The blonde giant turned slightly and held out a hand to someone else inside the limo.  Presently a delicate hand was completely dwarfed by the larger as the giant helped a lady from the back seat.  Gary's mouth dropped open.  She was nothing like he'd ever seen before – well, not in real life.  On TV maybe, but not here.  She had to have the absolute longest hair he'd seen in his life, falling well past her waist, almost to her hips. It was a striking red that looked like it might burn you if you touched it.  And the dark black of her long coat only accentuated its vibrancy. She was a short little thing, the top of her head barely coming up to the blonde's shoulder, and he wondered briefly, after dropping his gaze,  why she didn't wear heels to make herself look taller like most women did, his own Valerie included.  He didn't much like redheads, finding them to be a generally bitchy, snooty lot.  But his personal feelings had nothing to do with his job.

Then MIB closed the limo door and the three headed his way.  Gary straightened up considerably, ready to sign them in and make the appropriate calls.  He couldn't wait to find out who they were.  Only…they came in the door and headed right past where he stood behind the counter towards the bank of elevators. He stood for a moment before it hit him.  They were walking past him?  No, no, they couldn't do that.

"Excuse me, sir?  Sir!  You have to sign in sir, and wait for your pass to go up."

The three of them stopped, with MIB putting himself in between Gary and the couple.  The blonde turned around so slowly that it looked contrived.  The redhead glanced at him with a mixture of disbelief and amusement on her face, almost like she expected something to happen, but he didn't know what.  And he didn't really care.  He had a job to do, and not letting them into the building without proper ID and procedure was it.

"If you'll just come back to the security station, well get this sorted –"

"Wait," the blonde finally spoke up.  "You're telling me, I can't go up unless I check in?  Is that the gist of it, uhm…" He read the nametag.  "McLeod?  Is that right?"

"Sweetheart," the redhead began.  "Don't bait the man for doing his job."

"I'll handle this, baby."  He turned those black sunglasses back to Gary.  "I said, is that right, McLeod?"

Gary pulled himself up to his full unimpressive height of five foot nine.  "Yes, sir.  That's right."

Sweetheart took off his sunglasses and glared down at him with glowing almost yellow-amber colored eyes that unnerved the hell out of him.  "Oh really?  And ah," he chewed heavily on a piece of gum Gary hadn't noticed before.  "Just how do you plan on stopping us, McLeod?  You don't have a gun or Taser, not that I can see at any rate.  So just how are you gonna do it, huh?"

He knew he was being challenged, but he just didn't know why.  He spared a glance at Baby, who was now looking irritated with the whole spectacle.  Still, MIB hadn't moved a muscle, although he looked like the type of guy who could spring on you at a moment's notice and you'd never see him coming.  It was true that he didn't carry a gun…he'd not been there long enough yet to get one.  He was due in six more weeks. But Gary wasn't totally without resources.  Then MIB shifted, and Gary caught a glimpse of a telltale bulge under his jacket.  Gun.

With lightening fast reflexes, he punched a little box clipped to his belt that looked like a garage door opener.  Immediately, steel panels slammed down over the windows, and doors slid out from concealed pockets, cutting off the lobby from the elevators.  A loud siren started to wail and instantly Sweetheart and Baby clapped their hands over their ears.  But MIB didn't.  He was down in a crouch with the gun Gary had seen pointed at him, which prompted the emergency security measures to be triggered in the first place.

"I suggest you put down your gun, sir!  This alarm calls the Greenwich police and they're already on their way!"  Gary yelled, pointing his little garage door opener at the man.  "And you're incorrect, sir!"  He yelled, directing it at Sweetheart.  "This is a tazer and it'll light up your friend here like the tree in Rockefeller Center at Christmas!"

Baby turned to MIB and screamed.  "Put it down!  No reason getting yourself electrocuted because the Bully's at it again!"

"Not until he lowers his weapon!"  MIB yelled back, one eye beginning to squint from the high pitched noise.

"Not gonna happen!"  Gary yelled back.

Baby stamped her foot, clasping her hands to her ears in obvious pain.  "I don't give a flying damn who's got the biggest dick here!  Put 'em the fuck down, shut off this fuckin' siren, or I'm gonna kill all three of you!!!"

Before anyone could say anything else, the siren suddenly cut off and the steel plates and doors began to retract.  "What the –"  Gary's eyes widened and he reached for the button again.

"Drop it, McLeod or I'll rip off your hand and shove it up your ass, you imbecile!"  He turned to the phone in his hand.  "That's right.  We do apologize, Officer.  False alarm.  Thank you, sir."

Gary whirled at the sound of his supervisor's voice, and protested.  "But sir!"

"Not now, McLeod!"  Vernon Parsons now had a splitting headache and some serious ass to kiss over this major malfunction, but first he had to calm down a whole building full of people thinking it was probably some sort of terrorist attack.  He leaned over the microphone attached to the monitoring station. 

"Attention staff.  Attention staff.  Please disregard the triggering of our security lockdown protocol.  The systems malfunction," he glared at Gary.  "Will be repaired in a matter of moments.  Please return to your stations and resume your normal day's activities.  We apologize for any inconvenience this has caused.  Thank you."

Parsons flipped the switch and stomped back around the counter, fuming.  "Mr. Helmsley," he said, addressing the blonde when he got close enough, making Gary's heart plummet into his feet hearing the name.  "I do apologize for this…ridiculous display.  It won't happen again."  He turned to Gary, his face flaming with embarrassment.  "Clean out your locker, McLeod.  You're fired."

