The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen (27 page)

“Are you trying to make me nervous, Mrs. Redgrave?”

“No. But you should be.”

“Excuse us,” a voice called into the room.

Graham jumped.

A woman and a man—both younger than Graham—were standing in the doorway, smiling. “Mrs. Redgrave,” the woman said cheerfully as they stepped into the room. “Hi. I’m Kayla. We met once before. You probably don’t remember me.” She giggled shyly. “And you must be Graham Senden.” She smiled at Graham, then placed a hand softly on the arm of the man standing next to her. “This is Jalen.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jalen said with a casual smile.

Kayla was unquestionably pretty. Faceful of freckles and hair that was long and rebellious. Graham barely noticed Jalen. Dark skin. Dark hair. Pretty girl and a big guy. He couldn’t control where his eyes were drawn to.

“Lofton wanted us to tell you he will be with you momentarily and that he apologizes for his lateness,” Kayla said. Her voice was high, girlish.

Graham gave Connie a look as if to say
these are the people I’m not supposed to underestimate?
They looked like interns. Maybe they were. But would an intern call Lofton Ashfield by his first name?

Two men entered the room, one behind the other. The first man was tall, the other short. The taller man—Graham recognized him as Lofton—nodded at Kayla and she and Jalen went swiftly to the doorway and out into the hall.

“Connie,” Lofton said brightly, coming over to her. He was tall and lean with broad, square shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist. His pale blue eyes seemed to radiate as he smiled at her. Graham knew he was forty (he’d done his research), but his face was ageless—he could pass for twenty-eight or forty-eight. He leaned in gracefully and kissed her on the cheek.

“Mr. Ashfield,” Connie said, beaming. “It’s so good to see you again. It’s been too long. Thank you so much for allowing us to meet with you.”

“Connie, please call me Lofton,” he said chidingly and gave her a slightly uneven smile. “Haven’t we gone through this before?”

“Of course.” Connie turned to Graham. “This is Graham Senden.”

Graham was suddenly nervous and it took him a moment to find his voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ashfield.” Graham extended his hand, wishing he’d wiped his palm off on his pants.

Lofton smiled and shook it. If he thought it was clammy, it didn’t show on his face. “Pleasure to meet you, Graham. And that goes for you too.
Lofton.
Please call me Lofton. I’ll consider it an insult if you don’t.” He turned his head and nodded at the little man standing beside him. “This is Devory Portier.”

“It’s very nice to see you again, Connie.” Devory kept his hands at his sides. “Nice to meet you, Graham.” He motioned at the chairs. “I hope this is acceptable. Oh”—he pressed a hand to his chest and shook his head as if chagrined—“I’m afraid Mr. Ashfield only has ten minutes this morning.” He bowed stiffly and turned around, then crossed the room to the back wall where he remained standing between paintings depicting the Duomo in Florence.

Ten minutes,
Graham thought in disgust.
Typical inconsiderate rich asshole.

“You obviously know why the station requested an interview,” Connie said to Lofton. “But instead of jumping right in, I thought I would ask you a few unrelated questions—background questions. Would you be amenable to that?”

Lofton smiled and settled into a chair. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. Shall we begin then?”

Connie sat down in the other chair, crossed her legs and turned her shoulders a few degrees toward Lofton. Graham had taken his position behind the camera and had already turned it on. If he missed something, he would lose his job—
both jobs.
Connie looked up at Graham and gave him a quick nod—the signal that wasn’t necessary. Then she stared directly at the camera, smiled and with a practiced, velvety tone said: “This is Connie Redgrave with channel eight news. I’m here today with Lofton Ashfield, the president and CEO of AshCorp. How are you doing Mr. Ashfield?”

“Very well, Connie. Thank you. And please—call me Lofton. I insist.”

“Lofton.” She smiled, her cheeks going pink, if not quite red, through the studio makeup. “We conducted an online viewer poll this past week. We called it ‘what would you ask Lofton Ashfield’. And one question that finished very high in the poll, and one I’m very curious about myself, is this: what was it like to become the CEO of a multinational conglomerate at the age of eighteen? When most people that age are graduating high school, you were already the head of one of the world’s largest corporations. How did you handle so much responsibility at such a young age?”

