Omniscient: John The Genius Part 3: Public Eye

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS MAY 4th, 1985. My name is John Cook, and I'm eight years old. Nine in two months, and yes I'm counting. I sat with my graduating class in front of the stage. It was just after 230pm on a beautiful 75 degree Oklahoma spring day.

I'm currently up for two Guinness Book of World Records: youngest Undergraduate Degree and highest IQ. By the end of the day I'd have four records.

Earlier this month my friend Dr Thompson gave me a new IQ test. It is rated to score up to 250. I finished it in record time and with a perfect score, so my official IQ is now 'Above 250.'

Dr Thompson is also the one responsible for my graduation this semester. He convinced my parents and me that I needed to step back from lab work and everything else I was doing for a month to take the remaining finals. He also enrolled me in a writing class just for writing scientific papers.

During that time I've either been taking tests or submitting papers to scientific journals around the world. Thanks to language courses with recorded audio, of which my Mom generously lets me buy a new one each month, I have the ability to read, write and speak French, German, Spanish, Russian and Japanese. So far thirty-six of my scientific papers have been published, and not just in English journals.

I also hold fourteen patents, play three instruments, co-own a successful software company, authored a hit computer game, published a novel in English and French, and most recently became known worldwide for solving Fermat's Last Theorem, the longest-running problem in mathematics.

It sounds like bragging, but what is most important to me is that I have saved over sixteen thousand lives. I could see saved life number 14 looking at me from the audience. He was sitting with my parents, grandparents and little sister. As the proverb says, 'But there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.' That's Matt, and at six foot eight he really stands out in a crowd, especially when he's surrounded by nearly 100 percent white people.

I stood as my section of the graduate class stood. I'm towards the front of the line as it's alphabetical. Finally, they announced: "John W Cook, receiving a Bachelor's Degree in Physics, Mathematics, Chemistry and Computer Science."

I started across the stage to the applause. Then the announcement continued, "In addition to being eight years old, he is the first quad major at our University."

I stepped up to take my diploma and get my traditional handshake, but the University President put a hand on my shoulder to keep me from following the other students around the stage and back to our chairs. "For groundbreaking work in Mathematics, Chemistry and Physics he is also being awarded a Master's Degree in each of those fields."

I tried to act surprised. The agreement with the University had been that I would work on those Degrees during the 1985 fall semester and they would award them afterwards. I very often have to act surprised. It's because I don't get surprised anymore.

I haven't been surprised by anything for thirteen months. That's when I became omniscient. I know things. Just about everything there is to know. I already had a near photographic memory, but an experiment from a few hundred thousand years in the future attempted to send information into the past. It didn't work as expected, and now I can remember the future too.

Someone might think that remembering the future doesn't sound like omniscience, which is knowing everything. That's because I can remember every future. My future selves can go places, do things, even get themselves killed in the pursuit of knowledge and I remember it all. If I want to know what you did yesterday, they can kidnap you, pump you full of drugs and interrogate you and learn every secret you have. I remember it, and you don't because it never happened. It's a very practical form of omniscience.

That's why I'm not surprised. But I'm supposed to be. My future selves are watching this moment via a video recording so I know I look surprised. I can remember the look on my face. But I particularly like the look of surprise that came next. It was one of my best.

"Additionally, after reviewing his work in Physics," he paused to gather himself. "Particularly the theory and subsequent discovery of high temperature superconductors, his work in describing the mathematical underpinning of the quantum effects involved, extending the boundaries of human knowledge in a brand new and unexpected direction, as well as reviewing his extensive published papers on the subject. It is the pleasure of The University of Tulsa and its Doctoral Committee to award John W Cook a Doctorate of Philosophy in Physics. Congratulations, Doctor John Cook," he said, reaching out to shake my hand.

There was massive applause from the audience as I vigorously shook his hand. He handed me the sheepskin, though it was just a prop. Even my fellow graduates were applauding and cheering wildly. When the cheering stopped, I was still standing there. The University President put his hand back on my shoulder, turned me in the correct direction and gave me a little push to follow my classmates.

Amidst the laughter, he quipped, "Seems I managed to stun him as much as he's stunned us." Then he continued down through the graduates. Eventually we were back in our seats, the Valedictorian gave the final address, we tossed our caps, congratulated each other, and found our families.

Before I could find my family in the crowd I was cornered by the four Deans: Dr Thompson, Dr Maytubby, Dr Rice and Dr Gunner. They were heads of Psychology, Chemistry, Physics and Mathematics respectively.

"You gentlemen are not nice for springing that surprise on me. But regardless, thank you very much!" I told them as I shook their hands. "You are all coming to my graduation party I hope?"

"We wouldn't miss it!" they agreed.

"It's deserved John, or I guess I should say, Dr Cook," Dean Thompson said.

"Congratulations Doctor Cook!" the rest repeated.

"Well deserved!" agreed Karl Gunner, "I pushed for a Doctorate in Mathematics as well, but they wouldn't agree."

"He just proved something that everyone knew must be true. There wasn't anything new or groundbreaking. Unlike high temperature superconductivity!" James Rice said in response.

"How is a three hundred and fifty year old Mathematics problem not groundbreaking!" Karl insisted.

"Gentlemen, let's not start that argument again. Dr Cook is welcome to return to our University to pursue any other Doctorate he might choose," Dean Thompson said, interrupting an old and ongoing argument.

I eventually made it to my family, where Mom enveloped me in a hug, with a whispered, "I'm so proud of you." She passed me to my grandparents, who gave me big congratulatory hugs, and then I got one from my little sister Mattie. Then, uncharacteristically Matt hugged me too, with a whispered, "Well done, little boss." He picked me up and handed me to my Dad, who with a beaming smile on his face, hoisted me over his head.

"Oof," Dad replied as I settled on his shoulders. "Well done, Johnny! I'm so proud right now, our family finally has a High School and College graduate!"

"Let's go celebrate!" came the cheer from the family.

We were having a big party at the roof of our hotel. Last year, when my Grandpa Joe learned that the family was going to move to Tulsa so I could attend university, he purchased a hotel in downtown Tulsa, the first of ten hotels so far. It had needed serious renovation, having been stripped by the previous owners, which my Dad had overseen. Part of the remodel had turned the top floor into lab space for me, the floors below into private apartments for my family, my grandparents, my friend Matt, and most recently my lawyer Jennifer Parz. But the two jewels of the hotel, the fabulous Beaux Arts lobby and the rooftop penthouse bar and lounge, were complete and would be on full display today.

The working parts of The Mayo were finished and in operation. Only the new indoor pool and the full suite of rooms on twelve floors were incomplete. Four floors of suites were complete, not including the private family level on fifteen. Today they would all be fully operational and fully staffed to help throw a giant party. The family loaded into two minivans, glossy black vehicles adorned with a white hotel logo on the side. Matt drove one, and a hotel shuttle driver drove the other.

As always, I was with Matt, and sat in the back. Grandpa sat with me. Dad sat up front in the passenger seat next to Matt. The other van carried Mom and Mattie in the back, and Grandma up front. Grandpa was gushing about how proud he was of me, "You know on my side of the family we've had College graduates, but never a Doctor. Not even a medical Doctor. My Grandfather, when he came to this country, he sold combs. From door to door, he sold combs and brushes and shoe shine kits.

"I'm so proud to have a Doctor in the family. Look at us now, with a family business and hotels. It's incredible. I can't wait to see what you do next!"

I smiled as best I could. I knew this party wasn't about me, but mainly about everyone involved in my life wanting to congratulate themselves for their part in my accomplishments. Either way I was determined to have fun.

We unloaded at the front of the hotel and were greeted by the valet, who took the vans away. We were greeted next by the staff, who were lined up in their uniforms clapping. Then we went into the two elevators and straight to the roof. I was the only one dressed in comfortable clothes, which had been under my graduate robes. Everyone else was very dressed up.

We ordered drinks from the bartender, and I went to a server for a canapé. Once I had my pig in a blanket and my Dr Pepper, I sat at the giant white grand piano and began to play. This way, anyone who wished to talk to me could approach, as I had a full view of the room and was visible to everyone. It would also keep the crowd away. Wedged into the corner, the piano served as a barrier. It was only comfortable for a couple people at a time to stand close enough for conversation.

