Chapter 19

August 25, 2007

Scott arrived at the law office bright and early Saturday morning. He'd slung a travel bag over his shoulder in lieu of his normal backpack. He didn't know what Honour told the judge, but he had blanket permission to travel with her. When he mentioned to Mr. Piotrowski that he was going to Dallas, he didn't even bat an eye. Scott had the feeling that the fix was in.

"Why did you bring the bag?" Honour asked when she saw him.

"You told me to?"

"Oh, well you don't need it now. Is that what you're wearing?"

"Uhh—"

"Show me what you have stashed in your office closet."

Honour flipped through the three or four hangers he had. She grabbed a shirt and a pair of pants and held it up to him. "These will do. Go change."

She eyed him critically when he emerged from the bathroom, "Those boots are a little rough, but it's a look."

"I didn't know I was supposed to dress up."

Honour gave him a look. She was wearing her battle clothes; a tight skirt, long enough to be respectable, but short enough to catch your eye, an intriguing blouse covered by a jacket, and a pair of power heels.

"It's okay. We're interviewing them, not the other way around. Still, you want to look nice. Your youth allows you to get away with a lot. Ready?"

"If you say I am."

"See," she grinned, "you're learning."

Honour drove straight to the Fort Stockton Airport where they boarded a small twin turboprop and were soon airborne.

"Isn't this expensive?" he asked. They were the only two aboard aside from the pilots. They had privacy to talk since the pilots were wearing headphones, and were busy with the business of flying.

"Not as much as you might think. We got this charter for well under two grand an hour, and Dallas is a fairly short hop away. We'd pay a little more for a small jet. It will save us a ton of time, so it's more than worth it. Besides, you can afford it. Trust me."

"I do."

"Any more questions?" she asked.

"Only about a million," Scott replied.

Honour laughed. "What's the first one?"

"What does a private banker do, and why do I need one?"

"I guess I haven't explained this very well have I?" Honour said. "A private banker deals with individual clients on a one on one basis, it's very personal. It's how the wealthy do business, and it's how they hang onto their money, in theory at least. You don't need business services, what we're after is the investment and asset management side of things. You'll have access to a lot of benefits with a private banker, better interest rates, more investment opportunities, financial advice, tax planning, and so on."

"So how do we pick one of these private bankers?"

"The banker needs to be somebody you can communicate with and trust. Are they trying to sell you a load of bullshit, or are they being honest with you? That's something that can be difficult to determine. It's why we're going to have these meetings so you see them up close. The people we're going to meet are supposed to be at the top of the game."

"So are we going to drive around to different banks?"

Honour explained, "A bank isn't just a place with a drive through and some tellers. These people never handle cash, or see a vault. The places we're going will look like business offices. Remember to follow my lead, but if you have a question ask. They're going to be your banker after all."

Scott sat back and mulled over what Honour had been telling him. He couldn't really draw any conclusions; he'd play it by ear.

At the Dallas airport their airplane was met by a car and they were whisked straight to the business district. Honour cautioned him against saying anything in front of the driver that he wouldn't want repeated to other ears. They were shown into a waiting room of a large office on the twentieth floor of a glass faced building. The banker's administrative assistant invited them to sit down. Scott couldn't get comfortable on the oddly shaped couch. There were a slew of magazines he'd never seen before so he started browsing.

Honour kept checking her watch. She grew more agitated the longer they sat there.

"Honour, what does a bidet actually do?"

She squinted at him, "Didn't you take French last year?"

"Yeah, but I've never actually seen one. Look at this." He held up the magazine he had been reading.

"You are going to have to figure it out on your own, or better yet, look it up on the internet with your phone."

"My phone doesn't do internet."

Honour glared at him.

"Let me guess, I can afford it now?"

"Got it in one," she said.

He found an equestrian magazine that would have made Mrs. Rewcastle purple with envy. According to one article there was a couple somewhere in the Dallas area that had a horse barn nicer than any house he'd ever seen.

