Jasper spent more hours at the Harrow Club than some of the club’s guests. As the maître d’, he knew how to attend to all the staff and the club’s patrons. He was gifted with an uncanny ability to understand what someone needed before they asked. His mother, a prim and proper servant of the Royal household in the early sixties, did very well for herself and her son before she retired with a highly generous benefits package. Jasper’s mother met the Queen once. Clinging to the memory, she recounted it as often as possible, afraid that one day she would come to find out that it was only a dream. Thankfully, one photograph of her encounter enshrined the visit in the emulsified paper. She and Jasper moved to America, where he began working as a dishwasher for some of the poshest 3-star restaurants in New York. Before long, Jasper gained a reputation as a man who knew how to work hard and keep guests happy. He and his mother lived in New York until she passed away in the latter half of the 1990s, living to be almost one hundred years old.

After the death of his mother, Jasper wanted to see more of America than New York. Twenty years of living in the city fueled his craving to see mountains, hills, and the ocean, specifically the Pacific Ocean. He worked for many prestigious hotels, ending his time in New York working for the Ritz-Carlton.

Jasper didn’t drive, didn’t know how, and had no desire to learn. Instead, he navigated all over New York using public transportation. Even though it was less than ideal and not as glamorous as riding in a cab, it helped save a ton on gasoline, parking, and vehicle maintenance. His research of the best cities in the nation close to beaches and mountains brought him to Portland, Oregon, touted as the best public transit system in the United States.

Jasper arrived at the Harrow Club, unlocking the front doors and preparing for the guests. The club was closed from 10 PM each night until 11 AM the following morning. From 10 PM until 1 AM, a cleaning crew scrubbed down the club’s interior, scouring every surface. No one on that crew made less than a thousand dollars an hour, most making a little over three thousand dollars a night. No one stood around. No one wasn’t moving for the entirety of the three-hour shift. And no one was inside the building after 1 AM. Jasper didn’t know how much the dues were, but he guessed it had to be over fifteen thousand dollars a month.

“Harrow Club. How can I help you?” Jasper immediately knew the voice on the phone, Jim Barton. Jim was a real estate mogul. He was very wealthy and worked on divesting multiple properties, reinvesting in various companies to solidify his financial position. Jasper knew what he was after, considering Jim’s initial investment made the Harrow Club a Portland hot spot.

“Hi, Jasper. It’s Jim Barton.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Barton. How can I assist you today?”

“Tell me, is James Penrose a member?”

Jasper reviewed the day’s schedule while listening to Mr. Barton, observing on the calendar that two of his best servers were on vacation starting today, and a third called out sick. The club would manage without them, but Jasper knew it would be more stressful than usual. Mr. Penrose and his guests were seated three minutes after 11 AM in the main dining area of the club. 

“Oh, Mr. Barton, I’d love to help you, sir. But, sir. You do know our policy.” The rote answer for anyone asking about the club members was, ‘I don’t know.’ Admit nothing. Don’t tell anyone anything. It was club policy to maintain privacy under all circumstances. Not even the police could subpoena the roster, thanks to a few attorneys well-versed in laws protecting private clubs. The courts could not demand to see a list of the club’s members unless a crime was committed on the premises by a club member. It was the best catch-22 ever; if you didn’t know a club member, you didn’t know if a club member committed a crime on private property. Carte blanche immunity. As of yet, no one has attempted to test the statute of those laws. Nor were they likely to.

“Yes, Jasper. Thank you, I do. I helped write them.”

“Ah. Yes, sir. Well.”

“Just say yes or no, Jasper. Yes, he’s there. No, he’s not.” Jasper knew Mr. Barton, his connection to the club, and his reputation to fire anyone employed by the club on a whim. He didn’t want to be an unemployment statistic.

“Excellent, sir.” Jasper paused for a moment, thinking whether or not he should violate the club’s privacy. He chose employment and security over privacy. At least this time. “In that case, yes.”

“Expect me in ten minutes.”

“Will you be dining alone, sir?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“My pleasure, sir. See you in a minute.”