I looked around the room. We had rushed back so we could be here for our guests. The bar, officially 'The Mayo Rooftop Lounge,' was about 3,200 square feet and L-shaped. It had folding glass doors that opened onto a roof deck, providing an additional 2,500 square feet of space in good weather. The doors were folded back, and some people were at the tables and chairs outside, while others looked out over the city. One group even took turns using a telescope mounted there to examine the city.

I started to play softly enough not to draw anyone's attention my way. Mom disappeared for a bit to fix her makeup. When she returned she was carrying a big wrapped present that she set on the table designated for them. I let my eyes close as I sank into the music, letting it wash over me and keeping me in the moment. There was no moment but the note being played. Each note a singular moment, always in the Now. I found it nearly as calming as Tai Chi.

When I opened my eyes, Jennifer Parz, my lawyer, was standing there. "Congratulations, John. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to say hello at the graduation."

"Hi Jen, I'm glad you got back from Corning in time. How did it go?" I asked her.

"Very well," she said. "As you requested, they purchased our license with stock, and will pay out a percentage of gross sales."

She gave me a dazzling smile. "You now own ten percent of Corning. They already have orders for fifteen million dollars' worth of product, and more coming in every day. Graphene felt filtration is the product that every sector is looking to use to cut costs."

"Well done. Slide in next to me," I asked her, as I slid over on the piano bench to make room. She sat as I played a little louder to hide the conversation. "Did you mention the other three products?" I softly asked her.

"Yes, they were about to wet themselves in excitement. They didn't believe me until I showed them the samples you gave me."

"Good, I'd like the same type of deal for each additional product of mine they take on. I'm looking to acquire at least 25% of the company. Did you put the samples in the safe?"

"Of course."

"Excellent. Any song request?" I asked.

"Play my favorite," she challenged. It was a game we played. I'd ask her a question, she would say "my favorite" and I would perfectly choose her favorite. To her, I was a mystery. To me, she was an open book. It thrilled her in a way I was too young to fully explore.

"Perhaps another day for that one. This really isn't the time or place," I told her, and began to play 'Thank Heaven for Little Girls' instead. When I began singing the lyrics in my best Maurice Chevalier voice, she burst into giggles.

The louder playing and her laughter caught the attention of others, and they began to trickle my way. As I ended the song, she stood up, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and whispered into my ear, "I'll take a rain check on that song."

The spot next to me opened and as the song finished I began another. As I chatted with people, I'd occasionally invite one lady or another to sit next to me and then play a funny or silly romantic song for her. Later Matt tried to sit next to me, but I shook my head, "Sorry Matt, pretty girls only, and you're not either." He smiled and nodded, knowing it was a joke.

Eventually, a young lady sat down next to me. "You're incredible," she told me.

"In what way?" I asked.

"I've been here from nearly the start of the party and you've been playing for hours. No notes—just from memory. And you're taking requests, playing any song anybody wants!"

"Do you play?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm the one who's supposed to be playing soft background music. I have a one hour playlist and then I have to start over."

"Then let me leave you to your job, it's about time for me to find the big manly men's room."

She giggled at the joke. "Thank you, but you're still incredible."

After the bathroom I went out to mingle. Snacks and Dr Pepper are a wonderful combination anytime. Eventually there was a call for attention from my Mom. It was time for presents.

There were calls "Speech, speech, speech!" as I approached the front of the room to the table piled with packages. I pulled a chair around, and stepped up onto it so I was high enough to look out at everyone.

"Thank you for coming to my party. I'm still a little dazed that I have so much to celebrate. Like all such events in life worth celebrating, this party is simply the short moment between where we have been, and where we are going. May we always have more places to go, and a good reason to celebrate where we've been. Cheers!"

"Cheers!" the crowd responded back.

I stepped down and had a seat in the chair I had been standing on. Dad handed me the first present. "This is from your girlfriend," he teased.

"Just the President of my fan club," I joked, as I unwrapped the present. I was able to genuinely laugh in delight at the present. It was a t-shirt, and it said: "I'm John Cook and I belong here."

I stood up and pulled off my shirt, to cat calls and camera flashes, and put it on. Then I turned to show the audience still smiling widely. Amber, my oldest friend, and unofficial president of my fan club had gotten me the perfect gift. Her note simply said, "Sorry we couldn't be there, congratulations."

I opened more gifts. Many of them t-shirts, as Mom had requested funny or custom ones with the invitations. A few were better than others, my top favorites were: 'Mad Science is Fun Science' 'I might have a PhD but I can still play Doctor' 'Take me to your leader!' 'Super Conductor' (with a picture of Superman conducting an orchestra).

Then came the gift from Grandma. It was a custom lab coat, my size which was four foot four, with lots of pens in a pocket protector on the front. It included massive black rubber gloves, black rubber boots, and large safety glasses. It was hilarious and great. I put the coat on then gave her a hug.

Typical gag gifts followed: a toy stethoscope, a rubber reflex hammer, and a speculum paired with a comically large magnifying glass. That particular gag gift certainly got a laugh from the women in the room. With that part of the festivities complete everyone was invited down to dinner at our new restaurant on the second floor.

I'm rather proud of our hotel. The Mayo was built in 1925 and is a famous Tulsa landmark. The second and third floor are U shaped, while the ground floor and mezzanine level are the full footprint of the building, about 140 feet on each side. The mezzanine space looks down onto the lobby and is reached by the grand staircase or the elevators

We had cut the full basement in half. It was now partly parking lot with a private entrance for the hotel. In addition to deliveries, it was a way for a guest to enter the hotel without coming through the public lobby. The other half was our new spa treatment area and our indoor heated pool. The sub-basement below it had held the staff accommodations, break rooms, and laundry. Part of it was now the bottom of our basement pool, the remainder was still the laundry. The pool and spa were still under construction. We would offer everything from massage, steam, and sauna to beauty treatments and salon services. There was also a work out space with stationary bikes and treadmills.

The U shaped second floor, a 17000 sq foot space, got our biggest kitchen, and our premier dining room. Officially called 'In Flagrante Delicious,' this would be its first event. Mom had surprisingly been happy with the name, she was convinced that it would help sell the hotel as a romantic getaway, especially on Valentine's day.

This second floor is divided 60/40, seven thousand sq feet of kitchen space, ten thousand sq feet of dining space. With spacious seating for 500 it's a big restaurant. The third floor features a second 5,000-square-foot kitchen catering to the breakfast buffet, pastry production for the lobby coffee shop, and 24-hour room service. The remaining 12,000 square feet of the third floor is a versatile, multi-purpose space, its accordion walls allowing it to be sized as needed. Primarily for meetings and small conventions, it also handles the hotel's complimentary breakfast buffet.

Two more restaurants are on the premises. First, a coffee shop: 'The Daily Grind' that is reachable from either the lobby, the street, or the mezzanine level as it is two stories. The Grind does counter service, pastries, sandwiches and fountain drinks. The coffee shop is served by dumb waiter from both kitchens so doesn't actually cook anything more than making and serving coffee and other drinks. It's in the corner of the building and accessible from both Cheyenne Avenue and West fifth.

Second, a bistro/pub: 'Twister Grill' is next door and accessible from Cheyenne Avenue or the lobby. It plates the meals served, but most of the cooking is done in the hotel restaurant above, arriving via dumb waiter. The 'Twister' offers table service, does fast hot food with beer and wine but only with meals. Both restaurants can be fully provided by either kitchen as needed.

The hotel lobby entrance is on West 5th Street, directly across from the recently completed OneOK (pronounced one oak) building. The check in desk, valet station, bellboy station, a gift shop, and an open sitting and relaxing area finish off the ground floor. They are overlooked by the hotel concierge desk, managers office, and second floor of the Daily Grind on the mezzanine second level.

Floors four and five offer two bedroom luxury suites with balconies facing the interior of the U shape. A mix of one, and two bedroom suites without balconies are on floors six thru nine. Floors ten thru thirteen have two and three bedroom apartments. The units on the thirteenth level are unique for being two levels, extending up into level fourteen. The rest of level fourteen is Grandpa's office level, including his boardroom. Fifteen, where we live, has only five apartments, plus a large family space with dining space for everyone and room for entertainment.

The hotel manages the entire property. Level fifteen is private, while levels twelve and thirteen will be leased out as luxury residences, primarily targeting single individuals and couples working downtown. Floors ten and eleven are available for daily or weekly stays through the hotel.

