Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult, Teenagers, Consensual, Hypnosis, Slavery, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Fiction, School, Sports, Workplace, Incest, Harem, Polygamy/Polyamory, Swinging, Safe Sex, Nudism, Politics, Violent,
Desc: Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A teenager boy suffers a huge loss of family and starts to coast through life. Events happen to him, and they cause him to learn things and decide to join life again. This is an adventure story, but does have more too it than that. Most of the sex scenes are in the first quarter of the story and contribute to some sub-plots and show changes in Al's behaviour. The sex content has been reduced, story is now 273,000 words. It involves sport and school too.
Entering the classroom of my new school I try to look calm, casual, and cool. I’m a little apprehensive while thinking, Maybe selecting this school out of all the schools in Frederick wasn’t such a good idea? All the other students are seated, and I’ve a choice of five empty desks. Applying my usual rule of being hidden in open view I head for the only vacant desk in the front row: it’s the second desk from the window, and right in front of the teacher’s desk. The fact a nice looking red-haired girl is in the window seat of the front row makes it a very easy choice to make.
Although nervous about the school, due to an unsettling encounter this morning, plus some things I saw yesterday, I’m not prepared for the way the students’ expressions change from interest to disdain or hate when it becomes obvious which seat I’m heading to. Even the teacher raises an eyebrow when I put my bag down to sit in the chair. The girl has a very surprised look on her face when I say, “Good morning.”
The teacher glances around the room, then picks up her roll book, and says, “I take it you’re the new student expected yesterday - Allen Adams. You best stand and tell us about yourself.”
Due to my misgivings about the school I give her a small smile when I stand, “Yes, I’m Allyn Adams. It’s Welsh, and pronounced with a drawn out ‘A’ sound as Aa-lyn - not Al-n, but most people call me Al. As you can tell by my accent, I’m Australian. I didn’t ride a kangaroo to school; I went by bus, like the rest. My father’s here on a five year contract as an adviser with a security company. We live in a hotel while looking for permanent housing. Yesterday was spent doing exams because the school had me do tests to enter the classes I listed for. I give fair warning - I’m a militant pacifist. Which means I’ll take some steps to avoid any physical confrontation, but I won’t stand for anyone picking on my family, or friends, or bullying. I prefer to avoid fights, if I can, but when pushed hard, or confronted with bullying, I strike hard, fast, and ruthlessly. My sole intent is to be very quick to put the other person down and out of the fight in the long term. So, if you’re thinking of picking on me, I strongly suggest you think again. I’m here to learn, and to get a diploma so I can go to university. I think you call it college.” I nod at the teacher, and I sit down again. From her expression it’s clear she didn’t expect a speech like that, but she’ll learn about me as we get to know each other. I notice some students are taking a good look at my well-muscled body while my above average height is also a concern for some of them.
She says, “I’m Miss Waters, and this class is the advanced class in American History. I do hope you’ve been able to study the previous years’ work, because it’s needed to do well in this class.” I nod yes, to show I had. Studying for this class plus the US Civics and Government class is most of what I’ve done since Dad said he was taking a job in the USA some months ago. I was able to get the syllabus and class studies information through the US Embassy in Canberra when Dad made the decision to take the job offer. She adds, “Am I right to assume you’ve had an altercation today?” I nod yes again. She gives a slow nod while she picks up her book, “Right, a check on yesterday’s work. Why was the invention of the Cotton Gin so important to the economy of the Southern states?” And, thus, my first US class lesson starts.
We’re all quick to leave the room when the bell goes, heading to our next classes. Being unfamiliar with the school I’m soon passed by the other students hurrying about, because they know where they’re going while I make my slow way by following the map I was given yesterday morning. I’m the last to enter the room for the double period of Advanced Mathematics class, to find the same girl sitting in the same spot by herself, and many of the other students are from the last class. Shrugging, I walk over to sit down beside her again, getting an odd look from this teacher, too. He asks my name, and checks off the roll when I give it. Math is the same the world over, so this class is no problem.
The next bell signals the start of lunch at noon, so I head for the school cafeteria where I buy a lunch of two salad sandwiches with a fruit juice. Looking around I see plenty of empty seats guarded with ‘keep away’ glares from the few people already at the tables. The only non-hostile table is one at the back wall with the red-haired girl sitting by herself. So I walk over, and ask, “Mind if I join you for lunch?”
