Page 2 of Conquered
She checked her inventory of sandwiches inside the refrigerated cooler and made a mental note to stock up onFrench Ham and Cheese Sandwiches, which was always a crowd pleaser. The countertop condiments needed to be filled with salad greens, onions, and tomatoes. She had a lot of slicing and dicing to do.
She reached for a deep metal mixing bowl, heaved a small sack of flour and headed to the preparation table.
“Eggs, I need eggs… and where did I leave the olive oil,” she muttered as she headed to the kitchen at the back. She found what she was looking for and gathered all ingredients for making bread. Her Italian blood dictated that she make them from scratch and not settle for the ready-to-eat kind from the supermarket.
Working with her hands always calmed her. And she loved to bake, a trait she may have inherited from the Italian side of the family she never really met.
***
83 miles away, in an extraordinary residence sitting on 10 acres of land, dawn light had triumphed. An oceanfront estate, regarded by many as the finest in all of the Hamptons, stood like a silent sentinel. A series of decks and patios led to the red dunes onto a private sandy beach. Two custom swimming pools and a sunken all-weather tennis court were invisible from the highway by hedged lawns.
Inside the master’s bedroom, a double king-sized bed dominated the space while glass windows leading to the patio provided an unobstructed view of the ocean and the ceaseless waves. A solitary figure stood on the patio, unmindful of the chilly wind on his naked body. Security cameras manned on an 8-hour basis guaranteed complete privacy. The men were paid well to understand that discretion was a value topping the list.
The master of the house stared out into the ocean, the breeze gently ruffling his hair. He missed the long mane he used to have but admitted that this current look added character to his personality. It was a concession he made to the committee - one of many.
Hunter Blackwell was a man who answered to no one, except to his dad, whom he idolized. Blackwell Senior was a self-made man who hardly finished high school but possessed a keen sense of perception that made everything he touched turn into gold. With an initial investment of $100, he made his first big profit and earned half a million in the stock market. He decided to try his luck in a stock-trading firm as an investment career, and quintupled his net worth as he adhered to a philosophy of long-term value investing. His next move caught his associates by surprise when he invested all of his wealth into the mining sector. That move made him one of the richest men in America under the age of 40.
His only son and heir, Hunter, took over the reins of the family fortune after finishing a Masters in Finance from Harvard University. The business acumen of the old man was passed on to the equally brilliant son who took risks lesser mortals would never consider. Hunter diversified into electronics, shipping, real estate, hotel industry and other businesses.
Money can buy you material happiness. But only in serving people can you ever experience true self –fulfillment.
The memory ofthat mantra his dad used to say was more poignant today while Hunter stared out into the blue beyond. As a young boy when his dad would bring him to school, they passed by tenement houses and saw other boys his age out in the streets.
“Why aren’t they in school, dad?”
“I guess school doesn’t work for them, son.”
“Why?’
“Maybe just being out on the street makes them happy.”
“School makes them sad?”
“Maybe. Or they find school boring.”
“When I grow up I will make school exciting for everyone so that every kid will want to go.”
The old man looked fondly at the solemn boy and replied, “Yes, you do that son.”
Running for senator was the beginning of Hunter’s journey to self-fulfillment. He had a vision of the change he wanted. But it wasn’t easy. He realized that now.
Last night, he had to summon every ounce of restraint not to tell all of them to go to hell. He wanted to walk out of the meeting and shut the door in their faces. But he exercised restraint because he wanted that nomination more than anything else in the world.
Hunter knew they meant well. To the world, he was the epitome of confidence and cockiness. He exuded power because he earned it. Deep inside, he was sensitive when it came to his private life, even if that life was constant fodder for gossip by the media. A string of celebrity girlfriends, wild partying, his homes, fleet of cars, even his Gulfstream jet – they all made the news.
He wondered what the old stiffs would think seeing him stand naked on the patio of his home.
Or the blond sleeping on his bed? Shit.
He couldn’t even remember her name. A revolt sprouted in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t give a fuck what they thought. The juvenile side of him blamed them for the blonde’s presence.
Last night, he needed to release the frustration that sprung after being told to change his lifestyle and settle down…if he wanted to run for senator.
That was the reason he stopped by the bar on his way home. Their eyes met as he ordered his whiskey. The rest of the night was predictable.
Hunter sighed.
Normally, sex managed to invigorate him, made him feel alive and ready to meet any challenge. Except now, he was just a ball of energy waiting to explode.
Maybe the old men were right. He needed to change something in his life. After all, random sex with strange women only confirmed what the council thought. And what could be more random than not even remembering the name of the girl he slept with.
He crept back silently into the room, not wanting to rouse the sleeping girl. His team would know what to do when she woke up. He pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped both feet into a pair of sneakers. Pulling a white shirt from the pile in his closet, he grabbed the key of the Audi and tiptoed out of the room.