Honour continued to fidget before she stood up, "Come on. We're leaving."

"What?"

"We've been waiting here for almost thirty minutes. It's unacceptable."

Scott had to hurry to keep up with her as she marched toward the elevator bank. The administrative assistant scurried over.

"I'm sure he won't be detained much longer," the assistant pleaded.

"We're taking our business elsewhere."

"Would you care to reschedule?" she simpered.

"You have got to be joking," Honour said as the elevator dinged. She pulled Scott into the elevator.

"Honour—"

She held up a finger, "If you were interviewing somebody for a job, would you wait thirty minutes for them to show up after their scheduled appointment?"

"No."

"Well then."

How did she move so fast dressed like that? He had a brief image of a group of women in tight skirts and high heels having a race using the quick little shuffle they all seemed to use, but never getting very far.

In the car Honour told the driver to take them to another building and gave him the address. She got on her phone to see if they could get an earlier meeting than had previously been scheduled. She was pleased with the answer.

The new building could have been a clone of the other one. They had barely been seated before they were escorted into the private banker's inner sanctum. The office had corner windows and offered an impressive view of downtown Dallas. The banker was nothing like Scott had imagined. He was young and wore a slick suit. His smile was full of brilliantly white teeth. The man eyed Honour hungrily, and launched into a fast paced presentation.

A warning light went off in Scott's head. He focused on the man's movements and watched his eyes closely.

"How big an account might we be talking about?" the banker inquired.

"Somewhere in the seven figure range," Honour replied.

Scott started at Honour's mistake, but she was concentrating on the banker. He realized that instead of watching him, she was listening carefully to every word. Was that her training as a lawyer, he wondered? The words were more important than the presentation? He'd have to think about that. It was clear she wasn't seeing what he did.

The banker offered them drinks and asked to be excused momentarily.

"What do you think?" Honour whispered.

"We can leave any time."

"Why?" Honour asked.

"Focus on his face when he gets back," Scott whispered.

Honour was puzzled, but she sat up in her chair and waited for the banker to return. He wasn't gone long, but was full of apologies at the interruption. The banker continued his spiel. He used buzz words and terminology that Scott was having trouble following. Honour was watching the banker's every move. She started to frown.

"Shit!" Honour exclaimed. She stood up, grabbed her purse, and Scott's arm, and started to stalk out of the office.

The banker was completely confused. He followed them asking what was wrong. Heads turned in the outer office area.

Honour rounded on the banker and put a finger right in his chest, "Wipe the coke from your nose. We won't be doing business with you. Go to rehab and get straightened out because your conduct is inexcusable. Nobody wants a banker who can't even manage his own life."

The banker was covered with a sheen of sweat. He protested his innocence, but Scott saw that the banker's administrative assistant knew the score. Everybody else was gawking at the spectacle, but she was trying to look anywhere but at her boss.

Honour didn't say a word in the elevator. If she had been a cartoon, steam would have been coming out of her ears. In the parking garage, as they were waiting for their car to arrive, she asked him how he knew.

"Substance abuse seminar at the sheriff's department," he replied.

She accepted the answer, "What did you spot first?"

"He kept grinding his jaw, and the way he rubbed his nose. Did you notice how he seemed to be operating at a different speed than the rest of us? It all added up, particularly after that little break."

"Well, I apologize," Honour said. "It looks like Dallas was a bust."

"Wasn't your fault, Honour."

"Is there anything you want to do while we're here?"

"Lunch?" Scott asked as their car arrived and the driver opened the door for Honour.

"Yes, let's do lunch. And since Joseph isn't here, let's have something spicy."

She leaned over the front seat and asked the driver if he knew a good Thai or authentic Indian restaurant.

"I know just the place," he said.

"Excellent," Honour said, smiling for the first time in hours.