"I don't think so."

All eyes turned to the redhead.  Parson's brow puckered.  "Excuse me, ma'am, but this really isn't any of your concern."

"Careful, Robocop," the blonde growled.

And Gary suddenly wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.  It wasn't funny, really, but it sorta was too.  He'd just had one of the worst days of his very short life culminating with him being fired from a really good job that was fairly close to home with good hours.  And here was this Helmsley family member – after he'd almost had him arrested – calling his boss names.  Surely he was sleeping.  This couldn't be his reality, could it?

Baby stared at Parsons and suddenly burst into laughter, then fixed her gaze on Gary.  "What's your name?"

Gary blinked.  "Uhm…McLeod."

She quirked a smile at his shell-shocked look.  "No, your first name."

"G-Gary."

Nodding, her grin broadened.  "How long have you been with Helmsley Enterprises, Gary?"

"Six months, ma'am."

"Do you have family?  A wife?  Children?"

"Yes ma'am.  My wife Valerie and three kids.  Harry, Myles, and Daria."

She turned to the blonde at her side.  "Fix this.  The man was just doing his job and you were baiting him."

Chuckling, Sweetheart relented.  He turned to Parsons.  "He's not fired.  He did his job in the face of three people he didn't know, and one of which was armed."  He received a nudge in the ribs from Baby that no one missed.  "But he has earned a day off."  Another nudge.  "With pay."  He glared down at the woman by his side.  "Can we go up now?"

She grinned and stood up on her tiptoes to peck his lips.  "Yes, dear."  As the trio once again headed for the elevators, she called over her shoulder.  "You did a good job, Gary.  But you really should have known him.  After all, he is on television every week."  Then she looked up at Sweetheart and said, "I want him to go with us when we leave.  That is, if he's interested."

Sweetheart nodded with an indulgent grin.  "I'll make sure he's made the offer."

Gary dismissed the comments, since he didn't understand them, his brain scrambling to hold on to what he did understand.  "Television?"  He panted still shaken from the encounter, his firing, and then subsequent rehiring.  "Jiminy Christmas, what does that man do on TV?"

Parsons chuckled.  He really liked this guy even if he was a bit of an Earkle most of the time.  And he was glad he'd not had to fire him, but faced with the owner of the company standing there, he hadn't thought he'd had any choice in the matter.  "Where you been, McLeod?  That there is Hunter Hearst Helmsley.  He's a professional wrestler, and the owner of this company."  He slapped him on  the shoulder.  "You just went toe to toe with Triple H, man.  The meanest sonofabitch in the wrestling industry.  Not many people can say that who are still walkin' under their own power."

Gary just sat there blinking.  Triple H?  That mean looking guy that his son Harry was always talking about?  The one who spit water in the air and hit people with sledgehammers? His new boss was  the one he'd almost had arrested?  And the redhead, Baby…rats, he'd have to learn her name…she was the one who'd had him not be fired?  He let out a shaky breath.  Maybe he could learn to like redheads.

"Damn, Gary.  You stink," Vernon declared with a quickly expelled breath.  "I'd say you've had enough excitement for the day.  Go home.  Clean up.  Hug Valerie and the kids and be back here first thing tomorrow morning.  We'll cover for you today."

Nodding blindly, Gary stood up and pulled on his coat, and walked blindly to the door, stopping as he got there.  "Hey, Vernon?"

"Yeah?"

"What time and channel on Monday nights?" 

~<>~

 
If you like to gamble, I tell you I'm your man
You win some, lose some, it's all the same to me
The pleasure is to play, makes no difference what you say
I don't share your greed, the only card I need is
The Ace of Spades
The Ace of Spades
Playing for the high one, dancing with the devil,
Going with the flow, it's all a game to me,
Seven or eleven, snake eyes watching you,
Double up or quit, double stake or split,
The Ace of Spades
       Ace of Spades – Motorhead

November 26, 2004 10:05 a.m. EST
Franklin J. Caldwell's Offices – Helmsley Enterprises – Greenwich, CT 

A few moments later they were standing inside the offices of the head of the legal department for Helmsley Enterprises, and speaking to Mr. Franklin J. Caldwell, head of legal, and the company's acting president, Mr. Wade Saxon.  Both men were approximately the same age, Nan thought, her gaze sweeping the two men, somewhere between fifty-five and sixty-five perhaps.  It was hard to tell sometimes.  But their ages seemed to be the last of their similarities. 

Wade Saxon, acting president of Helmsley Enterprises since Hunter's father had passed away four years ago, was only a little taller than herself.  Maybe five foot ten but that was pushing it, and thin to the point of being called slight.  He had a thick head of hair, all steely gray and if she didn't know better, she'd say it was a rug. He had bright, intelligent pale blue eyes sparkling with intelligence and good humor.  And Nan was convinced that if he grew a mustache and if that  Shatner 2000 toupee was a little bushier, he'd look a lot like Mark Twain.