Lofton nodded at Connie, then turned his head to look straight at the camera. “It was certainly an incredible responsibility. A responsibility I never sought. When my parents and grandfather passed away in a terrible tragedy on my eighteenth birthday, I doubted everything. I had doubts about myself. I doubted my ability to lead an organization my grandfather and father had built stone by stone. At first, all my work, all my accomplishments, were to honor the memories of my family. But as time went on, and as AshCorp grew and expanded into new and exciting industries, I gradually became more focused on the future and less on the past. Healing is a long, painful process. But I’ve always found comfort—and great pride—in knowing that the organization my family built is stronger today than ever before. If they were here with me now, I know they would be very proud of my achievements.”

“And now that AshCorp has reached such staggering heights, have you thought about exploring other challenges? Would you consider, for example, running for… public office?”

“How did I know you were going to ask that question?” Lofton said, smiling.

Connie laughed lightly. “Our viewers would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

“That’s really a question only the public can answer.” Lofton folded his hands, resting them comfortably on his lap. “You see, the people define the issues that determine who represents them. Today, officials are elected based on their position on issues such as taxes, the economy and social security benefits. I would never minimize the importance of such matters, but I have always been, and will always be, an unapologetic idealist. I believe wholeheartedly that one day society will be free from war and violence, free from disease, free from poverty, and free from corruption.

“One day, the people of this country—the people of all the countries of the world—will wake up and realize that we’re capable of so much more. I truly believe one day we’ll be committed to sharing the wealth of the world with all of its inhabitants—not just the few who make the rules. And my critics can say what they want about me, but I have faith there will come a time when we’ll truly be committed to living in a world where airplanes are not used as weapons that crash into our places of work, where our defenseless children are not gunned down in our schools, and where our citizens are not killed and maimed simply for exercising their right to congregate in public places. One day, we will live without fear. When the people stand up and demand that world—when they demand to live in a world without fear—I will… well, I will gladly do everything in my power to give them what they ask for.” Lofton chuckled. “I’m a lone idealist—a lone humanist—in a world of compromisers and cynics. And I promise you, I will never change.”

Graham looked up from the camera. He
liked
this guy. He liked him a lot. He felt like Lofton was speaking to him, like they were the only two people in the room. The truth in Lofton’s words was irrefutable:
A world without fear.
How incredible would it be to live in a world where he didn’t have to worry about some lunatic shooting up his family at work or at the mall or at a parade? Or crumbling under the weight of his
life’s burden
? Graham
was
afraid. Afraid of the future. Afraid of everything. But Lofton could take that fear away. Graham
wanted
Lofton’s world; he wanted it very badly.

Connie nodded and smiled. “I know that message resonates with millions of people in this country and abroad. But when you speak of a world that is free from war, how do you explain your own company manufacturing the most sophisticated weapons that have ever been developed? While AshCorp’s accomplishments in medicine, biotechnology, and alternative energy are all lauded, a recent article in a major publication criticized AshCorp for engineering weapons of war. If you could speak to your critics on that subject what would you say?”

“I genuinely appreciate the opportunity to address this issue,” Lofton replied solemnly. “Nothing would give me more pleasure than to permanently shut down my weapons manufacturing division. But unfortunately, not everyone shares my ideals for a world built on peace, prosperity and equality. There will always be those who are unwilling to act for the greater good; individuals who sacrifice their own communities—and humanity’s evolution—in the name of impoverished, self-serving philosophies that have no place in our future. Using weapons is not always a sign of weakness. Sometimes it’s the only language that’s understood by those who are the enemies of everything we should be striving for.”

“I… I… see,” Connie sputtered out. Then she fell silent. No follow-up question. Her eyes looked distant, her face soft and old, a grandmother lapsing off into a fond memory from the distant past.