When everyone arrived on the second floor at In Flagrante Delicious, they were directed to assigned seats for dinner. Our new chef and his staff did their best, even Ms Double approved. The true highlight, however, arrived at the end: the restaurant's signature dish, a daring charred leek ice cream, its smoky sweetness a surprisingly delightful counterpoint to the richness of the preceding courses.

At the end of dinner, my Grandpa stood, tapped his glass with a fork, and the room quieted. "Thank you all for coming to my hotel. I think we can all show our appreciation for the hard work put into that wonderful meal," he said, leading a round of applause. "My name is Joseph Carpenter, John is my grandson. Of course, I'm Jewish, and we Joseph Carpenters are well known for having famous descendants," he said, to a roll of laughter from the diners.

"While a previous Carpenter had a famous son, I had only daughters. I'm very happy to have famous grandson. As a special thank you for joining us in this celebration, Mark, standing over there, has a card for a free three-night stay at any of my hotels. Please see him anytime after dinner. You are also invited to use your card immediately and become our first guests here tonight.

"I also want to say a few words about my grandson, Dr John Cook. I've never seen a young man who works so hard. When I asked him how his school work was doing, worried that he was pushing himself, his response was simply, 'It's not difficult, there's just a lot of it.' Then he went on to do it all at record speed.

"I've never seen a young man who seemed so humble about his accomplishments. When I showed him a newspaper article, or a magazine article about his Chess wins, his computer game selling five hundred thousand copies, his book being on The New York Times best seller list, or someone extolling the way his new water filter is going to save hundreds of thousands of lives around the world, he simply smiles and says, 'I'm glad I could do it, it was fun.' or 'I'm glad I could do it, it was really needed.'

"My Grandson, who is quite likely the smartest person in the world, had the best answer when I asked him what he wanted most for his upcoming birthday, 'I'd like everyone to be happy, and have what they need' then he added 'but puberty would be pretty great too.'" Grandpa said getting another laugh.

"To my Grandson, may you have both wishes, that everyone is happy and has what they need, and puberty when you're thirteen. We will all support your noble wishes to the best of our ability. Cheers!" he concluded, to loud applause from the guests.

With the festivities over, I made my goodbyes and went up to the sixteenth floor. My lab space. This had been the hotels original ballroom. It would be again someday, but for now the thirteen hundred square foot double height space was ideal. It was here that I created a method to crack carbon dioxide at five watt-hours per liter. I also created the graphene flakes that I baked into what I called graphene felt. Graphene felt was now being mass produced by Corning, which is what I had been discussing with my personal lawyer, Jennifer Parz.

My newest products for them were bubbling away. The first was a vast roll of graphene, thirty-six inches wide, its nearly transparent surface turning gray as it spooled onto the roll. The roll it was spooling onto after coming out of manufacturing was nearly a foot across. I maneuvered a small, sturdy dolly beneath its immense weight, over a thousand pounds. I carefully lifted and positioned it next to two other similar sized rolls already produced.

The second product was a diamond, resting inside a plexiglass container under the baking light and a dripping mixture of carbon. Still growing, it presented a formidable half-kilo mass of pure, unblemished raw diamond. Unfaceted, the newly formed diamond still caught the light at around 2500 carats. This was my second big diamond. Jennifer had carefully brought the first one to show Corning, then secured it in her apartment safe.

The original's substantial six by eight inch size was impressive enough, but the true marvel was my signature, subtly embedded within its crystalline depths to prove to Corning it was man made. It was a simple trick: a small streak of bright red nail polish carefully placed during the initial forming stage, then the diamond meticulously grown around the signature, creating an unexpected embedded mark. It was a startling effect.

A third project was humming quietly in a corner, also being fed onto a roll. Its matte black surface drank the light. It was a different form of graphene felt that was extraordinarily strong and impervious to all gases, including hydrogen. Best of all, I had achieved this remarkable feat at a mere half-millimeter thickness and four ounces per cubic foot.

A firm knock echoed on the door, and Matt's face appeared in the opening. Seeing I was occupied but present, he stepped inside, the heavy door closing softly behind him. "I came to change out the roll of graphene," he stated, his eyes briefly flicking towards the equipment.

"I've already taken care of it," I replied, gesturing subtly towards the completed setup.

"Quite the party."

"Yes it was. I'm going to bed soon, everything ready for tomorrow?"

"All packed, Jennifer said she's ready too," he assured.

"Okay, goodnight then. See you at breakfast," I said, watching him depart, the quiet of the lab settling around me.

Now alone, I moved to an open space in the room. The hiss and hum of the equipment was a soft background as I began my Tai Chi. I sank into a deep meditative state as I flowed through my favorite long-form variations. The world outside fading with each stretch and posture. I let the peace of the Now soak into my soul.

The voices stirred. "Thanks for visiting again."

"You guys lonely?" I mentally asked the phantoms of my future selves.

"Of course not, always plenty of you around to talk to," their chorus joked, not being real.

"I know that I'm on the right path, but I really don't like the choices in front of me. I need to go deeper, remember deeper, push further into the unknown," I urged.

"This is the way, follow us," the voices communed.

The universe exploded in my mind, as I touched infinite possibilities. My inner eyes snapped open, flooded with a torrent of vivid images, resonant sounds, and overwhelming experiences. I lived a thousand lifetimes, explored a million variations, each one intensely real.

"Those are the choices. Those are the compromises. It is an unusual business, but you are all there is."

"I'm finding the frenzy in the media about me to be really oppressive. It's only going to get worse," I admitted.

"That never changes. But, you grow used to it."

"I hate what I'm putting people I care about through. There's all these things I'm doing. It's like I keep jumping from flower to flower. People see the busy little bee but don't understand all the seeds I'm making. They only see the honey."

"The most perfect choices will always require sacrifice. You are beginning to face that reality for the first time."

"It's so strange, I used to be so proud of showing off my abilities. I have my Degree and my PhD. Every event till now has been carefully orchestrated and the probabilities prodded. I displayed abilities in front of just the right person, at just the right time. It's felt forced, not who I really am. It's like all my choices are scripted and I'm just the actor."

"You have made good choices," the voices affirmed, "choices that were yours. You wrote the script."

"I guess it's just business as usual. I just wish it wasn't all so dependent on me. There's so much on my shoulders. It feels very lonely knowing the only person who really understands is a phantom future version of myself," I admitted.

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT DAY, after breakfast, Matt, Jennifer and I climbed into the van, driven by a hotel employee for an airport run. At the airport, we boarded a Cessna 208 configured for six passengers and cargo. It was a quick, bumpy flight to the small Addison airport north of Dallas.

From there, I proceeded to a meeting at Heartland Software. After getting settled around the conference table, Blake Sanders, CEO of Heartland and my business partner, introduced the other members in the room, including Tim. He then continued, "Dr Cook, congratulations, are you bringing us new software, or something else?"

"Glad to be back here, Blake, and congratulations on your success over the past year. I'm here because I want to run an idea past you. What do you think of merging with another software company or two?" I responded.

"I don't know, we are successful enough now that we don't need to do so. What are you thinking?" Blake asked.

"I'm thinking I'll buy twenty-five percent of two other companies. We'll split the software categories up between them: programming systems and utilities stay here at Heartland, one company takes action games and the third does educational software. Each company gets twenty-five percent of the new company."

"I'd want to keep Civilization here, it is the flagship for Open Pascal. Why does this merging of software companies make sense?" Blake asked.

"We can keep strategy games here," I agreed. "It makes sense if the three companies offload production, sales, distribution and marketing to one centralized management. It makes the three companies more profitable, and able to better focus on making products."

"I see the business logic. Who are you thinking of going to?" Blake said.

"Brøderbund and Sierra On-line," Jennifer answered.

"Why two computer game companies?" Tim asked, still unsure.

"We don't compete with them. Sierra does adventure games. Brøderbund has an action game company that they can't make a profit from, plus a new edutainment game that's going to be a big hit. Brøderbund has been trying to attract outside investment, most people only know it as the printshop company. With the merger, they won't need outside investment to grow. Sierra would actively welcome offloading marketing and production. They're happiest creating adventure games. I think I can convince them both," I explained.

"What do you want to call the new company?" Blake asked.