She glances up, shrugs, and says, “Why not! It’ll make a nice change, until someone tells you I’m the school pariah since my mother isn’t rich. I only get to come here because her employer pays for me to, and having me go to the same school their kids go to makes the transport easy on them; just the one car. The fees mean nothing to them.”
Pleased with her attitude I laugh, “I was the school pariah at my last school because my mother was seen as rich, due to owning a business. So far I prefer to be with the nice pariahs than with the not nice accepted crowd. I think the rest will class me with you, because my Dad works for a living. Oh, he’s well paid, but he can’t afford the fees to send me here. I’m only here because I chose this school on the advice of a friend who went here fifteen years ago, and he has some family here now.”
She gives me a questioning look while saying, “I’m Kathleen, Kath to my friends. Please call me Kath. If your Dad can’t afford to pay the fees, how come you’re here, then?”
“It’s a long story. You’ll need the whole lunch break.” She nods yes, so I take a deep breath, and start. “Dad is on a good wage, but my fees are paid by me via my trust fund. I put everything through the trust fund because it saves on taxes while it makes the overall management easier. As I said earlier, Mum was rich. However, she was killed several months ago in a car collision, along with the rest of my family. Dad was in the Army, and he was often away. Mum and Uncle Rob owned and managed a good business together. Aunt Betty, Rob’s wife, was a senior executive of the business, too. Two or three of the four were often away for work, so we sort of lived as a large family with four kids and four parents. That way there was always one parent around. As the oldest kid I was also kept busy looking after my younger sister and cousins; but it was more like had two sisters and a brother.”
My happy mood fades quite a bit while I talk of the past, “Anyway, they were all in the car together on the way home from a trip to a theme park a short drive out of Sydney. I was supposed to go along, but begged off on the day because I was trying to get a birthday present for my cousin Alice. She wanted a new album by her favourite band, and I had five copies on special order to be put aside by the local record store. One of the staff didn’t like me, so he sold my reserved copies to his mates. From the sales records the manager worked out who sold the reserved copies, and fired the person for selling them. That made me happy and him angry, but it didn’t get me the CDs. So I spent the day searching all over Sydney for a copy for Alice, and four more - I hoped: one for my sister Gwen’s birthday the next month, plus three for some good friends with birthdays due soon. I’d found four during the day while I spent six hours walking about twenty kilometres in and out of every possible store in the Sydney Central Business District, North Sydney, and a few other close suburbs. I took a taxi home about mid-afternoon because I was tired. I wasn’t surprised they hadn’t got home first, since Sunday afternoon traffic back into Sydney is always very heavy.”
“I put the albums away, and fixed myself a light meal. About seven that evening the doorbell chimed, it was the police.”
All of a sudden it’s like I’m transported back in time to that night when my memories swamp my mind to takeover my sensory input while I relive that terrible time during my recounting of the events, and I feel very depressed again. I’m no longer happy, not happy at all.
Living a Nightmare
The chimes are still ringing when I walk down the hall while I wonder who it can be calling, unexpected, at this time of a Sunday night. I open the door to see two police officers, one male and one female. The male officer, Harris, according to his name tag, asks, “Excuse me, is this the residence of Robyn Adams, Robert Evans, and Betty Evans?”
I nod yes while saying, “Yes, it is. They’re all out, and due back any moment.” Both seem to flinch a bit, and I wonder why.
“Is Mister Adams home?”
I wonder what’s up, “I’m the closest to a Mister Adams here, even if I’m only sixteen. Mum and Dad are in the middle of a divorce, and Dad is overseas on duty with the Army right now. So I’m it.”
The female officer, Jenkins, by her name tag, says, “Oh, sorry. We didn’t know. Can we come in, please?” I nod yes while I point them toward the front lounge room, it’s reserved for visitors. I’m thinking hard. They enter, and I close the door before following them to the room. After we all sit down she says, “Are there any adults in the house or nearby?”
I gulp, because I now suspect there’s a big problem. I’ve seen far too many shows with police procedures that start with something like that. “No. What’s happened? Where are they?” I’m very worried now.
“I’m sorry, there’s been an accident. Their SUV was hit by a drunk.”
Standing up I go to the hall to get my coat, “Take me to them, now.” They glance at each other, and he starts to speak, it’s clear he’s about to refuse. I put all the command tone I can into my voice, “I said now!” They both sigh, and stand up. I show them to the front door, turning off lights and resetting the alarm as we leave. In the drive I get out my cell phone, and call the family solicitor, Mr Belling, to tell him what I know. When we near the police car I ask, “Where are they? Which hospital?”