Franklin J. Caldwell was his polar opposite, and Nan had to stomp on a giggle at the word choice of polar.  The man reminded her of a walrus.  He surpassed Saxon in height by a good two to three inches putting him six foot to six foot one, still shy of Hunter's six foot four brawny frame.  Caldwell was squat looking even for a tall man, barrel-chested, and physically imposing as Saxon was non-threatening.  Only a few wisps of salt and pepper hair and a sparse tonsure covered his very round head.  Thick glasses emphasized to almost bug-like quality very sharp beetle-black eyes.  And a huge bushy almost completely white mustache dwarfed his upper lip, hiding it completely, to the point where Nan almost expected to see tusks shoot out from beneath.  Needless to say, it solidified his walrus-like appearance.

Hunter extended his hand, shaking that of the lawyer's heartily.  "Good to see you, Frank.  You too, Wade."

"Likewise, Hunter," Saxon said with a grin almost too jovial to belong to the head of a company such as this one, Nan thought.

"This must be Nanette," Caldwell began, taking Nan's offered hand.

"It's Nan please, and yes, I am."

Both men made pointed effort to ignore Oz who hovered just at the edge of the office, almost blending in to the woodwork, which was what he preferred.

Saxon clasped his hands together, looked straight at Nan, and said, "How about a little tour?"

"Wade,  rather than a tour, I'd like you to sit down and go over the Jefferson Industries acquisition with Nan.  I'm really interested in what she thinks about it," Hunter responded with an easy smile, which he turned on his fiancée.  "If that's okay with you, baby?"

Nan blinked, caught a little off guard at the question.  "Sure.  I don't mind."

The older man returned Hunter's grin, fully accepting of  going over their most promising deal in the recent months.  When Hunter had called two days ago from North Carolina and had told him that they were coming in, along with what he wanted as far as his fiancée was concerned, Wade was a little resentful.  Essentially she was the girlfriend of the son of the last President, and Hunter wanted him to feel her out and see if she were capable of taking over the company.  He'd been wanting to retire for some time.  And now, he sincerely hoped there was more brains than beauty in this woman or else the company he'd worked in for over forty years was sunk.

He pasted on a warm smile, and opened the door, gesturing her through.  "Shall we?"

Nodding, Nan preceded him through the door, with Oz following silently behind.

Once they'd gone, his lawyer turned a slick grin on the younger man as Hunter slid into a chair at the small table near the door.  Frank sat down as well.  "Well, aside from rattling the shit out of  Saxon, what'd you come here for today, Hunter?"

"Tying up loose ends, Frank."

Caldwell nodded.  "Ah yes, the big move's coming up.  I take it Helmsley Enterprises is going too?"

Hunter inclined his head once.  "But only those who want to go.  We're going to offer re-location packages to all upper and middle management.  And anyone else below that, only if their supervisor recommends them.  In writing."

The older man grinned.  "That her idea?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it was."  Hunter narrowed his eyes.  "Okay Frank.  Out with it.  I won't let it slide for you to sit here and take potshots at her.  If you like you can box up your shit and get out now, if that's the way we're gonna play this."

Surprisingly, the lawyer began to laugh.  "Settle down, Hunter.  Settle down.  I meant no disrespect.  I was just thinking it's a good idea, is all.  But," he cocked his head to the left, his smile disappearing.  "It does bring up the question as to why you're seriously considering just handing your family's company over to her."

"She's going to be my wife.  And because she's the best person for the job."

Caldwell frowned.  He stood up, walked over to his desk, retrieved two manila folders – one thick and one thin –  and placed them both in front of Hunter, then resumed his seat.  "If your second reason had been your first, I wouldn't even consider handing these over."

Hunter raised hot eyes to him.  "You're not making your job very secure, Frank."

He held up a hand.  "Hear me out before you fire me Hunter.  One," he tapped the thick folder.  "Is a detailed private investigative report.  And the other, well, I think you know what that is."

Yes, he did know, Hunter thought.  But he refused to even acknowledge it.  Instead he picked up the folder and ripped it neatly in two, contents, and all.  Then he shoved the shredded papers back to his lawyer.  "If you ever even broach the subject of a prenuptial agreement again, you will be out of a job.  And I might even kick your ass for good measure.  Are we clear?"

"Crystal."  Pursing his lips, Caldwell nodded.  "I thought that might be your reaction.  But if you change your mind –"

"Frank,"  Hunter snarled in warning.  "Don't make me kill you.  Because then Edwina will come after me and I never want to have to bet who'd win a fight between your wife and mine."

The older man laughed, then fingered his mustache.  "Yeah, that would be something, wouldn't it?"  He scratched at the back of his head. He noticed the younger man hadn't even touched the thick folder containing the results from the private investigation firm.  He gestured towards it.  "You're not even going to look?"

Hunter shook his head, but reached for it.  He scooped it from the tabletop and slid it into the briefcase he carried.  "Nothing in there I don't already know about."

Caldwell leaned back in his chair.  "Oh, I wouldn't bet on that."

Hunter met his appraising look head on with a glare of his own.  "I would."

Knowing he was beaten, and given that he didn't mind be bested by Hunter – after all, the Helmsley family was one of the most ruthless families in business today, and it was always a learning experience working with them – Caldwell let it go.  "So, what brings you in today, Hunter?"

"My mother."

Caldwell's eyebrows shot skyward.  "Pardon me?"

"It's time."

The older man's jaw dropped and he scrambled for a note pad.  "D-Day's here? Hot damn!  Well, don't just sit there, Hunter!  Talk to me!"

Stolidly and impassively, Hunter began to rattle off a laundry list of things he wanted done, all the while Caldwell was scribbling furiously making sure he caught every single item.  His smile grew bigger and bigger as Hunter spoke.