"BHS works for me," I said, after a brief pause. "I certainly don't want to call it Cook Software."

"And the existing owners would all have a place in the board of this BHS Company?" Blake asked.

"Yes, Jennifer here would still vote my shares on the board," I answered.

Jennifer added, "The best benefit of the deal for Sierra Online is that they get first use of John's software programming updates. Sierra has a problem right now because they wrote King's Quest for the IBM PCjr, and it's not compatible with the new IBM PC/AT, so they are having to go back and rewrite it. It's extra difficult because while it's a great game, IBM didn't sell many PCjrs."

"I'm willing to consider it. Go see if they're interested and get back to me," Blake offered.

"It would be nice to have some help from you with our competition with Borland and Turbo Pascal," Tim added. "We are matching them on price, but our product is better. You haven't updated the software in nearly a year, they will catch up."

"I brought updates," I told Tim, generating smiles of relief and anticipation around the room.

Blake looked thoughtful, "I've recently been thinking that a magazine would be good for the company. It could be somewhere to advertise all three divisions."

I smiled, and considered his idea. "There isn't a combination PC/Mac magazine yet. Perhaps something that considers hardware for both, plus software. We can emphasize when software is available on both platforms, include articles on writing for both and even articles on learning to program," I suggested.

"I like that idea, when do you plan on meeting with the others?" Tim asked.

"Sometime soon, it depends on when I can get to California."

"Okay," Blake said, "Let's review our current status and the updates you brought."

When we broke for lunch, a small crowd gathered, eager to congratulate the new Dr Cook as well as enjoy the catered food.

After lunch at Heartland I went with Jennifer to her home office in Dallas. There, I met with her bosses for the first time.

"Welcome, Dr Cook. Have you gotten tired of people calling you that yet?" the distinguished man asked me.

Jennifer made introductions. "This is George Malley, my boss. He's a senior partner here at Sterling, Malley & Associates."

"I'm not tired of it yet but you can call me John," I said, shaking his hand firmly.

"Great, we're happy you came by, why don't we head into my office, where it's a bit cozier," George said.

His office was backed with a wall of windows, looking south away from the central conglomeration of similar towers. The room was heavily decorated in a subtle Texas motif, a polished longhorn bull in bronze took pride of place on a shelf.

We settled down into two couches facing each other in the room, and George Malley raised an eyebrow when Jennifer chose to sit next to me, instead of him.

"I've been thrilled with Jennifer's work," I began. "She's become indispensable to me, and the support from the office here in Dallas has been extra appreciated."

"We were wondering how the relationship was going. She's closed deals worth more this year than most of the other partners, much less any associates."

An older woman stuck her head in. "Sorry I'm late, I was stuck on a call with a client."

Jennifer rose and hugged the woman. "I was hoping you were here today."

Turning to me, Jennifer said, "This is Mirabelle Stirling, our founding partner."

I stood to shake her hand. "Ma'am, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"I heard the young Doctor was going to be here, so I made sure I was in the office today," Mirabelle said, and sat happily next to George Malley.

Mirabelle asked George, "So what did I miss?"

"I was just complimenting Jennifer for her excellent work and the incredible help she's been," I summarized.

"Wonderful," Mirabelle said, "and Jennifer, how has it been working for such a go-getter?"

"Exhausting," Jennifer chuckled. "I never know what new thing he's going to throw at me next."

"You've caught each one like a pro," I complimented.

"Excellent. Now, what can the firm do to make things better?" Mirabelle asked.

"The firm here in Dallas has been incredibly helpful," I explained. "Jennifer has called on all your resources as needed, but she's a bit shorthanded all by herself in Tulsa. What are the chances you can open a small office there and get her some assistants?"

George gave a slight frown, "That's certainly something we will discuss. It's not something that can be decided immediately. If it was a more senior member of our staff, then perhaps it would be easier to arrange."

I saw where he was leading. I wouldn't accept anyone but Jennifer. "Jennifer is my trusted confidant and I'm not particularly interested in developing a close working relationship with someone new. I started off with a firm across the street in Tulsa because they were close and convenient. I quickly realized that they were not going to be long term, as they were limited in what they could do for me."

"It is important to find someone you trust to handle business dealings," Mirabelle said. Then she directed a comment at George. "Perhaps it's time we consider if the excellent work Jennifer has been doing is sufficient for a promotion."

"Again, something to be discussed later," George said, then seeing my face, continued, "and we will certainly discuss it soon."

"Good, I'm especially excited about your patent team here in Dallas. I hope they are ready to hit the ground running."

"They are ready," George confirmed.

"He's serious about being ready," Jennifer warned. "John had fourteen patents granted in the last year, and still another two dozen or so still pending."

"Who did that work?" Mirabelle asked.

"Tulsa University, because I was a University student, and Tulsa University gets partial ownership of my patents while I was a student." I explained.

"And now, you have graduated, so they have no claim, and you need someone else to do the work," Mirabelle finished.

"Exactly," I agreed.

George changed the subject. "I couldn't reach you the other day, were you out of town?"

"Sorry," Jennifer said. "I got your message, but didn't get back from Corning until early yesterday."

"Jennifer did an amazing job at Corning."

"Oh?" asked Mirabelle, "I haven't heard about that yet."

Jennifer proudly explained. "I made a deal using the patents John has for graphene felt, including the related production process patents for ten percent of the company, plus an ongoing royalty."

"Graphene felt?" Mirabelle asked.

I pulled a sample of carbon felt from my pocket and handed it to her. "It's a remarkably strong material, with a range of properties that shift depending on how it's manufactured."

"It's very lightweight," she commented.

"That particular version is a ground-breaking water filter," Jennifer said.

"Fascinating," Mirabelle said, handing it to George.

"I heard something about using it for distilling whiskey?" George asked, as he rubbed the dark black material between his fingers.

"Distillation removes alcohol from water, the alcohol boils off first, which is then condensed back to liquid."

"I'm familiar with the process," George said, with a smile.

"You can pour any liquid through that filter and only water will come out the other side, leaving behind everything else, including flavor. You can keep that if you'd like to try it out."

"Thank you, I'll definitely try it," George agreed.

Returning the same day on a different plane from the closer Love Field in Dallas to the Riverside Airport in Tulsa, Jennifer vibrated with a mixture of elation and apprehension on the flight home.

"I can't believe you dropped the whole 'what are the chances you can open a small office' line. And then! Then, you tell them I need a promotion! What were you thinking?" she demanded.

"I was thinking that Mirabelle is ready to fully retire, and she wants another woman as a partner in the firm before she does."

"What? But she only comes in a couple days a month, she loves her firm, why would she give that up?"

"Eight grandkids? That's the story she's spinning, anyway. Really, she knows that George wants her gone so he can be completely in charge."

"He likes being the boss," she agreed.

"And you want to be partner before you turn thirty."

She let out a low growl then turned to the stewardess, her voice tight, "Can I have a coffee please, cream and sugar."

"I'll have the same," Matt said.

The stewardess looked at me. "Dr Pepper please," I requested.

"Doctor for the Doctor," Matt chuckled.

"You'll grow out of that joke eventually, but it will take an unfortunately long amount of time," I told him.

I received my drink first, the simple 'pop' of the can top the only preparation needed.

The hour-long flight felt shorter on the larger plane, as Matt and I played Go Fish. I watched Jennifer spend the rest of the flight either stewing or reading the large pile of papers that she was taking back from the office. We got home just in time for dinner.

Our family has been having group meals together since moving into the hotel. We meet practically every morning for breakfast and every night for dinner in the communal family dining and entertainment area. The shared meals in the open space just beyond the elevator lobby a comforting constant.

Matt had joined immediately, an instant new member of the family. Jennifer not as often, though she had one of the other two bedroom apartments on the family floor, and she was welcome. She was working out of a small office Grandpa had loaned her in his space on level fourteen. At least until the work level was more than she could handle herself.

Everyone happened to be there that morning, enjoying the small breakfast buffet provided by the hotel most mornings. The fully operational hotel having created a larger version downstairs for guests.

I had just filled my breakfast plate when the phone rang. Everyone looked around for a moment wondering who would call us there instead of the office numbers. Grandpa went to answer the phone.

"This is Joe," he said.

His eyes got big, and he looked at me. "It's for you John."