They had a great lunch. Thai food was hot, and he loved it. If Scott has been allowed to breath into the plane's fuel tank, they could probably have picked up another 50mph in airspeed on the way home. After they landed back in Fort Stockton, Honour promised that Houston would be a different story. The trip was a week away so Scott wasn't going to worry about it.

Monday, August 27th, 2007

For Scott, the school semester started by catching the bus at Meritt's corner. The only kids riding this year were from Broken Creek. It didn't bode well for the future of the rural bus service. The first thing he did upon arriving at school was to go by the front office. He needed a pass to leave school grounds for his concurrent enrollment class. He saw Principal Reynolds only briefly. The principal thumped him on the shoulder and shouted, "Great job on those summer classes," as he hurried down the hallway toward the gymnasium.

Scott hadn't looked closely at his high school schedule, so he did some quick route planning in his head locating all of his classes and where he'd have to be when. He made a side trip to find his locker and make sure the combination worked.

He walked to the technical training center for his morning college class. There were more people around the campus than during the summer months. As a multi-use facility, it was packed with a wide variety of working men and women taking classes at the training center in addition to the college extension campus students. He realized about five minutes into the professor's lecture that English Composition was not going to be his favorite class. It wasn't really a lecture; it was more like a highlights reel of the professor's life. If his students were lucky they might learn something from him, or so the professor claimed. Scott endeavored to keep his mouth shut and do the work.

It was a short walk back to the high school after the class wrapped up. He spent some time in the library reading about economics, and basic business fundamentals. The lunch bell rang so he headed for the cafeteria. He looked around but didn't see any of his old crew. He took a chance on the baked chicken offering and stood around holding his tray until he spotted Rene. She scooted over and made a spot for him. He squeezed in and sat down. The chicken was passable.

"So, how've you been?" Rene asked.

"Busy," he replied as he took a final bite of the chicken.

"I figured."

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"You've seem to have forgotten something," she said.

Scott put his fork down and pushed his tray back. He tried to figure out what she was referring to. "Well, you've got me, what have I forgotten?"

Rene hummed and tossed her head from side to side.

"Not helping, " he said.

She tapped her shirt.

He stared at her chest. There had been some improvements in the area, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why she was drawing his attention to the fact.

"Up here wise guy," she said tapping the area above what would have been her breast pocket.

His brain was so busy running through the possibilities that he didn't find the obvious.

"It starts with 'Fort Stockton Cross Country' like the shirt says and ends with 'Coach Zell is pissed.' Hello, smart guy. Are you in there?"

Oh crap! He'd totally blown off the preseason cross country team meeting.

"We have our first meet Saturday," she added.

Scott banged his head on the table top a couple of times. It didn't help. "I'm going to be in Houston on Saturday," he told her.

"Not if you want to be on the cross country team," she replied.

Scott shook his head.

"Ohhhh, well who the heck am I going to run with?"

"I don't know," Scott replied. "I've still got final period athletics on my schedule. I guess all I can do is throw myself on coach's mercy. How pissed was he?"

"Very," she replied. "What are you going to be doing in Houston anyway?"

"Personal stuff."

"Stuff? You're usually more eloquent than that," Rene said.

"Eloquent? That's a big word for the first day of school."

"Hey, I've got to catch up with you geniuses. You guys all took advanced placement classes last year. Now you're taking college classes. I've got to pick up my end of things."

Coach Zell was disappointed, but not terribly angry when Scott managed to sit down with him and discuss cross country. He wasn't going to be on the cross country team this year. He was going to miss too much of the season, and he'd already missed several mandatory meetings.

"Maybe next year," Coach Zell said.

Scott sighed, "Coach, I'm doing concurrent enrollment. I'm afraid my schedule is only going to get worse. I think this means I'm finished with Fort Stockton athletics."

Coach nodded, "I'm glad you're pursuing your academic goals, but I'm sorry to lose you as a runner. Don't let that stop you from working out. It's a good way to keep things balanced, healthy body, healthy mind and all that."