He chortled gleefully when Hunter finished.  "Brilliant.  Just  brilliant…this is going to piss her off so bad, they just might feel the explosion over Newark!"  His eyes scanned down the list.  "Some of this might take some time."

"No time.  I want it all set in place by Sunday.  That's when I'm going to Hilltop."

Caldwell's eyes bugged out of his head.  "Sunday?!  Hunter, to do a couple of these things I need a judge's signature, police involvement, she'll have to be served – "

"I don't care, Frank," Hunter interrupted.  "Whatever's involved, just get it done.  By Sunday morning.  You get the papers ready and I'll serve them myself when I see her."

"But the judge –"

"Call Judge Washburn," Hunter cut him off again.  "And remind him just how much of his last election campaign was financed by Dad and Helmsley Enterprises.  He'll sign anything you put in front of him, then."

Nodding, Caldwell blew out an overwhelmed breath.  "Okay now that that's settled…and may I say how much I want to be there Sunday to see her face when she finds out what you're gonna do!  Anything else you need?"

Hunter reached down and pulled a thick brown binder from his briefcase and passed it over.  Caldwell took it, opened it, and pulled out the contents.  He perused them all, the 'V' between his brows getting more and more pronounced.  "Who is this?"

"Jackson Alexander Chilton."  Hunter ground out each syllable. 

The lawyer nodded absently murmuring, "Oh yeah, the kid from the tabloids."

Hunter bit back a sharp retort.  "Residence, Key Largo, Florida.  Age six."

Caldwell fluttered a hand in the air while continuing to turn page after page.  "Yes, yes, I can see all that.  What do you want me to do with this?"

"Get him for me."

The older man's head popped up.  "You care to repeat that?"

"Get him for me," Hunter reiterated.  At the lawyer's blank look, he added.  "This is an abused kid.  His mother's under investigation for offing her last seven husbands.  I want that little boy.  And Frank," he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.  "Do anything you have to, to get him.  Anything."

An oily, malicious look of glee crossed the lawyer's face.  "I take it we're throwing out the book on this one?"

Hunter gave a nasty chuckle.  "That bitch tossed out the book the first time she ever laid a finger on that kid and I found out about it."

Caldwell laughed.  "You know, I think Winnie and I are gonna like living in – where was it again?  Charlotte?"

Hunter nodded, a grim look playing around his eyes.  "The South will never be the same." 

~<>~

 
Money, it’s a hit.
Don’t give me that do goody good bullshit.
I’m in the high fidelity first class traveling set
And I think I need a Lear jet.
Money, it’s a crime.
Share it fairly but don’t take a slice of my pie.
Money, so they say
Is the root of all evil today.
But if you ask for a raise it’s no surprise that they’re
Giving none away.
       Money – Pink Floyd

November 26, 2004 10:45 a.m. EST
Helmsley Enterprises – Office of the President – Greenwich, CT 

Nan tapped a photograph in front of her.  "What's that building?"

"Uhm…storage, I think,"  Hillary offered, tossing a casual look over where Oz sat quietly, his eyes never leaving the three of them.

The copper-haired beauty shook her head.  "Not with those smokestacks."

Wade looked up at his assistant and nodded.  She riffled through some of the papers on the table and pulled one out.  "My mistake.  That building is storage now, but it used to be a smelting plant.  They closed it down after World War II, when the bottom dropped out of the domestic steel market."

A cold smile stole across the redhead's face, causing Wade conflicting sensations of both excitement and dread.  He'd seen that look before.  Not on this young lady, of course as today was their first meeting.  But he'd seen it numerous times on the faces of Leah Helmsley, as well as his former boss, Stuart Helmsley, Hunter's father, right before they were about to make a decision that usually changed the course of their company.  Now this slip of a girl – she had it.  He wasn't cut out to be President for the long haul, he knew, but this one…she just might be. 

"What is it?"

Nan turned a pleasant face to the administrative assistant.  "Hillary?  Have our lawyers to check into the toxic waste licenses on them right away.  I want to know if the permits are still valid and what kind of limits are on them.  Also check into any government contract downside guarantees and see if any haven't been met.  Especially military contracts."

Hillary stood, jotting down the information and asked,  "How far back do I go?"

Nan's smile intensified.  "Oh, just for shits and giggles, let's go back to, say, 1863."

The efficient Ms. Charles merely nodded, like having someone ask her to research over a hundred and forty-year-old governmental contracts was an everyday occurrence.  "I'll see what I can dig up."  She turned on a back-breakingly-sharp high heel and left the office. 

Nan had to suppress a chuckle, knowing full well that Stacy would have called them hooker-heels.

Wade turned to her.  "Why so far back?"

Nan shrugged a slim shoulder.  "Curiosity mainly.  But any government or military contract whose downside payment hasn't been met is still valid, no matter the age.  They either have to pay up or face a breech of contract lawsuit."  That wicked smile appeared again.  "And the military always settles out of court when they're in the wrong, even if they do drag their feet about it.  No need for bad press an all that, you know.  But they either settle, or demand the remainder of their contracted goods.  Either way, we get paid." 

Wade felt his jaw drop finally feeling like he was beginning to understand what she was after.  "Governmental contracts and licenses…my God, yes.  It's a long shot, but if they're still in effect, they're worth a fortune.  We could sell them off with the building…"

"We won't be selling."