I took the phone from his hand, noticing the excitement in his eyes. "Hello this is John Cook. How may I help you."

"Please hold for the President of the United States," said a voice.

I put my hand on the receiver. "It's the President!" I announced to confused looks.

"Congratulations, Dr Cook. My National Science Adviser recommended I give you a call. I'm glad to tell you how proud and astounded we are by your accomplishments. You've even made the news while I'm here in Germany. I'd very much like for you to come for a visit at the White House after I get back. I'll have my office contact you to make arrangements."

"Thank you, Mr President. Thank you very much. I'm so honored by the invitation and am looking forward to it. I want to say that I appreciate what you did in Germany yesterday. If we can't have peace with Germany after forty years we never will. I know people accuse you of saber-rattling, but I realize you're just reminding the world of the consequences of not seriously seeking peace first."

"Thank you son, I feel much the same way. Perhaps young voices like yours and Samantha Smith's can help guide the world toward a lasting peace."

"I would love to meet her, sir. Do you think we could both come visit you?" I asked.

"I don't see why not, it's nice to have young people come visit the White House. I'll have my staff get with you."

"Again, thank you for calling me Mr President. I'm looking forward to meeting you and the First Lady."

The line clicked and a capable young man with a crisp and efficient tone answered the phone. I wrote down the contact number he gave me on the pad next to the wall. I answered several questions about the size of my family. I mentioned I had a personal assistant and lawyer so he wanted their information too.

I turned to the everyone who stopped whispering to each other as I hung up, "Guess what? We've been invited to the White House!"

A flurry of questions erupted immediately. "What do you mean, the White House?" "Who's inviting us?" I held up a hand, repeating the conversation to quell the rising excitement.

"This is very exciting, John, but I need to get Mattie ready for school," Mom said.

"Aw Mom!" she cried. "I only have a week left. Do I have to go?"

"Don't you want to tell your friends Johnny got a call from the President?" she told her, as she pulled her out of the room.

"I don't have much information. They'll call back when we have a date. That was just the President making the invitation. I wrote the phone number on the note pad on the wall," I said, and sat to eat.

The conversation remained lively, but most others finished eating before I did, as I had gotten to breakfast late.

When I was done, I tapped Grandpa on the shoulder to get his attention as he finished another cup of coffee before work.

"Grandpa can you join Matt and I today? We need to leave at nine," I said and walked away before he could answer.

Matt and I checked the three experimental production machines upstairs. Then I spent some time writing letters. At 9am I met Matt and Grandpa who were waiting for me in the basement garage. Matt checked out one of the hotel shuttle vans and we took off heading southeast towards Broken Arrow.

"What adventure are we going on this time, John?" Grandpa asked.

"We are headed to check on the progress of the tile printing machine that the engineer I hired has been working on."

"Oh! That's great. Is it finished?" he wanted to know.

"That's what we are going to check on," I told him.

We eventually got to the house. It was an older area that had homes with actual property, some had horses, others big barns.

So much of this area was on its way to being indistinguishable cookie-cutter houses on postage stamp lots with the only green space provided by manicured golf courses. Every section and subdivision in big squares, neat and straight. I was not a fan of this planned uniformity, but I understood the economic reality of suburban growth.

Matt had been here before with me, so he knew the way. He pulled up to a big steel shop building and we got out. Nobody seemed to be around, so I told Matt, "Give the horn a honk." When he did the sliding door on the very large building slid open.

I walked up and greeted the guy who came out. "Ted, how are you? How's the project?" I asked.

"It's working great, glad you came to check it out."

I introduced Grandpa and then Ted, visibly excited as the machine ran on its own in the middle of the shop, started explaining how it worked.

"John hired me to build the tile printer for him. Together we worked out the design and he wrote the software while I built the hardware. It runs on an IBM PC.

"John's Magic Eye software saves the finished artwork. The machine takes the saved file and uses a series of precision motors to lay out colored tiles onto a mesh sheet. It puts all the colored tiles in exactly the right space. When it's done printing, I move the sheet of tiles to the side. I've got the mermaid picture on the floor right now if you want to see."

"What's Magic Eye?" Grandpa asked.

"Marketing. Autostereogram was too much of a mouthful. We will do color posters, prints and a couple coffee table books for the hotel. Mr Benz insisted on it, and my publisher thinks it will be very popular," I explained.

"My hotel architect?" Grandpa asked.

"Yeah, the book will advertise the hotel and his restoration work."

"Wow, she's not wearing much," Matt said, interrupting us as his eyes focused on the mural laying out on the concrete floor. Ted blushed a little, that one had been left out on the floor for a reason.

"That looks great," Grandpa said. "I love how the green tiles seem to be seaweed growing behind her. How much of the pool mural is finished?"

"I'll be done with the four walls around the pool at the end of the week," Ted told him.

"I thought that it would be 1 inch tiles," Grandpa said.

"It made the hidden images too large. By reducing the tile size by half, I'm actually quadrupling the resolution. The smaller tiles work better for the hidden images," I explained. "We can only do two-foot wide strips at a time, but the length is limited only by the size of the mesh sheet. That comes on a fifty-foot roll."

"So this machine will work for more than just Magic Eye pictures, right?" Grandpa asked, a speculative tone in his voice.

"Yes, any design, any size, with sixteen colors maximum on this machine. We can do patterns, words, pictures, artwork, photographs—the list goes on and on as the software allows for incredible flexibility," I told him.

"This is fantastic," Grandpa said. "It's so much more durable than any other artwork for a building. Have you tested how easy it is to install?"

"Yes, our contractor had a smaller job where the owner wanted a herringbone pattern in his bathroom, using very small tiles and University of Tulsa colors. We printed that out and he was able to install it in just a couple of hours. He loved it, the owner loved it, it worked so well that he wants to buy one of these for himself."

"Really!" exclaimed Ted, "How much?"

"I told him it was fifty-five thousand for the machine, including service and repairs for a year. So as soon as you're at a point where this is under control, I need you to start building a second one," I instructed Ted.

Ted whooped loudly and danced across the room. Grandpa looked at me for an explanation. "Ted gets half of our sales, minus cost of materials. It's about twenty grand to split. It's part of our deal, I pay for materials and an hourly wage for him to build and run this machine. He also provides space and electricity for the work."

"Ted's not going to be able to keep up with orders once the pictures of the hotel get spread around," Grandpa noted.

"You're right, I'll hire him as Chief Engineer when it's time to start a production company."

"When is the contractor coming to pick up the tile work?" I asked the still excited Ted.

"Tomorrow sometime. I've got them all labeled and another copy of the placement map in case he's lost his again."

"You remembered to mark which end was up as well as labeling them all?"

"Yes. You can see them right there," he said, pointing to the rolls of tile laid out along one wall.

"How heavy are those?" Matt asked.

"It takes two guys to lift them," Ted answered.

I thanked Ted and climbed back into the van to return to the hotel. "How small of a tile can the machine print?" Grandpa wanted to know.

"Right now, it's a quarter-inch tile. Anything smaller than that becomes difficult to load in the machine."

"Will it be done in time for the grand reopening?" Grandpa asked.

"The pool and eight floors will be fully complete before June 1st."

"Which won't be ready yet?"

"Eight thru sixteen. We're skipping the family level to get the rooftop bar finished."

"That's fine, those are mostly the units for leasing," he said.

"I want to do something special for the celebration," I said, a big smile on my face.

"I'm scared to ask, but what are you thinking?"

"Since the city denied your fireworks permit, I want to do a fire tornado on the roof."

"What is that?" Grandpa asked, his expression a fascinating blend of horror and intrigue.

"Just as it sounds, a tornado made of fire. The tornado is held in place by the machine that spins to make it. It's very impressive, but quite safe if handled carefully. It's just a propane burner and some wind. We will have a small one outside on the street so people will know what it is. Otherwise they will think the hotel is on fire."

"That seems pretty crazy," he told me, with a big grin matching mine.

"I agree, way crazy," Matt chimed in.

"So crazy that it will be on every TV news channel in Oklahoma, Kansas, Missouri, Arkansas, and Texas," I told him confidently.

That was advertising dollars Grandpa understood. "Build a little one first so I can see it work. I mean little too, under a foot tall," he insisted.