"Thanks, Coach."

"If you want to talk, you know where to find me."

It was midweek before Scott managed to meet up with Bo and Ed in the hallway at school. It was weird not to have any classes with at least one of his friends. They decided they'd try to at meet at the same spot at least a few times each week.

"Have you guys seen Lacey around?" Scott asked.

"I have," Ed replied. "She's in my American Lit class but we don't talk. She's in our lunch period too, but she's been sitting with some band people."

"She's playing the piccolo this year," Bo explained.

"She's in marching band?" Scott asked.

"You didn't know?"

"No, add it to the list," Scott said. "This sucks, we're not even in the same lunch period."

The warning bell rang for their next class.

"Listen, if I don't see you guys before the weekend I'll see you next week," Scott yelled as he headed to class.

When he returned to Broken Creek after school, Mrs. Delgado was beyond pleased when he asked her to help him pick out some dress clothes and shoes. They made a mad dash into town and he ended up with three new collared shirts, a couple of pairs of slacks, and two pairs of dress shoes. According to her latest measurements he was five feet, ten inches tall, and had grown an additional inch around the neck.

Scott had Mrs. Delgado drop him at Mr. Piotrowski's after their shopping trip. She didn't question why he was storing his new purchases there. When Scott showed Mr. Piotrowski his new clothes, he excused himself and returned from the bedroom closet with a hanger full of ties.

"Verna used to buy ties for my birthdays and for Christmas, mostly as a joke. Most of these are too out of fashion, but I think there's a few here that might work for you."

They held ties up against his new shirts and tried to figure out if they matched. He ended up with a handful of ties in basic colors, a Christmas tie featuring dancing snowmen, and a black tie because, "you should always have one."

Saturday's trip to Houston went smoothly. There was no drama like there had been in Dallas. They actually met three different bankers. One didn't act like he was particularly eager for their business. The other two seemed competent, but Honour said that she couldn't find a reason to recommend one over the other.

"Do you like either of them?" she asked later.

"I didn't dislike either of them personally," he replied. "I'm not much of a gambler though, and I got the feeling that they were."

"That's pretty much how I feel, and that's not good enough. It's time for plan B."

"I'm afraid to ask," Scott said.

"Funny. Plan B is to tap into the old boys' network," Honour explained. "So keep next Saturday open and we'll see what happens."

The start of the second week of school was a little better than the first. Six students had already dropped the English Composition class, but Scott knew he had to stick it out. He felt lonely going from class to class at the high school. School hadn't been that way for since he'd first become friends with Ed and Bo. He hadn't even managed to catch a glimpse of Lacey, and that was saying something in such a small school.

By midweek Scott was ready for a break, he got one when Mr. Piotrowski handed him an envelope the minute he walked in the door Wednesday afternoon.

Mr. Piotrowski stood up stiffly, "That's for you, and two other things before I forget; call Honour, and call Elijah."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, but my knees have been giving me grief ever since I stood around at the dig site."

"Maybe you should go see the doctor?"

"I'm seventy-eight years old," Mr. Piotrowski said with a smile. "My parts aren't getting any younger. I plan to take it easy and stay off my feet. I'll tell you what it is. We're going to have a cold winter. I can feel it in my bones. Now open your envelope."

"It's from the University of Chicago," Scott said as he tore it open. "With an itemized list of the expenses I claimed, and a check for twelve hundred dollars. How about that!"

"I was pleasantly surprised," Mr. Piotrowski said. "I thought we might not see any money out of them for months."

"You got a check too?"

He patted his shirt pocket, "I did indeed."

"What do we do now?"

"You have some phone calls to make," Mr. Piotrowski said.

Scott called the judge who insisted that they have their quarterly lunch soon.

"How about I come by the courthouse one day during the week?" Scott suggested. "I've got morning class at the extension college. The only reason I'm eating lunch at the school is because it's convenient."

The judge checked his calendar, "How about Wednesday the 12th?"