Harris says, “Hornsby Hospital.” I nod thanks, and tell Mr Belling.
About half an hour later we arrive at the hospital to find Mr Belling just pulling up; he lives more north than we do. We enter the hospital with Senior Constable Harris leading. At one turn we take I notice Mr Belling glance over at Constable Jenkins. She nods yes, nods at me, and shakes her head no. I wonder what that’s all about, because Mr Belling goes very white while glancing at me, and nods. A moment later I know what it’s all about when we approach a set of doors marked ‘Morgue.’ My heart stutters while I think, Oh God no! Not this, not all of them.
My mind is almost numb when we walk into the chilled room. There are six cloth covered trolleys in the middle of the room with two staff beside one of them. One’s writing and the other is holding up the sheet while they look at the body and describe what they see. They look up at us when we walk in, and stop what they’re doing. I halt, and take several deep breaths while I go through calming routines to prepare myself to do what I’ve got to do, I owe it to those I love to do this right. So I clamp down on my emotions, clamp down hard, very hard.
After a moment I open my eyes again; to see them all watching me. I slowly nod yes to them, and so does Mr Billings. The staff fold back the sheets so we can see the faces. Although there’s bad bruising and cuts I can recognise Mum, Aunt Betty, Uncle Rob, Gwen, Robert Junior, and Alice. Steeling myself as best as I can I walk up to give each member of my family a gentle caress of the face when I say goodbye while naming them for the police and hospital staff. By the time I reach Alice at the end of the line I’ve got my emotions under a very, very, very tight control.
Turning to Mr Belling I say, “Please see to the paperwork, and get the details of how it happened.” He nods yes, and I turn to leave. Outside I stop and step aside while I get my cell phone out to ring Gramps.
Grandfather answers, and I say, “Gramps, turn the extra speaker off, please? I need to talk to you in private,” while I lean against the wall.
“Sorry, Al, the switch is broken, and it’s stuck in the on position. Anyway, your grandmother will kill me if I spoke to any of you kids on my own. So just go ahead and speak, I doubt there’s anything you can say we both shouldn’t know at once.”
I know it’s no use arguing with him when he’s in one of his moods, so I bite the bullet, and talk, “This afternoon there was a car accident on the way home from the theme park. I was the only one who didn’t go. They got hit by a drunk and are at Hornsby Hospital, in the Morgue.”
Silence. Then a squeaky, “All dead?”
A teary, “Yes, Gramps.” Two thuds, and silence. I shout, “Gramps, Gramps.” No answer. After hanging up I hit speed dial number eight to ring the medical emergency service for Gramps and Gran. They answer, “Client echo one six niner four, code blue, code blue! Heart attack while on phone to me! Don’t waste time trying to check, get going!”
I hear the emergency alert operator call to another, “Forget trying to check with echo one six niner four, roll the ambulance now.” There’s an indistinct response.
Then she says, “Thank you, Sir. I’ve got your number from the ID system, and I see you’re on the response list. Can you tell us why you think it’s a heart attack, please?” Mr Belling walks out, and joins me.
“I was informing them of the death of the rest of the family in a car accident, and I heard two loud thuds when they hit the floor with no reply from either when I shouted. I can only assume it’s a heart attack.”
“I wouldn’t be betting on any other cause, either. We’ll do what we can for them. You best look after yourself now, Sir.”
“Thank you, I’ve one more call to make.” I hang up, and hit speed dial six, then hear a long series of signals while the international satellite call is made. A woman’s voice answers with the phone number, and I say, “Urgent for Centre Two, please.”
A polite, “Sorry, out of office at the moment, Sir.”
“Centre One, please.”
“Also out of the office.”
“Then Centre Dingo One must be available.”
“Sorry, also out of office.”
“Can’t be, that’s in violation of S.O.P.s! Damn! Who’s in charge?”
I hear a muffled voice talking with someone else, they must have a hand over the phone. My emotions are starting to overwhelm me when a familiar voice says, “Excuse me, Sir, can I help you?”
The emotional shock is swelling up, and I’m losing control. I’m quick to blurt out, “Powder, Archie. Urgent for Centre Two. Blue fire, boomer, bang, goner, rushmore.” That’s it. Losing control I slide down the wall as the tears flow and I start to sob, but I got the essentials across to him.