So when we got back to the hotel I went to to my lab and built a little one. It was hand powered, with a small handle to pull the cord and turn the spinner. For fire I used an alcohol burner from a mobile hot buffet table. For safety I used a chicken wire cage to enclose it on the sides.

After lunch I demonstrated it. "Grandpa, Grandma, Mom, I've got something cool to show you."

"What is it?"

I set it on the table. "It's a miniature fire tornado."

I lit the canister that sat on the bottom, pulled the cord that spun the wind generator and set the wire shield over top. The flame flickered, then greedily leapt upwards, coalescing into a miniature, dancing twister of fire.

"That's beautiful Johnny," Grandma complimented as she marveled at the sinuous flame. The orange red snake danced lightly at the center of the table.

Grandpa pondered it, his brow furrowed. Mom agreed with Grandma, "It's very pretty, but isn't this dangerous?"

"This one is but it's just a proof of concept, a prototype," I said as the spinner slowed and the flame lowered.

"This is why you suggested those names for the restaurants, isn't it?" Grandpa suddenly asked.

I gave him a nod, In Flagrante Delicious and Twister Grill both tied neatly to this. "We are going to be so famous!" he said excitedly.

"I want to build several to go outside and around the building for the Grand Reopening Celebration on June 1st."

"Will they be dangerous like this one?" Mom asked, still watching it intently even though it had dropped to only an inch high.

"No, we'll enclose them in glass so no one catches themselves on fire."

Mom turned to her Dad, "Where is Ray working today?"

"He's at the lake reviewing the needed maintenance and planned upgrades at Fountainhead."

Mom turned to me, "If your father agrees and helps you make it safe."

"Okay, I planned on asking for his help for the big one I want to put on the roof."

"How big?" Grandma asked.

"I'll try to keep it under five hundred feet," I said with a smile.

"We better warn the Fire Marshal," Grandpa said.

Mom and Grandma just looked at us as if we were nuts. "This is really pretty. Could you make them a little smaller and nicer?" Grandma asked, her natural abilities kicking in. "They would really go well on the tables at Twister Grill and In Flagrante Delicious—much more attractive than candles," Grandma asked.

"That's a great idea Grandma!" I told her, "The restaurant name literally means blazingly delicious. That's why Chef has that charred leek ice cream."

"We will want probably a thousand of them, for the tables and for our gift shop," Mom added, her business sense kicking in.

"There's a company in California that can make them. Grandpa is going to LA next week, maybe Matt and I can go too?" I casually segued.

"Is there something else you plan to do in LA? Last time you went somewhere with Matt you snuck off and bought twenty-five percent of that computer game company," Mom questioned, not buying the casualness I was trying to pull off.

"Actually, I'm interested in buying into a couple more companies. If I can convince two others to sell me twenty-five percent of their company, we can merge the three together to form a bigger company."

"Just where are you getting the money for that? You sold your computer games to buy into the last company, you can't sell the same things twice."

"Jennifer said I'm on track to make at least ten million this year from Corning. This is where I want to invest it," I admitted.

"That's insane! Do you how much ten million dollars is?"

"Actually Mom, I'm very good at math and I know exactly how much ten million dollars is. Do you have any reasonable objections?"

"Go to your room," Mom said heatedly.

"For how long?"

"Until I say you can come out!"

I nodded at my Grandparents and went to my room. As I left I could hear Grandpa, "Don't you think you are being a little harsh, Mary?"

I was only in my room for an hour before Mom came to get me. I was writing in my notebook, sitting in my new reading chair next to the window with the beautiful building in the distance.

"You can leave now," Mom said from the doorway.

"Mom can we talk?" I asked.

"Everybody already said I was overreacting," she said, sounding angry and tired.

"I want to apologize, I could have been much less confrontational or sarcastic."

"So much has changed for us this last year. I'm still unused to it all," she said, softening. "Normally I'd be out in the garden this time of year. Here I seem to be cooped up inside all day. I'm sorry too."

I gestured to my bed, and she moved to sit facing me. "Mom I love you. Before we moved here you had a house, a family, students. You've helped Grandma with decorations and furnishings here at the hotel. You've done really well, but what are the things you really love doing?"

"I love teaching piano and I love gardening," she said.

"The rooftop lounge is available every day for lessons until 3pm when it opens. There's no reason you can't get a few piano students here. We can even open the lounge later if you need the time.

"I have talked to the music department at the University and they said your credits would transfer. If you finished your degree you could open a Music Conservatory. The local population is big enough that it could support a real music program."

"But I have to be here for you and Mattie!" she said.

"Grandma and Grandpa are here, so you don't have to be here all the time. Plus there's no reason you have to do it all in one semester if you don't want to."

"I'm going to think about this. Thank you, Johnny. I'll talk to your Dad about you going to California. If we say no, you can't just go anyway, understood?"

"I understand Mom, thank you."

After she left, I called Dad, "Hi Dad."

"Johnny? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's great, I've got a new project I need your help with, we'll talk about that tonight. I called because Mom needs a garden."

"There's not much garden space in the city, Johnny."

"We've got a great big roof, plenty of room up there. I want to surprise her with a rooftop garden."

"You can't just pile dirt up there, and grow stuff."

"We can do raised planter boxes, that way Grandma can help. We need water up there too."

"Okay, draw up some plans and I'll check them out when we talk about the project you need help with."

"Thanks, Dad. See you tonight."

The next week was busy, as I added designing a steel structure for the hotel's fire tornado to my regular work list. Dad approved the plans, and wanted to build it himself because it was just 'so cool' but he just didn't have the free time.

Grandpa hired a steel contractor to build it. The contractor arranged to use a spot at a local quarry for the final assembly and testing. The Tulsa Fire Chief, as well as everyone else, wanted to see it operate safely before we put it on the roof.

CHAPTER THREE

ON THE 16TH, we flew out to Los Angeles. There were five of us: Matt and I, Grandpa, Mark Waring and Megan Stoop.

We flew First Class, which was a first for all of us. As the plane leveled out, with Grandpa engrossed in a financial report, I leaned over to Matt and gestured to Mark and Megan, who were reviewing a stack of binders a few seats away.

"See Mark and Megan?" I asked. "They're here for the Ambassador Hotel acquisition. Mark Waring is the President of Grand Lux Management and Megan Stoop is the Vice President of Training."

Matt looked confused. "Why does he need a separate company just for people?"

"Because Grandpa bought their company just to run his hotels," I explained. "Grandpa is the CEO of the Grand Lux Hotel Group—he's at the top."

I quickly sketched a simple organizational chart in my notebook. "Then you have two main legs underneath him. My Dad runs Grand Lux Properties. That's the facilities side—all the maintenance, engineering, and renovation work. Megan and Mark handle Grand Lux Management. They staff and train every new hotel we buy, like this Ambassador. It's too big a job to hire everyone one-by-one."

"So your Dad does the physical stuff and Mark and Megan do the people stuff," Matt summarized.

"Exactly. It's a huge operation now, essential for all the properties he's picking up, like the Fort Worth Blackstone and now the LA Ambassador."

"So why tell me?" he asked.

"Don't let Megan think you're under her. She is a master at training people. She'll start trying to train you to observe protocol. You're my driver and my bodyguard. You're not a butler."

"I'm not a butler," he agreed with a laugh.

I settled back into my large leather covered seat to enjoy the in-flight movie. I didn't tell him that he needed to stay away from Megan because she was attracted to him, it would have had the opposite effect. There was a different woman I was saving Matt for. One who would make him truly happy.

Upon arrival a limo picked us up and took us to the property. It's huge—two hundred acres—and it's clearly been worn by time. That was fine. Grandpa had double sized plans for the property. But first, I had a little digging to do.

After we checked in, the adults went off to do a tour of the hotel, meet the staff and assure everyone that things will go on and that grand renovations would be coming so the old gal would shine again.

I unpacked my clothes, then, with my secret mission in mind, I took a garden trowel out of my bag.

"What is that for?" Matt asked, surprised to see me triumphantly holding a garden trowel above my head.

"I'm going to look for hidden treasure. Want to come?" I said, smiling.

"Another one of those adventures you like having?" he asked.

"Of course! Come on, it'll be fun!"

Shaking his head with a slight smile, he followed me out. "Your Grandpa told me about Belle Star's treasure," Matt said as we walked out. "Is this something like that?"