He looked up, blinking.  "Why not?"

"This acquisition is a no brainer, Mr. Saxon.  According to what you're showing me here, there's not one single reason, aside from lack of vision and effort, as to why Helmsley Enterprises can't be on the Fortune 500 in under two to five years.  And I'm not talking about number four-hundred-ninety-nine either,"  Nan smiled wickedly, one reddish-brown brow arched.  "I want us in the top one hundred, and climbing.  And from what I've seen here today, the acquisition of Jefferson Industries is just the ladder that Helmsley Enterprises needs to make that climb possible."

Biting on the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at the woman full of moxy across the other side of the small table in his office, Wade offered up an explanation.  "I'm certainly not disagreeing with you, but you've got to understand the mergers and acquisitions market is changing.  With the upswing in inflation, along with the prolonged war in the Middle East we have to make these decisions cautiously.  Of course it's tempting.  It's constructed that way to offset the risk."

Nan chuckled.  "Mr. Saxon, I'm no naïve school-girl.  I have a degrees in International Business and Finance, and British Literature, as well as an MBA.  I've been running my coliseum complex, on my own, for close to seventeen years now that has run in the black for so long I can't even remember the last time we took a loss.  I know very damn good and well what you think this possible acquisition would be good for.  You're thinking hard assets and a straight liquidation.  Strip out all of the heavy equipment – sell the cranes overseas since everyone knows the Japanese are salivating for them. Yes, it would net us a tidy sum to line our fiscal net worth.  But that's only a short-term profit.  I'm looking more at the long-term."

Feeling that grin threaten the corners of his mouth, he fought it back and asked, "How so?"

"This is prime real estate in Norfolk Virginia, we're talking about here.  The Naval capital of the eastern seaboard.  Arlington, D.C., Bethesda Naval Academy, the Pentagon.  And Quantico's right around the corner.  Jefferson Industries has been around for almost as long as Helmsley Enterprises.  Given their location, what they manufacture, and their age?  They've got both government and military contracts, believe me."

He lost the grip on his excitement over this whole conversation, and his mouth quirked to the side as his grin began to escape.  He couldn't help but like the way she'd used the word we since she'd started discussing this whole prospect.  She'd walked right in, sat down, and taken hold on the reins with a firm grip like she belonged there.  And by God, he was thrilled about it!  "So what do you propose we do?"

"The same thing every successful business has done since this country was founded.  We make a profit during wartime based on the war itself.  Enough of one to sustain us once the war is over."

"Until the next one," he added dryly.

"Until the next one," she repeated, nodding cautiously.  "What's their asking sale price?"

Wade leaned back in his chair, openly smiling now.  "They're asking for thirty."

"Unacceptable."  Nan bit out.  She reached over and tapped a figure in red.  "Their complete asset listing is no where near that."  She scanned the figures quickly in her head.  "Twenty point five.  And that not only covers all debts, equipment, licenses, but it also makes sure their tenured people don't get cheated out of their pensions should they decide to take an early retirement.  We'll take the remaining nine point five and funnel it back into the company and beef up their technology.  Bring it up to standard…then go beyond.  So that it meets military specs."

"We'll end up losing money on this if you go that route."

She shrugged again.  "Of course, but only on paper, and only in the short term.  Sometimes you have to spend money to make money, Mr. Saxon.  We get them back up to current standards, and beyond, then we can write our own tickets.  Time to bring some of that overseas business back home."

"Ballsy, aren't you?"

Nan laughed, a genuine look of accomplishment lighting her eyes.  She turned a gleaming smile on the acting president.  "Offer them twenty point five.  And tell them they'll not be shut down.  We're their only viable offer.  Once they figure that out they'll be in bed with Helmsley Enterprises so fast that you may find them between you and your wife by Saturday night."

He banged his fist on the tabletop with laughter.  "By God, I think I'm gonna like working with you if this is the type shit you come up with off the fly!"  He got to his feet.  "Feel free to examine all the paperwork they've sent over.  And if you'll excuse me for a moment, Miss Elliott, I'll be right back."

 "Mrs. Helmsley," Nan corrected, not bothering to look up from the document she was perusing, as she stood up and moved around to the large cherry desk near the bank of windows.

Wade stopped and turned, his hand still on the doorknob to his own office, staring back at the woman now sitting behind his desk.  "Pardon me?"

"You called me Miss Elliott," she responded, still reading.

Intrigued, he quirked a smile and asked, "Isn't that who you are?"

"Only for the next three weeks.  Then I'll be Mrs. Helmsley and we'll be moving the company headquarters to North Carolina.  There's no need to confuse the employees with a name change during all of the other upheaval," she clarified, only then looking up at him, over the rims of the glasses she'd put on when she'd sat down.  "I've always found it best to begin as you intend to proceed.  Don't you agree, Mr. Saxon?"

His grin spread into a full easy smile.  A smile that said,   "Yes, Mrs. Helmsley.  I most certainly do."

Those dark eyes zeroed in on him, skewering him to the spot still by the door, and he had to shake off an eerie sense of déjà vu, losing the feeling when she spoke.  "Then we understand each other, Mr. Saxon."

"Wade."

She grinned at him, with a slight inclination of her head.  "Wade."

Laughing to himself a little, he left the office and ran headlong into his boss and Frank. 