“Mrs. Redgrave,” Graham hissed as he hit the off switch. “Mrs. Redgrave!”

Connie shook her head groggily and looked up at Graham. She blinked and gave him the
cut
sign.

“Are you okay?” Lofton asked her, concerned. “Would you like a glass of water?”

“No. No, I’m fine. I’m sorry, Mr. Ashfield—
Lofton.
Just a little tired, I think.” Her eyes cleared and she straightened up in her chair. She flicked a glance at her watch and then at Devory. Time was running out. “If it’s okay, I’ll resume with the recent investigations on your property.”

“Of course,” Lofton said.

Graham had the camera back on before she gave him the nod.

“Thank you, Lofton. As you’re obviously aware, two bodies were discovered this past summer in Ashfield Forest. And subsequent to that event, five people have been reported missing, all thought to be in the vicinity of Ashfield Forest at the time of their disappearances. Can you tell us about your involvement in these matters and what you’ve been able to do to assist the authorities?”

“First, I would like to say my heart goes out to the families and friends of the young couple who died before their time. It’s such a terrible tragedy when a life is cut short. And with respect to the five missing individuals, we should not give up hope. The collective hope of the people is a powerful force in times like these.” Lofton paused, frowning slightly as if he was reflecting on the meaning of his own words. Then he steepled his fingers, his index fingers touching the underside of his chin. “I have offered my full cooperation to the authorities. They have unfettered access to my lands. From the very beginning, my security personnel have assisted the Portland PD, the state police and local volunteers with the search efforts.”

Connie nodded gravely. “But even with your full cooperation, we seem no closer to understanding what may have happened. Do you have any insights?”

“I hate to speculate, Connie. But I will tell you what I have already told the authorities. Ashfield Forest is not an amusement park. It is hundreds of square miles of wilderness—some of the most rugged and densely wooded terrain in North America. It’s also home to wild animals such as bears, mountain lions and wolves. The woods can be a dangerous place. So I implore the public to stay out of the forest. Please, for your own safety.”

In the back of the room, Devory coughed. Twice. Time was up.

“That’s very good advice, Lofton,” Connie finished up quickly. “Thank you for your time. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you today.”

“The pleasure’s been mine. Thank you.”

Connie raised her eyes to Graham and gave him a smile—half joy, half relief. Graham, on the other hand, felt like he was high, or in love, or both. He didn’t want the interview to be over. He wanted Lofton to keep talking. His scalp was tingling, so he ran a hand over it, but it only seemed to spread. Goosebumps slithered up his arms and raced up his back. An idea came to him: Maybe Lofton needed his help? Maybe he had a political action committee or something like that and was looking for volunteers? He took two steps toward Lofton before he felt a hand on his arm.

“We’ll take you down to the lobby when you’re ready.” It was Kayla. Graham hadn’t noticed her and Jalen re-entering the room. She was smiling, but there was something in her voice that made him think it was time to go.

Connie was thanking Lofton again for his time. Graham hesitated, and then began to gather up his equipment. Lofton was telling Connie she was a consummate professional. Jalen asked Graham if he needed help with his bags. Devory came over and said something to Connie about approving the copy before it aired. Something about the
usual procedures
. And then Kayla took Graham by the arm again and led him out of the room. Connie was behind him with Jalen as her escort. Kayla was talking to him and smiling and asking him about his wife and if he had kids. He could only manage a wavering smile in return, and before he knew it, they were in an elevator and going down. Lofton, he imagined, was still in his treehouse.

*   *   *

Lofton stood at the window, looking out, hands in his pockets.

“I think that went well,” Devory said.

Lofton didn’t respond.

The sound of raindrops drifting against the glass filled the silence.

“Is something troubling you?” Devory asked. “Is it Mr. Rathman?”

“Dirk?” Lofton said. “Dirk has waited his whole life for this, and I’ve waited a very long time for someone like him to come along. This was the role he was born to play. I have no reservations about his abilities or his commitment.”

Devory looked up at Lofton and began to say something, but then appeared to reconsider and stopped himself short.