"Yes, sir. That would be perfect."

The call to Honour was even quicker. She told him they were on for Saturday.

Thursday morning, Scott rode the Yamaha into town with the intention of running errands after school. English Composition class changed his mind. He needed to clear his head instead. He enjoyed getting on his bike and riding away from school in the middle of the day. He remembered what Honour said about a new phone so he headed over to the electronics store.

He was shocked at what he found. Lewis Heating and Air was closed and the lights were off. There was a paper note taped to the front door. It said they had closed for good, and directed customers to a rival business across town. The Lewis Interiors store was closed as well, but had a big 'Under New Management' banner.

Scott went into the electronics store.

"When did all of that happen?" he asked pointing next door.

"Buy something or get out," was the quick reply from the owner.

"You've taken a customer relations class since the last time I was in."

"Screw you," the man muttered.

"I wanted to upgrade my phone, mostly to get internet, what can you suggest?"

"Order one of those new iPhones online, or get one in Midland."

Scott waited for the man to say something else, but the eccentric store owner turned back to what he'd been working on when Scott walked in.

"Thanks for the information, I guess," Scott said. It didn't hurt to be polite, "Have a nice day."

"Fuck off," the man said in parting.

Scott started laughing as soon as he hit the parking lot. That crazy guy was still in business, and the Lewises were gone.

Saturday, September 8, 2007

He didn't know if he was more surprised to find that Honour had cleaned out the interior of her car, or that she headed north out of town instead of driving to the airport.

"We have a meeting in Midland," she explained.

Scott settled in for the drive. He was about ready to close his eyes for a short nap when Honour decided that she wanted to talk.

"How's school?" she asked.

"It's okay," Scott replied, trying to stifle a yawn. "I spend the first part of my day over at the extension campus, but I only have one class and the professor isn't going to win any educator of the year awards. Then I spend my afternoons at the high school. The classes are okay, but it's odd going from the college atmosphere back to high school rules and assigned seating."

"How are things with the girlfriend?" she asked.

"Glacial."

Honour smiled and shook her head.

"Who are we going to see in Midland?" he asked.

"I called an old friend earlier this week," Honour began to explain. "He's a judge I clerked for out of law school. He's retired and living near Austin now. I guess you could say he was my mentor. I gave him a hypothetical about a financial situation and he got me an introduction to a power player in Midland."

Scott had long ago figured out that part of being a lawyer was the ability to answer a question without actually answering, and Honour was clearly a great lawyer.

"Have you told any of your friends about the money?" Honour asked.

"I haven't told anybody," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"You need to be careful," she answered.

"Go on."

"Money makes people do crazy things. When I was a freshman in college I had a roommate. She came from a really wealthy family and she liked to drink a lot. She always used to say that when people found out she had money they would kiss her ass, and when they found out that she had a lot of money they would kiss both cheeks."

"So what happened to her?"

"She transferred to another school and I never saw her again."

Scott squeezed the bridge of his nose and tried to figure out where the conversation was going.

Honour continued, "What I'm trying to say is that you need to be careful with what you tell people. Money will make friends act differently. Strangers will want to be your friend, but for all the wrong reasons. And women, women will want all kinds of things from you."

The car was silent while each thought about what they wanted to say. They stuck to small talk all the rest of the way to Midland.

Honour parked on the street in front of a stately building that looked like it belonged to an earlier time. It was five stories tall, dressed in stone with grand windows, and detailed tile work topping the doors and the roofline. There were few people around since it was early Saturday morning. Scott and Honour's footsteps echoed as they walked into the ornate lobby.

They were shown to an office on the top floor. It was spacious, but warmly appointed. There were several different seating areas. Wood paneling and leather chairs were prominent. One wall was dominated by a large oil-on-canvas painting depicting a cowboy sitting astride a horse. The cowboy was casually holding a rifle while he surveyed a distant herd of buffalo.

