Jonathan stared out the window of his office on the third floor of the Truman building. It was the highest floor of the odd-shaped structure, which was saying something for Danville. The shape was odd because it didn’t exactly fit the design standards of buildings. It wasn’t rectangular or square-shaped. Even a circle would’ve been a considerable improvement. But this structure was cut up into funny angles that didn’t make much sense, even from a design standpoint. Whoever the architect was was either certifiably insane or an eccentric genius! Not that Jonathan concerned himself with such things. The truth was he didn’t really care that his office window looked down over the second-floor lounge. He didn’t care for the smokers below, but it was better than having them stand in front of the bank. That wasn’t something the old man would tolerate, nor would Jonathan.

The phone on his desk lit up, an angry red flashing light indicating an incoming call. The shrill sound of the ringing phone snapped him out of his daydreaming. “Good morning. This is Jonathan,” he answered. “Yes, sir. I know, believe me. I’m married to her,” he laughed. “Yes. I’m glad she opened her accounts with us, too.” He nodded, listening to the voice on the other end. His administrative assistant, one of three coordinating his daily schedule, walked deftly into the office without a sound, sliding a document and a manilla folder onto his empty desk. Jonathan hated clutter more than people who smoked. Even he thought it was a bit ironic since he had stopped smoking cigars less than two months ago. His hand covered the receiver, and he mouthed, “What is all this?” She pointed to the document and mouthed back, “Important. Read it,” and used her fingers to gesture from her eyes to the paper. The voice on the other end must’ve said something to startle him from his impromptu deaf conversation with his admin. “I’m sorry, what? Say that again.” His face turned ghostly white. “No, sir. I understand. We will see to it that it happens. Why is it so important?” Now, his face turned from ghost-white to beet red. “Yes. No, sir. It will happen. Yes. No more questions. Thank you. Good-bye.” His administrative assistant had already walked out without so much as a sound.

He looked down at the single piece of paper. It was a formal memorandum specifically addressing a research team. Highlighted on the document were three words: Helping Hands Network. Emily’s newly formed not-for-profit organization was thriving in ways not even Jonathan and his business acumen could understand. There was no way that a 501(c)3 could do that well, that fast. It was financially impossible. Then again, Emily didn’t know it was impossible. Nothing was impossible for her. Jonathan knew Emily’s Helping Hands Network could potentially damage his newest investment unless he could convince her to use and stage the warehouse as the staging area for all of her distribution. Helping Hands Network was very close to netting over a million dollars barely six months after its inception. With the organization’s current return on investment, or ROI, she’d have a nonprofit that would generate more than 3 million a year for the foreseeable future. Jonathan was more than frustrated with his bride – he was furious that she hadn’t turned her investment opportunity into a for-profit business.

Not that he, her, and their son weren’t set for life. But this? This wasn’t something he was okay with. Jonathan felt it was his for the taking when money would be made! He crushed the paper with both hands, crinkling it tightly into a ball and slamming it into the waste basket on his desk’s left side. It gave him a slight sense of satisfaction. The blank manilla file folder sat, waiting for his eyes to glance through it. Opening it, he read the first page. His researchers needed a facility to work and conduct their experiments, and their specifications followed on the subsequent pages. He quickly scanned through the documents, reading the dimensions of the space needed for their lab equipment, space for experiments, and the required electrical output.

He closed the folder, a smile slowly spreading across his face. He knew where to put his research teams and provide Emily the perfect warehouse space for Helping Hands Network – a field on the other side of the Crow Canyon hill.

Jonathan picked up his cell phone, ready to quickly type a message to another of his administrative assistants. All three of his assistants were easily reachable and had total access to his email addresses and calendars. It was rare for all three to be in the exact location. That’s why he hired all of them: Sally Grahm, Heather Lambert, and Jared West. Sally was fresh out of college, a straight-A graduate from Northwestern, with a memory that matched most of those who played professional chess, a game she was adept at playing. Her organizational skills are what caught Jonathan’s attention. She wanted to work at the bank, eventually working her way up into executive leadership.

To Be Continued . . .