Sergeant Steve ‘Powder’ Curry’s exclamation of “Shit,” sounds so far away. Constable Jenkins kneels down, and puts her arms around me when she tips my head on her shoulder while Mr Belling takes the phone out of my hand. I can see them while they move about, but they’re very slow, and then it all goes dim when I slip into a blessed blackness.
Sergeant Curry hands the phone to the soldier, “Corporal Sims, keep this line open with the person on the other end of the phone.” He turns, walks to the colonel’s office, knocks, and waits to be called in.
When he enters he gets glares from two Generals, the Colonel, the Major, and the regimental sergeant major while the Colonel says, “No disruptions, was that too hard to understand, Sergeant?”
“Sorry, Sir, but this is extremely urgent for the Major.” He turns to face Major Adams, “Sir, urgent phone call from Archie for you. He said ‘Blue fire, boomer, bang, goner, rushmore,’ then he totally lost control.”
Major Peter Adams and Colonel Barry Phillips both go white. The Major glances at the Colonel; he gets a small nod yes, and says, “James or Moore. I’ll have Sergeant Curry brief you when I know more about it.” Another nod from the Colonel, and Major Adams leaves the room while the Generals turn to look at the Colonel.
Colonel Phillips says, “Archie is a nickname for Major Adams’ son Al, initials AA, get it?” They both nod yes. “He’s very smart, and has never called the Major at work before. He has another nickname, some of the troops call him ‘Arctic,’ because he’s always cool and calm. The code words are old ones from a few years back. Essentially, they mean extreme urgency, mission aborted, abort all other operations, unit not effective, need major assistance for retrieval as we’re unable to move, casualties total. I take it to mean there’s an extreme family emergency involving multiple serious injuries. If that’s even partially true the Major won’t be of any use for this operation, because their family’s small. He’s suggested alternates.” He picks up the phone, and calls for Captain Moore to join the meeting as Major Adams’ replacement.
In the office Major Adams takes the phone from the corporal, and is given a full briefing by Mr Belling while nursing staff place Al on a gurney to wheel him away for an examination. After a check by a doctor they put him to bed, and keep him under observation for the night. After hanging up Adams briefs Sergeant Curry so he can tell the Colonel. Major Adams is soon very busy filling in forms for emergency leave and travel while Corporal Sims makes calls to organise his urgent travel home to Australia from Afghanistan. An hour later Major Adams has a bag in one hand, travel papers in the other, and is boarding a USAF plane heading to the USA via Darwin, Australia.
Note: AA is a common abbreviation for anti-aircraft fire. This was also nicknamed as ‘ack-ack’ and ‘Archie’ during World War One, and many people continue to use the nicknames today.
Waking up in a strange bed I can see it’s mid-morning by the sun. After a moment I realise I’m in a private room in a hospital. I lie there and wonder why, until the memory of last night catches up with me. I roll over, curl up, and start to wallow in self-pity while I cry again.
A little while later a young nurse comes in to take my pulse, etc. As she writes them on the chart she says, “Time you were up and showered. You can either smile at me and go have a shower, or I can get a male nurse to give you a bed bath. Your call.” I give her a smile, and start to get up. “I’ve seen nicer smiles on corpses, but it’ll do, today. You’ll have to do much better tomorrow, or it’s a bed bath by a hairy man.” She leads me down the hall to the shower, and sits down on a chair after putting a change of hospital pyjamas on a small table in the room. It’s clear I’m not going to be left alone, so I strip and get into the shower. I get out after a thorough wash, to find her holding up a large towel. I step up close to the towel, and she dries me, giving my skin a very vigorous rubbing with the towel while saying, “I’m rubbing hard as it invigorates the skin and gets the blood flowing. That should wake you up properly, and make you feel a bit better.” I nod at her explanation. Soon after I’m returned to the room she brings in a nice meal for me to eat. A little after the meal Mr Belling walks in, sits down, and starts talking about what happened.