"Sure is. The story starts in Germany, April 1936. Mordecai Levi sees the antisemitism of the Nazi Party. He decides with his family to move their resources out of the country and to find a safe place for them to flee to," I told him, as we headed down the hallway at a brisk pace to the elevator.

I continued as the elevator door shut. "He liquidates much of their wealth and smuggles it out of the country into Switzerland. In Switzerland he converts everything he has into stocks of American companies. The shares are easily transportable and redeemable for cash."

The elevator doors slid open and I paused the story as I walked out of the building. I continued once we were outside in the bright sun.

"Then he takes a boat to the United States. He travels across the country to California to purchase a home for his family to live in. It's as far from Germany as he can get."

I headed to the northeast corner of the property and Matt continued following. He was completely into the story I was telling.

"By now over a year has gone by and things in Germany are getting much worse. After purchasing a suitable home he puts the stocks in a bank safe-deposit box and comes here, to the Cocoanut Grove, to hear the music. He loves it and decides to stay an extra day but while he's here, he hears rumors about arrests in Germany.

"He leaves a note at the house he purchased describing where the stocks are and the code words to retrieve them and a map to where he's hidden the key. But first, he buries the key here at the Ambassador Hotel just in case."

Matt, entranced by the tale watched as I step off twenty paces from the corner of the building. "What happens then?" he asked, eagerly.

"He arrives back in Germany December 1938. He's warmly welcomed back, straight into a concentration camp. He and his entire family end up dead. The house sits vacant for a few years before vandals burn it. The city repossesses it for back taxes and the property gets sold, bulldozed and rebuilt."

I'm standing in the rough grass. A glance confirms no one is around. I look down at my feet. "The safe-deposit box key that he buried is still here. It's right under my foot. It's in a glass jar, which is inside a tin can. Want to dig it up?"

Matt looked around to confirm no one seemed to be paying us any attention. "Go ahead, I'll keep an eye out," he said.

My shovel scraped against something hard about two feet down, making me stop and dig around it, eventually unearthing a metal container. I pulled it out of the ground and carefully removed the intact glass jar. "Let's head back to the room," I told Matt.

He looked at me and the dark brown jar. Then Matt kicked the dirt back into the hole. I gave him the rusted metal can and said, "Toss this in the trash on the way back."

We got back to the room, and I carefully opened the sealed jar. The brass key slid out into my hand.

"It's in very good condition," Matt said, as I held the brass key up to show him.

"It is a very nice key," I agree.

"What happens if you don't use it?" he asks.

"It's a ninety-nine year prepaid lease on the safe-deposit box. Access to the box is by last name and code word. You would think it would be safe, but the bank closes in a few years, which means the box is eventually declared abandoned.

"They open the box but it is reported as assorted old documents and its contents are walked off with by a couple of bank employees."

"And what are we going to do?" he asked.

"Well, one of those names is Carpenter. I know the access password, and we have the key, so we are going to go open it up and take it."

"That easy?!" he exclaimed, a note of disbelief in his voice.

"I'll just have to tell Grandpa tonight."

"I'm looking forward to the look on his face. What do you want to do for the rest of the day?"

"I'm thinking of hitting the swimming pool till dinner time."

Matt was right the look on Grandpa's face was hilarious. He looked faint as I told him the story. Finally he asked, "Was he really a relative of mine?"

"Actually he was Grandpa, a very, very distant cousin. Either you go collect it, or someone else will walk off with it."

"We will go in the morning!" he declared.

It was that easy. On Friday morning The Farmers and Merchants Bank looked up the records, discovered the lease and stipulations, and verified Grandpa was a Carpenter with the password 'Cocoanut Grove' and the key.

We were escorted to the vault, the bank unlocked their side, and once alone Grandpa opened his. The box was crammed with stacks of aged, brittle-looking papers, tied with a faded blue ribbon. I couldn't help but reach out and touch the papers. The history and loss wrapped up in ribbon, and a story only I had known. We put them into Grandpa's briefcase and walked back out of the bank.

We were back in plenty of time for lunch. After Grandpa secured his briefcase in the hotel safe we headed to the hotel coffee shop to eat.

"What are we going to do with the 'deposit?'" Grandpa asked.

"How about a quick flight to the Caymans?" I asked him.

"How quick?" he asked.

"Five hours," I said.

"That's not quick at all."

"It's twenty-five hundred miles but I bet Grandma would love to go. Her birthday is next month. It would be a nice treat after the grand reopening party," I suggested.

"That sounds like a good idea and it's closer from Tulsa too," Grandpa said.

"A thousand miles closer."

"Good, I can wait. Any idea of the value?" he asked.

"Consider what you paid for this place, and my estimate for its reconstruction. The 'deposit' is double that investment," I said, with perfect timing.

Grandpa spewed coffee over the entire table. I blocked with a menu but Matt did not. When they finished cleaning up, they both glared murderously at me but I just laughed.

That afternoon Matt drove me to the company in LA that would build our fire tornado machines. I gave them the design drawings and ordered a thousand small ones, and three large ones. They promised to have the first batch sent to us as quickly as they could.

When Monday arrived, I left LA with Matt and headed to Oakhurst, California. We took a plane to Fresno, where we met Jennifer at the airport. Then Matt drove us in a rental car up the winding curves of Highway 41 into the mountains.

After being introduced to Ken and Roberta Williams I sat down with the company owners privately. After a few minutes of talking about software development and getting comfortable with each other I brought up the reason for the visit. "I want to know how interested you are in a possible three-way merger."

"With who?" Ken asked.

"Brøderbund, and Heartland."

"Why would we do that?" Roberta asked.

"All three companies would benefit from centralizing production, shipping and marketing. The three companies are about equal in size and in sales and don't have competing products."

"We all make games—what do you mean we don't have competing products?" Roberta said.

"They are different kinds of games. Brøderbund does educational games. You do action adventure and Heartland does strategy games and software development tools."

"Are we really similar in size?" Ken asked.

"Nationwide the three companies rank number ten, eleven and twelve."

"Okay, so who gets to be in charge of the new company, you?" Roberta asked.

"I'm not eve in charge at Heartland. I own twenty-five percent of Heartland. I bought that with cash then licensed my software to them to produce it."

"Then why are you the on here?" Ken asked.

"It's my idea. My plan is to purchase twenty-five percent of your company, and twenty-five percent of Brøderbund. If a merger happens, then I'll still own twenty-five percent of the new company."

"And then we have twenty-five percent of a new company instead of the one-hundred percent of what we have now," Roberta responded. "I'm just not seeing the advantage, Dr Cook."

"The advantage is the other software that Heartland produces," I explained.

"Object Pascal? We use our own development engine," Ken said.

"The new company will give everyone access to the newest updates of Object Pascal. Usually more than six months before anyone else. That's a significant advantage. It also allows one set of code to run on Apple, Mac, and IBM DOS machines with minimal adjustments," I explained.

"One set of code for all three platforms? That would save us months. We've had a struggle adapting King's Quest to the new PC/AT," Ken said.

"I agree, that's a massive advantage," Roberta added. "I don't know if it's enough."

"But that's not all," I explained. "Additionally, I have new software that optimizes the graphics rendering for full animation sequences in games. It's specific for each machine, or graphics card, and integrates seamlessly with code written in Object Pascal."

Roberta: "Optimizing graphics for full animation? How hard would it be to convert GAL to use Object Pascal?"

John: "I could probably finish it over a long weekend. That would include any upgrades you wanted at the same time," I said and set three disks on the table. "I already started."

Roberta grabbed the disks and put the first one into a nearby computer. "How did you do this?" she asked, her voice filled with surprise.

"I got a copy of King's Quest and reverse engineered your scripting system."

"Can I keep this?" she asked.

"Sure. It's not complete," I said.

"For the sake of argument, let's say we are agreeable to work with you. How do you ensure that we each get twenty-five percent of the new company?" Ken asked.

"I buy the difference."

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"It means if your company is worth five percent more, then I buy the difference, so the merger happens between exact equals."

"Who controls the new company?" Roberta asked again.

"You two, Blake at Heartland, the brothers at Brøderbund and I all sit on the board. We hire somebody to run the new company. They do the marketing, sales, production, and shipping. They also start a computer software magazine that focuses on games and programming for every platform out there. You guys get to go back to concentrating on creating new games."

