Phil Williams - 2050 - Psycho Island

“What about the ring?”

She giggled. “Seriously? I probably just put it on wrong. You don’t need to worry about us.”

Derek took her hand. “Sorry for doubtin’ you. I’m not in my right mind these days.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “How’s your mom?”

“I talked to her yesterday, and she seemed fine. I’m hopeful.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Derek nodded toward her suitcase. “You plannin’ to stay for the weekend? We could go out for dinner after the farmers’ market. My treat.”

April winced. “No, I’m sorry. I have to go back tomorrow. I have to work this weekend.”

“That’s okay. I’m glad you’re here now. We should get to work. It’s gonna be a long day.” They walked back toward the orange grove. “Ricky and Carlos have really saved my ass. They’ve been workin’ nonstop to help me.”

“That’s so sweet.”

“Carlos wanted to know if you’re hot.”

April giggled. “Hopefully I don’t disappoint.”

“They’re good boys.”

The autonomous Mercedes crossed the Francis Scott Key Bridge. Jacob sat in the back, looking at the blackness of the Potomac River below. A man sat in the driver’s seat, but he didn’t operate the vehicle. He was there for show and protection. Despite Jacob’s low status on the Roth hierarchy, he was still a Roth and still an heir to the wealthiest family in the world. The Mercedes slowed as it drove into Georgetown, the brick sidewalks jam-packed with college kids and the wannabe-wealthy as they went bar- and club-hopping on a Saturday night.

Once beyond the Georgetown nightlife, they drove toward a stately brick building. The building was protected by a security gate and a canal. They stopped at the gate, provided identification to the robot guard, and the security gate rose. They drove over a small bridge to the front entrance of The Regal Hotel. Perfectly pruned boxwoods—lit by landscape lights—lined the front of the six-story building.

The Mercedes stopped at the entrance; the driver stepped out and opened Jacob’s door. Jacob exited the vehicle.

“Do you need my services inside?” the driver asked.

“No need. I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave,” Jacob replied.

“Very well, sir.”

Jacob entered the hotel lobby. He walked on checkered marble. Vintage chandeliers hung overhead. A young woman stood at the front desk.

“Good evening, sir,” she said.

“Good evening,” Jacob replied, continuing to the elevators.

He pressed six and watched the numbers as he climbed to the top floor. The elevator opened to a long hallway, two large men standing in his way.

“May we help you, sir?” one of the men said, not budging.

“I’m here to see Zhang Jun,” Jacob replied.

“Name and chip please.”

“Jacob Roth.” He handed over his chip card.

The man waved Jacob’s chip card over his phone, reading the information and cross-referencing it with a list on his tablet. He returned the card and stepped aside. “Thank you, sir.”

The other man said, “I can take you to Mr. Jun.”

Jacob nodded, and they walked down the hallway. The man opened the glass double doors and they entered a dimly lit restaurant and bar. The furniture and the bar were modern and minimalist with lots of glass, sharp angles, and black-and-silver details. The far wall was nearly all glass, providing a panoramic view of the city.

A handful of Asian men and American women fraternized at the bar and the tables. A few security guards lurked in the corners, looking bulky in their suits. The women far outshined the men. They were young, stylish, and beautiful.

Interestingly, they all wore tight dresses and flats, no doubt to eliminate the height advantage. A few were obviously robotic, their movements not as fluid as the “real” women, but every bit as beautiful and able to converse in any language. The men were mostly middle-aged and slightly overfed.

One woman in particular caught Jacob’s eye. A redhead with a nice smile and a nicer body stood near the bar, chatting with an older man. She dressed a bit classier than the others, her dress tailored to fit perfectly, her makeup understated.

Zhang Jun sat at a table with three young ladies, all blondes, two robotic. Everyone was all smiles as he smoked his e-cigar.

They approached the table, and the security guard said, “Jacob Roth.”

Zhang nodded, and the security guard left. Zhang smirked at Jacob. “Mr. Roth.”

Even in a seated position, Jacob could tell Zhang Jun was a small man. His dark hair grayed at the temples, but, despite being middle-aged, his face was quite fresh, free of stubble, and youthful.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Jacob replied, offering his hand across the table.

Zhang ignored the offer, obviously not wanting to stand or to shake hands. “Please sit down.”

Jacob sat next to a robotic blonde, the other two girls and Zhang on the opposite side of the table. Both girls sat tight to Zhang, their hands under the table, caressing his thighs.

“You need money,” Zhang said matter-of-factly, then puffed his e-cigar.

“No,” Jacob replied. “I’m here to offer you an opportunity.”

Zhang cackled, vapor spilling from his mouth. “Yes, an opportunity to invest in an overpriced, poorly run, unprofitable American company, only kept alive by subsidies and bailouts.”

Jacob looked away for a moment, glancing at the beautiful redhead at the bar, then back to Zhang. Jacob stood from the table. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

Zhang smiled and said, “Sit down, Mr. Roth. You are here, so why not make your offer?”

Jacob hesitated for an instant, then settled back into his seat. “I’d like to offer you a 25 percent stake in Housing Trust, the shares at a 10 percent discount to the current market price.”

“Twenty percent discount to the market.”

“That won’t be possible.”

“If Housing Trust survives the next year without a bailout, I would expect at least a 20 percent decline in the share price. I’ll simply wait until then.”

Jacob clenched his fists under the table. “If the board of directors can authorize such a discount, when would you be able to make the purchase?”

“In a hurry, Mr. Roth?”

“No, but timing is important.”

“The Bank of China will make the purchases in small blocks over the next month.”

“A 25 percent total stake?”

Zhang shook his head and took another puff from his e-cigar. He blew the vapor in Jacob’s face. “A 51 percent stake.”

Jacob’s eyes were like saucers. “The US government would never approve the trades. They’d never let a Chinese company have a majority stake in a GSE.”

“Then we have no deal.”

“How about a 35 percent stake at a 22 percent discount?”

“No. It must be 51 percent.” Zhang turned and kissed the blonde robot on the mouth. The machine moaned in response.

“Why do you want control of the company?”

Zhang turned from the bot and said, “To build nice homes on cheap land for wealthy Chinese.”

“We specialize in building, loans, and management of apartments and low-income housing.”

“Which has not been profitable.”

Jacob went silent. It’s over .

“Fifty-one percent or nothing.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Jun.” Jacob stood.

“You should stay and enjoy yourself. You look like a man who could use some entertainment.”

Jacob glanced once more at the redhead by the bar, then back to Zhang. “That’s very kind of you, but—”

“I insist.”

Jacob thought about Eric’s advice. Maybe this is a test . Jacob nodded to Zhang. “Thank you, Mr. Jun.”