Hunter stood silently, clasping his hands in front of him, taking in the bewildered amusement on the other man's face, knowing the man had just come out of his meeting with his fiancée.  As Saxon opened his mouth to speak, Hunter held up a hand, effectively silencing the older man. 

Saxon turned to the administrative assistant seated in the outer office.  "Hillary?  Would you please have lunch brought up?  It looks like we're going to be a while."

The pretty brunette looked up with a warm smile.  "Of course, Mr. Saxon.  Where –"

"Kimbers," he answered amiably, as she began thumbing through her Rolodex.  Then he turned to Hunter.  "They have a wonderful roast beef this time of day."  At Hunter's nod towards the girl, he addressed her.  "Oh and Hillary, handle it personally, would you please dear?"

Startled, Hillary again looked up, this time her eyes wide, as she lowered the receiver to the telephone.  "Uhm…of course, sir."  Quickly and efficiently she gathered her things and left the office.

Hunter turned to Wade, his eyes flicking over his head to the closed office door behind him.  "So.  What do you think?"

Wade gave a big smile, then looked over at Frank.  "You'd better start drawing up papers.  That's what I think."

"Meaning?"  The younger man rasped.

"Meaning," Wade turned back to Hunter.  "I hereby tender my intent of resignation.  Effective the minute you set up shop in North Carolina."

A gleaming smile crawled across Hunter's face.  "You're sure?"

"Hell son," he slapped him on the shoulder, laughingly.  "I've been wanting to retire for years now, but was just waiting until you came to your senses and took over this place.  But I was wrong – and I'm man enough to admit it.  You belong in the wrestling ring, not behind a desk.  But," he stressed, pointing a finger at Frank.  "That little bit of dynamite in there definitely fits that seat perfectly.  And I'll fight anything you do or say, to prevent her from taking over."

Frank spluttered, affronted at the blatant accusation.  "Now just a minute –"

But Wade was already shaking his head.  "No, not one word, Caldwell.  I know your feelings on this subject and by God you're about to know mine."  He beamed up at Hunter, more for the stymied look on the lawyer's face, than anything else.  "You did well, son.  Your grandmother and father would be proud."

Nodding with an affectionate, yet small smile, Hunter turned to Frank.  "Any arguments with that?"

Knowing he was beaten with the assumed posthumous endorsements of the former presidents of the company, and knowing both Leah Worchester Helmsley and Stuart Helmsley as he had, he shook his head.  "No.  As much as it burns my ass to say it, Wade's right.  Leah and Stuart would have been very pleased."

"Good.  It's settled then."  His smile widening, Hunter reached for the door handle.  "Let's go inform the new President of Helmsley Enterprises what she's just gotten herself into.  He chuckled to himself before turning the knob.  "I don't envy her putting up with you two for the next few months while the move is orchestrated.  Then again, maybe I should be sympathetic to you."

As Hunter strode through the office door, Wade turned to Frank.  "I don't know about you, but I'd really like to be on the fifty yard line when Kit finds out."

Frank grinned, slapping his friend/nemesis on the back.  "Same here, but believe me, once I tell Winnie what's about to go down in two days?  She'll be selling tickets…you can get yours from her."  He grinned.  "I'm sure we can even get you a company discount."

Laughing, the two men breached the inner sanctum, now anticipating what the future would hold for everyone employed by the new power couple…Hunter and Nanette Helmsley. 

~<>~

 
Now they're smoking' up their junk bonds
And then they go get stiff
And they're dancing' in the yacht club
With Muff and uncle Biff
But there's one good thing that happens
When you toss your pearls to swine
Their attitudes may taste like shit
But go real good with wine
Believe in all the good things
That money just can't buy
Then you won't get no bellyache
From eating' humble pie
I believe in rags to riches
Your inheritance won't last
So take your Gray Poupon my friend
And shove it up your ass!
Eat the Rich – Aerosmith

November 28, 2004 12:04 p.m. EST
Laurel Lane – Old Greenwich, CT 

Nan impassively observed the passing scenery as the long black limousine made its way through the older streets of Greenwich, to the more affluent selection of residences.  Those near the marina and corresponding yacht and country clubs.  Snooty people were snooty people and there wasn't a damn thing you could do to change their view of you.  Money had precious little to do with it.  It was rather all about appearances.  As long as you looked and acted like you had money, then you were acceptable to them.  Or at least that's how those hoity-toity types she'd known in her life were.

She knew her fair share of snobs back home that labeled her beneath them just because she'd practically grown up on a farm, between her grandparents and Bo's.  They looked down on her because she worked for a living.  Because she drove an old suped up Mustang her cousin Lyle had rebuilt and sold to her, with money she'd earned herself.  Because she had gone to public colleges rather than private ones like Meredith and Peace College like those girls belonging to the Nose-In-The-Air crowd from her high school had done.  Those same girls who'd shunned Genie, Drey, and herself because they didn't measure up in some way.  None of them did to those upper crust shitheads they'd gone to school with.

Genie certainly didn't measure up.  Oh yeah, her grandmother had money – precious little in actuality that wasn't funneled back into the town's biggest and by far the best floral shop.  But Genie's parents didn't.  Her father was regularly out of work, drinking or gambling away whatever money his wife managed to bring home from her nursing job to support the three of them.  If Miss Millie hadn't paid Genie's tuition, the two girls might never have met.  But while Miss Millie's demeanor and unconcerned attitude prevented people from shunning her outright, her granddaughter hadn't inherited the trait…or so they thought until she hit puberty.  Up until then hearing Genie referred to as that dirty Injun was commonplace.  Even from her own father.  While most of the adults wouldn't dare say something so bigoted and racist, the children around them had no such compunctions.  And where did children learn hate from in the first place?  From the adults who smiled to your face and cut you down behind your back.