A drunk had cut off a truck and slowed down by heavy braking. The truck driver tried to avoid an accident, but he had no room to brake hard. He hit the drunk’s car very hard, punching it into the next lane. The car crashed into the side of Rob’s large SUV. Hitting just behind the front wheel to push the SUV’s wheels off the road, across the emergency lane, and onto the grass at the roadside. Anywhere else it wouldn’t have been a problem, but the drunk’s car knocked the SUV off the road just at the approach to a bridge. The SUV was off the road and into the deep gully before Rob could react. My whole family, except Dad, dead while the drunk went to hospital because his car rammed the end of the barrier he’d pushed Rob past. The medical alert people in Brisbane advise Grandmother was dead on arrival at the hospital while Gramps is unconscious. The doctors are unsure if he’ll wake up or not. In either case, they don’t expect him to last the week. In less than a day I’ve gone from a family of ten to just Dad and me, since we can’t count my dying grandfather. What a bastard! He adds, “I explained it all to your father after you collapsed. He’s on his way home. He left soon after the call, and should be here late today or early tomorrow. You’re staying here until he arrives to sign you out.” I look at him, and am about to speak, but stop, and nod yes. I may as well stay here to keep everyone happy while the medical staff keep a close eye on me, as to go home and stay in a house that’s empty of everything except memories that are very hard to take right now. He smiles at my acceptance of his arrangements for me.
“What do you know about the drunk involved?”
He loses his smile, “This is his third drunk driving incident in four years. He’s still got a licence as the second one hasn’t gone to court yet.”
I feel my blood boil when a great rage goes through me at the fact such a bastard is still on the road. Mr Belling flinches when I look back at him. “I want that bastard’s arse; marinated, and well grilled. Sue the hell out of him, and include a motion to have all assets frozen until the case is over. I don’t want him moving things out of sight.” Mr Belling nods yes, and I take some deep slow breaths to calm down again. I stop to think while he writes. “Something else you’ll need to do.” He looks up. “My trust fund, I’ve been thinking of changing the rules for some time. I want full voting beneficiaries to be myself and my descendants, with non-voting non-blood beneficiaries if eighty percent, or more, of the voting beneficiaries approve them. The same percentage can also revoke their membership, and their descendants are not automatic beneficiaries. The trust manger must be a qualified licensed financial adviser and licensed trustee, but can’t be a beneficiary. The Trust Board is to have a maximum of ten members, the trust manager plus up to nine members who are full beneficiaries and are sixteen years of age, or older. In the case of a split vote the board chair has an extra vote. The chairperson to be the oldest beneficiary on the board, unless they don’t want to be the chairperson. Any full beneficiary sixteen years of age and older has a vote in electing members of the trust board, those twenty-five and older have a second vote, and those thirty and older have a third vote; that should provide a long term balance. Day to day running of the trust is in the hands of the manager under the direction of the chairperson. Together they’ve full control of all assets as directed in the quarterly board meetings. Each year the board will approve the manager’s salary for the next year, after it’s set by the chairperson. If the board or the manager disagree with the figure from the chairperson the matter is to go to an external arbiter to set the salary at a rate currently paid to people in jobs of similar responsibilities elsewhere in the industry. The board is to give an annual approval for the list of benefits to be paid, as set out by the manager and chairperson.”
He looks up, and smiles, “That’s neat. It gives you control of your assets now instead of waiting until you’re eighteen, and it’s legal. I take it all of the inheritances etcetera are to go into the trust too?” I nod yes. “Good. With your mother and uncle dead we need new trust managers. We can change the trust rules to ease the selection of new ones. By the end of the week you’ll be the chairman of the AREA Trust.” My full name is Allyn Robin Evans Adams. Mum’s name was Robyn Evans, she was proud of her Welsh ancestry, and her father wanted the Evans name to continue in all us kids, so I end up with a combination of both wishes. The trust is named after my initials. I nod again. “I’ll get my staff started on the paperwork. Is Bryce acceptable to you as the new trust manager?”
“Is Bryce’s public trustee sub-office doing well?” He shakes his head no. “I like Bryce, so having him as the trustee and manager is perfect, I know he’s good and meets the criteria. Why not have the sub-office and staff you’ve set up for Bryce become the AREA Trust offices and staff. As of today the cost of the downstairs area can be charged to the trust, and he has everything needed to do the job well. You’ll stay on as the trust solicitor, and as mine.” Mr Belling smiles, and nods agreement. We talk for about another hour while we iron out other details and matters. Mr Belling leaves when the nurse returns with another meal for me. Then I’m given a sleeping tablet to have me sleep some more to help deal with my stress from the events. I’m soon asleep after taking the tablet.
A different nurse wakes me up at after five thirty to have my dinner. After dinner, when I ask, I’m given a robe and taken to the children’s ward; but my nurse stays with me. It’s boring to be in a room by yourself with no good shows on television, no books, and nothing to do. I spend a nice hour or so playing games with the children in the ward.
At seven fifteen I walk out of the children’s ward with my nurse still following me. I see a doctor I know, the mother of a classmate. She has a very angry look when she charges out of an office, slamming the door behind her. I call out, “Alert all regions, very bad storm on the way.”