The man they were there to meet walked into the room. His eyes quickly assessed his guests. He had streaks of silver in his hair, but Scott had trouble pinning down his age. He was dressed casually and wore a pair of boots.

"I'm Everett Wahl. You were able to find us without trouble?"

"I'm Honour Black, and this is my client, Scott MacIntyre. The directions were very clear, thank you."

"Why don't we have a seat?" the man asked as he steered them toward his desk. "Comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you," Honour said as she set her portfolio on her knee.

Mr. Wahl scratched an ear and looked closely at them. "I'll admit I'm intrigued. When an old friend of the firm calls and suggests that we take a meeting, people listen. Particularly when this friend is not prone to asking for favors."

Honour smiled politely.

"You are in need of financial guidance, and I take it that you have explored other options?"

Honour explained, in general terms, their visits to Dallas and Houston and how she had not been satisfied with any of the meetings.

"What kind of numbers are we talking about?" Mr. Wahl inquired.

"Let's say it's a seven figure conversation," Honour replied.

Mr. Wahl tapped a finger against his desk absently. He turned and looked at Scott, "What do you know about Midland?"

Scott glanced at Honour before he replied, "It's a town built on oil."

"Yes, oil. Boom and bust, that describes Midland wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"The people you've visited represent specialty service groups working within large banking firms like JP Morgan or Bank of America, and so forth. They're fine institutions with far reaching resources. You could do very well by them."

There was silence as the moment stretched out.

"I found them lacking," Honour said.

"You found them lacking," Mr. Wahl echoed. "You know what sets our group apart? Boom or bust, we have endured for over a hundred years. We do not accept walk in clients, and we are not going to double your money in six months."

"What is the name of your company?" Scott asked. "It's not on the building."

Mr. Wahl's eyes gleamed, "That's by design. We're called the Western Group. At our founding there was an Eastern Group, and a Southern Group. One has long since been absorbed by a conglomerate, and the other ceased to exist when certain governments turned unfriendly in the southern hemisphere. You won't find our name in the trade papers. We pride ourselves on our discretion and our service to our clients."

"How many clients do you have?"

Mr. Wahl considered him for a moment, "I personally represent sixteen clients. I intended to interview you, but now you are interviewing me and we've veered into confidential territory. I think if we are to continue, we should put our cards on the table."

"Would you accept me as a client?"

Mr. Wahl's mouth twitched while he tried to suppress a smile. "As a favor to our mutual friend, I think the firm could be persuaded to take your account on."

Honour looked at Scott and raised an eyebrow, "What do you think?"

Scott thought it over. He liked what he had seen and heard. He closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated. He opened his eyes, "What do you think the cowboy is thinking?"

Honour looked confused while Mr. Wahl smiled and started to chuckle. He sat up in his chair.

"Everybody seems to have an opinion. I've changed my own mind over the years."

Honour turned to look at the painting.

Mr. Wahl folded his hands, "When I was younger I thought he was a hunter, but I discovered that's not how buffalo hunters dressed. For many years I told people I thought he was protecting the herd."

"And now?" Scott asked.

"Now I think he's sad because he knows what will happen to the buffalo. What do you think it means?"

Scott chewed on his lip, "I think he's on a journey and he stumbled across the buffalo, but doesn't know what do."

"Interesting," Mr. Wahl commented.

Scott looked at Honour and nodded.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes."

Honour took out several different folders. She handed two of the largest to Mr. Wahl.

Mr. Wahl took a pair of reading glasses from his desk drawer and put them on. He turned his desk lamp on and opened the folders. He looked at Honour and returned to the documents. He flipped through the pages and took out a pad from his desk drawer. He made several notes.

"This is considerably larger than seven figures," he said looking at Honour. "And do you know when this document was signed?" he said looking at Scott.

"Approximately, yes."

"Do you understand that your lawyer has had total control over these assets? She could have transferred them and you wouldn't have been able to do a thing to stop her."