Although by Moccasin Gap standards Miss Millie Lauder was loaded, Drey's family wasn't.  They were poor as church mice and her folks had actually worked at Chesterbook Academy, her dad as a maintenance man and her step-mom as one of the lunchroom ladies.  So all of Drey's brothers and sister – six kids in all, as she had four older brothers and a younger sister – had gotten the benefits of a classical education with only paying the tuition equivalent of one child.  So Drey was the poor kid in their little clique…right down to the second-hand shoes, handmade hand-me-down uniforms, and thereby naturally ostracized.

And herself?  Well, she was just the youngest kid of a very middle class family, who knew all about farm life.  Her father had been a travelling salesman and her mother a stay-at-home-mom until Nan was old enough to go to school.  Then she'd gone back to teaching.  But she taught in a public high school, making diddly-squat for money.  Between keeping her in private school, and her brother in college until he'd dropped out deciding to go into the police academy instead, her father had mortgaged their house twice.  During the time after her grandfather's death until she took over completely in 1993, the coliseum had operated in the red.  And she'd almost lost it on two different occasions.  So she knew what it was like to have every single part of you stretched to the brink and even then just barely getting by.  But not anymore.  The coliseum complex hadn't even come close to going out of the black in at least five years and for the past two, revenues had gone up thanks to some of the more visionary ideas Audrey had come up with. 

Nan sighed.  She really should consider selling the pace to Audrey.  Her friend loved that place as much as Nan did.  But it was all she had of her grandfather…her Enisi.  He'd wanted her to have it.  And with her it would remain.

The limousine passed an older woman, in her late fifties perhaps, oblivious to the steadily falling snow walking a standard poodle …dyed bright pink.  With a pink diamond collar around its neck.  And pink snow boots on all four feet.  And was that a black leather skirt on that dog??  Nan's eyes bugged out.  She'd expect to see that more in like L.A. than here in Connecticut.  But it did serve to drag her meandering thoughts back on track.

Money.

While testosterone was the great equalizer turning all men into morons when it was riding high on them, money or the lack thereof, was the measuring stick of social status.  Stupid, but almost globally true.  Yet within the discriminatory practices of the fiscally socially minded, there were even more castes.  Old money versus new money.  The established families versus the bourgeois.  Her father used to have a sign over the desk in his basement home office when she'd been growing up that read Age and treachery will overcome youth and skill every time.  Well, so did old money.  The older and stinkier the better.

And the deeper they drove into the section of town known as Old Greenwich, the older and stinkier the displays of money became.  And the more extravagant.  It shouldn't have made her uneasy, but it did.  Rolling past just the first two homes, she could see vehicles in the drive that cost more than her parents home did today.  It made her very uncomfortable, both with her surroundings and within herself.

"What's going on in that head of yours, baby?"

Nan didn't turn, but continued to watch the homes roll past her window, each growing bigger, more expansive, and more ostentatious.  "Just thinking that even though I've always known logically why the French executed Marie Antoinette and all of those other aristos, that it's just brought home so much more clearly with a picture rather than reading about it."

Hunter chuckled.  "So this would be a bad time to point out that you're now one of those aristos?"

"I am not!"  She whirled around, her eyes shooting daggers at him.  "You forget yourself, Hunter.  I saw that deed, and I know just how much you paid for Lyon's Cove and compared to these places," she waved her hand at the impressive display of homes on the other side of the tinted glass.  "And it's not even a drop in the bucket of what these demi-castles must be worth!"

He held up his hands in front of him as if warding her off.  "Okay, baby.  Okay."  He dropped his hands with a laugh.  "No need to reinstate Madame Guillotine here."

Nan's lashes dipped and an abashed smile pulled up one corner of her mouth.  "Okay, so that came out as a little bit defensive, if not martyr-like."

Hunter grinned at her, his lips twitching.  "It is a far, far better thing I do –"

"Oh, shut up," she grumbled, leaning against his shoulder, struggling to ignore the waves of anxiety that were currently making her middle feel like a tsunami was brewing in there.

The limousine slowed in front of a black iron gate between two white brick columns.  Nan read the plaque on one…731 Laurel Lane.  Sounded very benign.  But by the way the acid in her stomach kicked into high gear, she knew it wasn't.  After a short pause, the gates opened and the limo drove through.  Nan got glimpses of lavishly kept up landscaping.  Grass neatly trimmed that in the summer months she assumed would look like a putting green.  No weeds, or scraggly bushes anywhere to be seen.  Miss Millie would be envious, she thought.  The limo rolled leisurely up to an imposing three story home that had to be every bit of four times the size of the house she was leaving and twice the size of the one she was about to move into. 

Unblinking from the moment the house came into view, Nan slid mechanically from the back seat of the limousine and simply stared.  Hunter kept quiet, letting her take it all in.  But he did stand beside her, his strong presence comforting, while he too took stock of the house he'd grown up in.