Doctor Rita Storm spins around snarling a retort, until she sees it’s me making the commentary. “Al! What the hell are you doing here?”
In a dry tone I say, “Observation! I’m on a suicide watch.” My nurse blushes, and Doc Rita looks puzzled. “Yesterday a drunken piece of shit killed Mum, Rob, Betty, Gwen, Alice, and Bobby. The news killed Gran and Gramps is in hospital, not expected to live. I did the formal ID in the morgue. When the shock caught up with me I collapsed, and got put to bed here. Now I can’t take a piss without a watchdog. I wouldn’t mind so much if she’d offer to hold it for me. But she just stands there watching me.” The nurse blushes again.
Rita’s eyes go wide while I speak, “Shit! I’m sorry, Al. And I thought I had problems. We usually don’t have nurses following people around, so you may be right about the suicide watch.”
“Speak to me about your problem. It may take my mind off mine.”
“I’ve a young girl with a cancer that’s currently small, but we can’t seem to get it to stop. We’ve tried everything. There’s a new drug out that may work. However, the powers that be refuse to spend the ten grand for the drugs, since there’s no guarantee it’ll work. Hell, you can’t be sure any cancer treatment will work. So her best chance for treatment is dead, due to a bean counter trying to balance a budget. And I’m pissed off.”
“Come with me to my room for a moment. The drugs, how can they be got and paid for?”
Her eyes go wide again. “The best way to get them would be for me to ring and order them. I know one of the people at the drug company and can get things done immediately, with money or an official order form. They’re in India and can ship today. But an order form requires a hospital order number, and that takes days after the finance people agree.”
Back in my room I grab my wallet, and have her take us to her office. Once seated at her desk she calls the drug company’s research lab to discuss her needs. After settling on what’s wanted I say on the phone, “Excuse me, can you please check with your accounting people if they’ll accept American Express phone codes to pay for this?” A few minutes wait, and I’m transferred to accounting. I give them the card details and the check code for phone charges. They confirm authorisation, say they’ll have it on the next plane, and they’ll call back with the flight details.
I hand Doc Rita the phone. Both she and the nurse sit and stare at me. “Shit, Al. How come you just paid twelve grand to help someone you’ve never met? And how can you afford it?”
“Doc, just the thought I may make that girl’s life a bit better makes it a bit easier for me. It gives me something to look forward to, other than going home to a house full of memories and nothingness heartaches.” I get up while she gives me a slow nod, and I leave. Back to my room for tonight’s sleeping tablet and a dreamless sleep free of despair, I hope.
Next Few Weeks
Dad arrives, and takes me home. We go through the house to sort things out: what we wish to keep and what can be sold. The house is way too big for just me or the two of us, and it’s too full of memories that are hard to take, so I’m selling it and the contents. I’ve got five bags of clothes plus some boxes of keepsakes and photo albums, etc. After the clothes and personal effects are disposed of we move to a hotel suite while a real estate agent organises the sale of everything else.
Mr Belling often pops by to brief us on things, and get papers signed.
A Friday two weeks after the crash we’ve a meeting with the drunk and his solicitor in the drunk’s office. The man is very wealthy, and is very upset we got a hold order on his assets; thus making it hard for him to do any business. The meeting is to see if we can reach a quick out of court settlement. Despite his wealth he prefers to drive himself about in a fancy car instead of using a chauffeur. If the bastard had used a chauffeur we wouldn’t be having this meeting, and my family would still be alive. I’m very angry at this arrogant bastard, and I want him to pay for what he’s done. I want to hit him where it hurts him the most.
The first order of business is a list of all his assets. They pass copies down the table until we all have one. The solicitors start talking while I open a folder I have, and I lean back in the chair. They all talk while I sit there looking from the list in one hand to a sheet of paper in the folder. A minute later I smile, and say, “Excuse me, gentlemen, is this list a full and correct list of all business and personal assets?” The solicitor and his client nod yes. “So, if I can identify any properties or businesses or bank accounts that aren’t on this list you’ll have no problem with signing them over to me as mine without involving them in the main discussion we’re about to have? I’ll get them as a bonus for catching you out, right?” The drunk driver looks at my large predatory smile, and it frightens him.
He leans down to open his briefcase to get some papers, and we soon have a new list with several more items on it. His solicitor gives him a dirty look for trying that trick. I let the two legal eagles talk to do the initial negotiations while I read the new list, and mark things on it.
