Criminal Beware: The Lykanos Chronicles 1

Chapter Five

I returned to the hotel the following morning for a day of introductions and meetings. As I'd expected, I encountered a great deal of pretense from the many employees who welcomed me. These overt, gleaming smiles did not qualify as genuine respect, nor were they a display of simple courtesy. I knew I'd been confronted by the measured countenances of people who felt obligated to act out the guise of welcome. They were bent on ensuring that nothing changed the balance of their lives, at least nothing that would change their lives for the worse.

My one sincere hope was to spend time with the woman who was now my new secretary, Vanessa Comstock. She was a professional in her early forties who was as no-nonsense in her personality as she was in her impeccable appearance. I had learned long ago that no other source of confidential information or insight into the machinations of a business was more significant than the lead assistant at an organization. However, Vanessa confirmed within moments of our introduction that my first day was completely booked and that she hadn't expected that I would desire one-on-one time with her. I got the sense that she didn't much care for the idea of being placed in that type of situation with a man, much less one who was her boss. I asked her to find time in the week's schedule, even offering to take her to lunch, though the offer was received with a lukewarm reception, at best. Before I could focus on her very long, my manager arrived.

Richardson ensured his presence by my side throughout, taking pains to demonstrate his strong support of his new executive, touting my accomplishments to any ear that would listen. I became aware that my age was a point of contention for many people; it had indeed been so in New York and was partly the reason I'd been sent abroad. I was here to give my barely thirty-year-old body time to mature and catch up with my abilities. It was a frustrating reality that I understood well but was easily ignored when it wasn't being commented upon to my face. Instead, I kept him focused on possibilities I'd found for generating greater success at the U.S. Grant.

"Yes, of course," I assured everyone who asked if I would be working weekends. "The L.A. getaway crowds and private events will receive my full attention." This assurance delighted some who had hoped my arrival would mean relief from their present mismanagement, while others were not keen to see anything about their job functions change. Despite the resistance, there was much to be optimistic about among my new staff.

By the time the day's chores had finally wrapped up, I'd already formed several mental to-do lists. While there were challenges I'd need to address—for instance, the significant loss in revenue as a result of the new National Prohibition Act—I felt opportunities were present for me to exploit.

The workday ended with a telephone call from Charles Manafort, the western executive director that Jonathan reported to, who was brief but welcoming. The gruff older man assured me that I would do well under Jonathan's mentorship and that he expected to be calling on me soon to shoulder more responsibility. After my heartbreak with Lewis Donavan in New York and his decision to cast me three thousand miles away to the Pacific, I didn't allow myself to believe a word Charles said.

* * *

I arrived at a small uptown bistro in the Hillcrest district to meet Richardson and his wife, Eleanor, for dinner. It was only a short distance from my home and quite welcoming, considering its modest furnishings. The food was superb, as I soon discovered about the food at many other eateries in town as well. The quality of California cuisine was most impressive to me because even in a less-than-regal restaurant, diners were offered excellent food regardless of class, as if it were of no relative importance. I found this fact jarring in contrast to the manners of my hometown. Everyone in San Diego expected their meals to be delicious, whether they were served on china from Tiffany's or Woolworth's.

I found the Richardsons already seated in a booth by the restaurant's windows overlooking University Avenue. The waiter arrived immediately, and I made a quick scan of the menu, presuming that the couple had been waiting. Seafood was not missing from any menu in this coastal town, and suited me just fine. I ordered a swordfish steak baked in a lemon butter sauce. Johnathan ordered a large portion of lamb for him and his wife to share, giving our waiter the beaming smile of a salesman.

When we were finally alone, Eleanor warmly asked how my first day on the job had gone. However, less than a minute later, she changed the subject abruptly to grill me on a dozen private aspects of my history: who my parents were, what attachments I had back home, my thoughts on marriage, etc. It wasn't until she rose to visit the ladies' room ten minutes later that Johnathan was able to join into the conversation. Even then, his interest was only in obtaining my promise to attend the Roussade dinner.

"Oh, yes, Gabrielle's delightful," said Richardson when I asked if she were a V.I.P. for the hotel. "A true lady of the modern era and very well off. She's a philanthropist, you see, and modest to a fault; performs charitable works as quietly as possible. Certainly not one for fanfare. Rather unusual for the company she keeps, though. She's an important figure in these outspoken women's organizations that my wife pledges allegiance to."

I nodded in acquiescence, focused more on the bread and butter that had just arrived than how his lips had loosened once out of earshot from his wife.

"She's quiet enough so that most aren't very aware of her presence," Richardson continued, "but she's a main patron for the city. It's a genuine compliment, her marking your arrival in this way." He shrugged his shoulders reluctantly, tempering his eagerness to discuss her accomplishments too loudly. "She probably just wants to meet you so she can hit you up for a discount on one of the ladies' luncheons she hosts. But—I'm serious now—think of a way to return the compliment to her."

I hadn't thought about the woman's invitation for more than a moment, resolved to accept it no matter what, considering the nonsense I'd put her servant through the night before.

"It's best not to speak of her too... vividly," said Richardson, lowering his voice. "At least not in the company of women. She's a rather splendid creature to behold. Jealousy can arise easily if you're not careful."

The comment struck me as being absurdly stated, particularly as Richardson held my gaze at length to make his point painfully clear, his brow raising when he was sure he had been understood. Why would anyone expect me to speak freely about a woman to my boss's wife? I managed a deep nod to Richardson before saying that I understood.

In time, Mrs. Richardson returned to our table, leading the conversation back to the more whimsical air she had left us with.

"So, Daniel," Eleanor began, smiling girlishly for a woman in her mid-forties, "there are several young women I must introduce you to."