"Do you have a name for this new company?"

"BHS Software sounds nice to me."

"Why are we last?" Roberta asked.

"It's alphabetical. I don't care what it's called, because your name doesn't go away. The brand Sierra On-Line stays attached to all the games and other software you continue to develop."

"We'll consider it, and get back to you."

"That's fine," I said handing him a business card. "That number goes to my lawyer who you met earlier. She handles sitting on the board of the companies I invest in."

We met back up with Matt and Jennifer for a full tour of the company. As we were leaving, I told the couple, "I have one last gift for you."

"What is it?"

"It's the newest Object Pascal with full EGA support. It won't be officially released for a few more months," I told her, handing her a box with six 5.25-inch floppies.

"Thank you, we'll check it out, and get back to you."

We spent the night up the hill at the Shilo Inn in Oakhurst, and headed back to Fresno the next morning. The flight from Fresno to San Francisco was short and the drive over the Golden Gate Bridge for the first time to San Rafael was exciting.

The discussion went about the same. The three Carlston siblings, Doug, Gary and Cathy were concerned about having to move or change their company culture.

"No one will make you move if you're happiest here, or object if you want to move back to Oregon," I assured them.

"The goal isn't to change your company. This isn't an acquisition by some big monolithic industrial group that's going to force everyone to wear suits and talk like a robot. It's three similarly sized companies coming together to use each other's advantages and grow market share. You'll set the corporate culture and structure together."

"We need funds for our Copyright suit. We've been looking for an investor because of that."

"You'll have my support. It's an important legal precedent and you are in the right trying to protect your IP."

"We do have an investor that has been wanting out. He thought that we would be going public soon but we can't do that until the lawsuit finishes."

"That sounds like an excellent way for me to buy in. Even if the merger fails for some reason, I'm still interested in owning a piece of Brøderbund."

After we drove back to San Francisco, Jennifer got a message when she called her office from our room at the Palace Hotel.

"John, good news," she said as he hung up. "Sierra had decided they wanted to discuss the merger in more detail."

"That's great. I've got to fly back to Tulsa soon with Grandpa. Do you think you can handle bringing everybody together here?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "I can handle that. Are you sure you want me doing this? I've never done M/A before."

"Get help from Dallas if you need it, but you're going to be my voice on the board, so it's good you get to know them all now."

"I do understand the plan," she said.

"Good. I'll pay for everyone to come here to meet and discuss things. This will be a great location, the hotel can handle everything you might need."

"Any limit on how long the talks go?" she asked.

"I trust you to not drag it out. I think everybody likes the idea of being something bigger without losing what they are. I don't expect it to be too difficult for them to agree to the basics."

"Alright, John. I'll handle it. Are you still flying back to LA tomorrow?"

"I am. Mom will kill Grandpa if he comes home without me and I'll get grounded for life."

It took until the day after I got back for Grandpa to finish his work in LA. I spent the time getting thoroughly tanned in the California sun at the big LA Ambassador pool.

We had returned just in time to witness the testing of the fire tornado at the quarry. It was fantastic. The Fire Chief reluctantly gave us a permit but only for only one night of use.

Grandpa joined me on the roof after it had been disassembled and reassembled on the northwest corner of the roof.

"Well, the contractor certainly hid it well. From the street, it's not even visible. I'm sure the people at OneOK across the street can see it, but it just looks like a big antenna. Are those supports strong enough?" Grandpa asked me.

"They're strong enough," I told him. "It's a four-sided pyramid structure. Each of those four legs marks the corner of a fifty-foot square, anchoring it perfectly. It's steel-core, strong enough to hold a car, let alone the spinner. It stands thirty-five feet above the roof right now—it's now the highest point on the building."

"I see. And the fuel? I don't see any big tanks up here."

"Basic propane canisters. The kind used for gas barbecue grills. The hose runs straight up one of the support legs—totally concealed. The big spinner that makes the whole thing work is on a three-by-three platform right at the top of the pyramid."

"Why is it way over here on the northwest corner? I thought you wanted it higher, above the elevator rooms."

"I did, but the big red 'Mayo' sign was in the way. We can't move or block that. This spot, on the northwest corner, is the farthest from the lounge. The nice thing is, Dad and I used the construction crew being up here as cover. We disguised the work by adding the planter box garden."

"A garden? For your Mom?"

"It's a surprise for her birthday, so don't mention it. Three-foot high boxes, four by eight feet each. We snuck as many as we could safely fit onto the roof of the bar."

The contractor walked up a big grin on his face. "We're going to do the quick test now. We'll start the motor for the spinner, then the propane and automatic lighter."

"Just remember keep it quick and short. We aren't running it full, we aren't allowed until the night of the grand reopening."

I looked at Grandpa, who's grin matched the contractors. "I hope it goes even higher than the quarry test when we open."

The test went perfect, a tiny four foot tornado before it was shut down in preparation for the big night.

The last Monday in May Grandpa loaned me the money for the finalized merger. Jennifer had made it happen. It was just under $10 million and I bought slightly more than twenty-five percent of the two companies, becoming a shareholder of the new merged company. We schedule a formal meeting to pick a CEO for June 20th in Tulsa.

On the second to last day of May we got an important delivery.

"Come on Mom! Grandma's going to beat you to the packages!" I shouted.

"I'm coming! Wait for me!" she shouted as she hurried to the elevator where I was holding it open. Grandma had a smug look on her face, having made it there first.

I let the doors close and hit the button for the lobby.

"Why are we rushing?" Mom asked. "The front desk signs for everything."

"It's the fire tornadoes! They are here!" Grandma excitedly told her.

The front desk had signed for the five big boxes. We each grabbed one to open. I held out one of the small tabletop versions.

"That is just perfect!" Grandma said looking at it. "What does it run on?"

I flipped the glass and steel box upside down and popped open the battery compartment. "9 volt batteries and bio-ethanol."

"What's that?" Grandma asked.

"200 proof booze, Grandma."

Mom successfully pulled out one of the much larger ones from the box. "This is really big. Where is it going?"

"There should be three. One for each corner of the building along the sidewalk."

She tapped the glass. "Is this safe?"

"It's double walled glass. No one will get burned by touching it. We'll bring them in at closing and chain them up to the building when they run."

"It's much bigger than I expected," Grandma said, comparing it to the little one she was holding from the box she opened.

"It's six feet tall. A propane canister fuels it, since it's outside. I should have ordered more. It would be nice to put these out on the roof deck at the bar upstairs."

Mom and Grandma looked at each other an nodded. We would definitely be getting some for the roof deck.

"How many did we get?" Mom asked.

"Should be twenty-five in each of two smaller boxes."

"That's not enough," Grandma said.

"I know, but it's what we have. More is coming. I did order a thousand like Mom suggested."

"Well lets get it running," Mom said. I'm excited to see it work."

We got everything set up, and eagerly awaited the grand opening. June 1st, a Saturday, people started arriving early. Grandpa had strategically sent out invitations for a complimentary weekend to celebrate the hotel's grand opening, ensuring a full house.

We were fully booked, a testament to the success of our opening strategy. This would be a massive test of our staff's capabilities, but Megan Stoop was on hand to direct operations and ensure smooth service. She would shine this weekend, as would her staff.

The pool and spa weren't complete, though their tile walls were up, and the gift shop displayed posters of the artwork, both framed and unframed. We made sure to offer tours, and guests responded with awe as their eyes unfocused, revealing the captivating details of my artwork.

Throughout Saturday and Sunday, we offered a half-price promotion on all ground-level restaurants to entice guests to experience our culinary offerings.

We had considered a dumbwaiter for the rooftop lounge, but ultimately decided against it, prioritizing the exceptional dining experience offered by our main restaurants. We made a small exception: a select list of appetizers from the room service menu could be delivered to the lounge, exclusively for hotel guests or residents.

Grandpa got worried when a storm blew in at about 7pm. It brought a light shower and some strong gusting winds, posing a potential threat to our outdoor plans. "Don't worry Grandpa. The storm will pass in time," I assured him.

With rain gone, but with the clouds darkening the night further, at 9pm, we confidently ignited the rooftop tornado.

We had limited the rooftop lounge access to hotel guests yet it was packed with people eager to witness the tornado themselves. They had seen the smaller ones throughout the day and were looking forward to the event.