About thirty minutes later I give a gentle cough, and they all turn to look at me. I slide my copy of the new list along the table, and say, “I’ve marked various things on the list. The items marked are to be signed over to me as compensation for the murder of my family. The others are to be signed over to a trust fund for his family. He’s to immediately give up his licence to drive, sign a contract to never drive a vehicle again, go into full retirement today, and to undertake substance abuse counselling. All the required transfers to be completed by next Friday.” I’d marked just over three hundred million dollars of assets, about fifty percent of the total.
He examines the list, and goes very red with rage. He looks up, and is about to speak. So I add, with a voice full of hate and venom, “I’ll happily take an alternative of spending thirty minutes in this room with just you and me, no weapons, no legal action about the results, and I promise I won’t kill you. I’ll just leave you wishing I had killed you.” I give him my most feral smile. His face goes dead white. He jumps up, and dashes to his private toilet. We hear the sounds of him throwing up. When he returns I say, in a flat and totally emotionless voice, “You can accept this settlement and be out of business in an easy retirement, or you can go to court to risk losing everything.” Fifteen minutes later we’ve a signed settlement contract with only one change: when the criminal case for the homicides goes to court I’ve got to support his solicitor’s argument for a non-custodial sentence.
Later Mr Belling asks where I got a list of his assets from. I smile, and I hand him the shopping list I have in the folder. It was all a bluff, and it worked. He laughs, then calls his colleague to tell him, and he laughs too.
Note: After I argue on his behalf, and show I’ve punished him in the civil settlement (via his no driving, forced retirement, and counselling), he’s fined two hundred thousand dollars, and given three thousand hours of community service. The judge smiled on hearing the personal aspects of the private settlement.
Gramps does wake up after two days. He signs the new will, but dies in his sleep the next night. Mr Belling and Dad follow my request to have the one funeral for them all, and it’s held five weeks after the incident.
On the Wednesday before the funeral Mr Belling sits me down to talk about money. The wills and life insurance policies have been paid. All the adults had large policies with lots of special indemnities. As per my instructions it’s all put in the trust fund, along with the compensation, a total of four hundred and twenty million dollars. About forty million in company and trust bank accounts with the rest in shares and other assets.
Bryce is there, too, and I ask him to get a full list of all the assets with their current status for me. He hands me some credit cards against a new trust operating account, and asks for my current ones. He needs them to clear up all of Mum’s bank accounts they charge against.
We discuss managers for the major businesses I just inherited. Most have managers already, and I know enough about Mum and Rob’s one to select someone. I also know enough about Evans Publishing, Gramps’ main business, to select an existing staff member as the manager to run it.
While I’m involved with sorting out my financial and legal affairs Dad is putting in for early retirement on compassionate grounds by saying he needs to look after me. I tell him I’ll be OK; but he goes ahead, and they approve it. Then he has to look around for suitable work.
I decide not to go to school this year, because I’ve too much to do and I’m waiting to see where Dad gets a job. If we move I’ll worry about fitting into the new school instead of fitting back into my current school.
It takes some weeks, but we do get on top of everything. Both Dad and I are pleased with the turnout of our friends and employees for the Saturday funeral. It helps me a lot to know how well loved they were.
I hear from Doctor Storm, the new drugs worked, and the girl is much better with the cancer not only stopped, but reducing. That’s good news.
While my mind goes back through the memories I recount the main events for Kath. I don’t realise the memories have made me cry, until she reaches out to touch my face. She has a sad look when she wipes my tears away. I can see she’s saddened by my tale. After a while I shiver, and sit more upright while I finish my tale by saying, “I’m extremely wealthy in my own right. Bryce, my trustee, manages everything for me, but he does exactly as I want him to. So I’m here at my own expense. I think life may be easier if I let the rest of the students know Dad is on a good wage, but my fees are paid by a company. Let them make up their own minds about who pays the fees. See if they like me for me, or not.”
Kath smiles, “I like that. We can be two pariahs together, and I won’t be so lonely. The kids I travel with don’t shun me, but they don’t seek me out, either. They’re in different grades and have good friends there.”
We’d both finished eating so we stand up to shake hands on the deal. Just before the bell for the next class goes I ask, “Which way’s lab two one seven?”
Kath grins, “Advanced Biology?” I smile, “Follow me,” and we head off to the next class. On the way out we talk a bit louder than needed on how my father can’t afford the fees and they’re paid by a company. This gets a few looks from some students when we go by them.