The house…Hilltop, she reminded herself, was aptly named.  It sat upon a low hill lording over the neighboring homes on all sides, although spaced out due to the acreage.  There appeared to be three main sections, two smaller wings on either side of a central main wing.  It was made from precisely cut whitish stones of varying hues, giving it almost a pinkish golden sheen.  The front facade was an interesting mix of ten arched floor to ceiling windows on the first level, eight double sets of square cut widows on the second floor, and six dormer windows on the third, complete with gingerbread bargeboard to give it almost a whimsical touch.  Deep green shutters, that matched the equally as deep green slate gabled roof with a rather spectacularly steep pitch to it, flanked each window.  She counted no less than eight chimneys, and those were only the ones she could see from the front.  On either end of the front of the house were twin single-story single-room protrusions, with stone buttresses at the top, giving the place, almost an embattlement-like feel.

She would have loved to say it reeked of evil and malfeasance.  But it didn't.  It was beautiful, cold perhaps but architecturally gorgeous.  It looked like something right off the cover of Architectural Digest.  Right down to the stone steps leading up to the double front doors under an elaborate portico. 

And she hated it on the spot.

Staring up at the mausoleum in front of her, she felt a tug on her hand as Hunter tried to pull her forward.  "Hunter, no."

He stopped and turned.  "What's wrong, baby?"

She'd always known that Hunter had come from money, as Shawn had mentioned it once or twice, only in passing, in his letters.  She knew he made a damn good living working for the WWE, and the bills were always paid.  But she had no idea…none…that he'd come from…from…this.  Now she knew exactly how Julia Robert's character had felt in Pretty Woman when she'd walked inside the Regent Beverly Wilshire Hotel with Richard Geer. 

Small.  Insignificant.  And very much out of her element.  She didn't belong here. 

Her eyes were still glued to the immense house, definitely the largest she'd ever seen outside of the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina, or anything that couldn't be legitimately called a castle.  She began to try and back up towards the limo.  "I can't…I can't do…not in there…" She turned wild eyes on him, feeling very overwhelmed and wanting terribly to crawl back in the car and hide there until he was ready to leave.  "I'm just a farm girl from North Carolina.  I don't belong here.  I'll…I'll just wait –"

Hunter took a step closer and pulled her against him, tilting her chin up with one finger.  "You're my fiancée, the woman I'm going to spend the rest of my life with.  And you belong anywhere I say you do.  Anywhere you want to be."

"I don't want to be here.  I don't want to know," she blurted out frantically, her eyes almost free-rolling in their sockets like a frightened thoroughbred, as the anxiety took full reigns on her.

"I don't either," he assured her in a calm, steady voice, recognizing the signs of her rising panic attack.  "But I have to be.  And I'd like you to come with me, if you can."

When she didn't answer right away, he looked over at the bodyguard who stood patiently by the limousine awaiting further instruction.  "Oz.  Stay with her."

"No," Nan surprised them both by saying, pushing away from her fiancé.  She rotated both shoulders, noticing the snow was lightening up, and would probably be stopping soon.  She glanced upward at the solid sheet of grey sky above her, and it felt heavy, weighted down over her head.  Then she looked back at Hunter.  "No.  I'll go with you."

"You're sure?"

"No," she answered truthfully.  "But if you want me with you, then that's where I belong.  It's not like you're asking me to ascend Mt. Everest or something."

Hunter smiled at her, and placed a light kiss on her forehead.  Glancing at over at Oz, Hunter inclined his head once.  The bodyguard nodded and took two steps back to bring up the rear as they ascended the steps.

"It's just a house, baby," Hunter told her, taking her hand in his.

It's not just a house, she told herself, as he opened the front door and walked in, just like he belonged there.  It's a torture chamber.  And your tormentor still lives in it.  Feeling an irrational desire to make the sign of the cross over herself – and she wasn't Catholic – she did just that as she stepped over the threshold into the stone edifice that held more secrets that she could even possibly begin to fathom.

They walked into an vast foyer, open all the way up to the third story.  Nan glanced upward, then immediately looked away, for at the top was a glass dome, done in a spiral pattern of gold and green.  It made her dizzy just to look at it.  So she looked down instead.  Beneath her feet were gleaming marble tiles that matched the exterior of the house, that same whitish-pinkish-gold color.  A huge curving monstrosity of a staircase dominated the room, the steps of which were covered in that same marble upon which they currently stood.  The room was definitely bright, with walls finished to match the floors.  Almost painfully bright.  And cold.

At the base of the stairs stood a reed thin man with salt and pepper shaggy hair, watering a very lush, healthy looking fern.  The only spot of color in the room aside from the cherry wood banister, and moldings around several closed doorways.  He looked up when they came in, shock transforming his face and causing him to nearly drop his watering can.  Obviously, they'd nearly scared the poor man out of his wits, but he recovered quickly. 

He set the can on the floor and strode over to them, his face alive with delight.  "Master Hunter!  It is so good to see you, sir!" 

"Good to see you too, Jenkins."

The man looked like he wanted to hug him, but obviously restrained himself.  Instead he began helping remove Nan's coat while Hunter waved him off his own.

She shot her fiancé a disbelieving glance.  "Did he just call you master?  Who are you?  Bruce Wayne?  You got a cave stashed somewhere I don't know about, along with an unhealthy fascination with flying rodents?"

He passed his topcoat over to the older man, who took them, and hung them in the coat closet to their left.  Hunter wrapped a possessive arm around Nan's