I arrive at the lab quicker than my earlier classes, due to having a guide. We get seated, and we’ve time to learn we’ve the same electives and class schedule. So we agree to sit together in all of our classes. The afternoon’s two classes of Advanced Biology and Advanced English go well. Each period is an hour long with the first five minutes of it to change classrooms, and to get ready for the class.
After school Kath is picked up in a limousine with two younger kids; a just turned sixteen year old from year nine (Debbie), and a fifteen year old from year eight (Jon). I wave goodbye to them, and turn around to go to the administration building to finish sorting out this morning’s little adventure.
I arrive in the administration centre at the set time of a quarter past three. The principal’s secretary tells me to sit and wait, which I do. Half an hour later he comes out to call me in, and points me to a chair.
With a grim expression Principal Walker says, “I suppose you’re happy to know Mister Williams’ car keys were found on one of the school buses when it arrived this afternoon. They’ve been returned to him, so he’s not taking any further action. You’re lucky there. Because Mister Williams isn’t taking this any further I’m not, either. But I’ve got my eye on you now. Care to explain about your actions this morning?”
Half grinning I say, “It’s a shame they found the keys. Having to get the car re-keyed may have made him think about his stupid behaviour. He’s a lot smarter than he acts or looks, because only an idiot would’ve tried to take this any further. He was totally in the wrong, regardless of what his friends said in the way of lies for him. There’s no way they can possibly account for the keys being in my hands, once anyone looks at the security cameras. But I bet you didn’t waste your time with that, did you?” He looks shocked, and shakes his headno. “I got out of a taxi just as Mister Bighead Williams pulled up in his fancy sports car. He stopped in the middle of the car-park behind some other cars, got out, and tossed the keys to me while saying, ‘Be a good attendant, and park my car when your chauffeur moves away from my space. Do a good job, and I may even tip you.’ There were several other open spaces he could park in, but he chose to show he’s important and put me down. I simply caught the keys thrown at me, and tossed them in his direction. He made no attempt to catch them, and they flew in the window of a departing bus. By the time he realised what happened the bus was driving down the street.” I pause to examine the principal’s expression, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe me or want to hear my side. “Williams tried a put down, and lost out. Then he threatened me, and I ignored him while I walked away. His problem, not mine. I don’t care if he’s the senior Big Man on Campus while I’m the new nobody in year ten. I don’t take that shit from anyone. I admit I don’t think much of his intelligence, because my size and body build are not what one would expect a bully to pick on. But it’s clear I’m a new boy here, so that may be his motivation.”
My using a bad word got a reaction, so I smile wider. “In my last school the principal had a Zero Brains policy on fighting, and nothing on bullying. As you’re no doubt aware, from my transcript, I spent several weeks on suspension due to fights with bullies. But they spent a lot longer in hospital. I still ended the year with the highest marks they’ve seen at that school. I don’t mind going toe to toe with bullying scum, so get a handle on the physical and emotional bullying I’ve seen going on, or expect to see a lot of me after I put the bullies down. And don’t ever expect me to apologise for downing a bully.”
Principal Walker puffs himself up, “I don’t like being threatened in my own office, so just watch yourself. We’ve a Zero Tolerance policy on fighting here, also one on weapons, and one on drugs.”
Slowly shaking my head I reply, “Not more Zero Brains policies. It’s a pity you don’t have one on bullying, and use it! I don’t make threats, just promises. No bullying, no trouble. I’ve been here just two days, yet I’ve seen a couple of dozen cases of bullying. You stop it, or I will.”
After sighing, I add, “I bet our friend Williams is a leading light in the seniors’ football team as well.” Walker’s eyes go wide, so it looks like I called that one, too. Damn, that means trouble, because he’ll try to get back at me by using the whole football team to help him. I may not be American, but I know how that works from talking to Americans in Australia. Way too many of the schools and colleges allow their football players far too much leeway in behaviour so the school can look great with a good team, and many of the students involved with the team take every advantage of this they can get away with.
After some more meaningless mouthing from Principal Walker I’m allowed to go home for the day. While I leave I wonder how Williams and his friends are going to react to his being shown up by a new kid in year ten. Oh well, I’ll worry about that when it happens.
Once outside again I call for a taxi, and head to the hotel. On arrival I leave my bag in my suite when I change before going to the gym for some exercise plus a relaxing swim to keep fit and burn off some anger.