It was a dark place - figuratively and literally - where he spent most of his time. The room was clean and neat, the only light coming from eight computer monitors on a long table against the outer wall. Here, he watched intently, pushed back in his wheelchair, glancing from one screen to the next, sometimes pausing to reflect on what might be happening on a particular screen.
To his left, a sliding glass door opened onto a small terrace with a wrought iron patio table and three matching chairs. A fourth space was left empty for his wheelchair. Several plants filled the area which was like a big open box turned on its side and set in the corner of the building with a heavy concrete roof above.
The view beyond was stunning, showing lower Manhattan at night. The lights of the skyline in the distance were like small shooting stars as their bright glow streaked across the water to their points of origin - traffic moving across the Brooklyn Bridge to destinations unknown and uncared about by the lonely sentry keeping watch inside.
The remainder of the floor which he lived on was quiet and occupied only by him. On the five floors below in small islands of music and light, the occupants toasted the coming holidays; visited on the phone; and in general, lived normal active lives. They were all very happy with their recently acquired apartments with the large open floor plans, high windows that gave lots of light during the day, and the completely remodeled rooms filled with the latest and newest in appliances and other electronic conveniences.
On returning from the hospital, he had found his Manhattan condominium unbearable. Even changing bedrooms hadn't helped wipe away the memories. It had been an easy decision to get rid of it and relocate. Choosing an empty warehouse owned by his company and paying a premium price, he'd had the remodeling completed in six months and cried silently when he left his old building. It was by no means closure - feeling more like abandonment as he quietly recalled the times she'd been there, waiting for him after long trips.
The building was a very small part of a global empire built by his father and had originally served as its principle warehouse during the early growth years of the company. But, it had soon been outgrown and had been given over to personal storage for the Pond family. It was located on a small tract of fifty wooded acres with a view of the south end of Manhattan, but Jack's father had always said the area was much more suited to a country estate than a warehouse. With his parents' untimely deaths, Jack had been left as the head of one of the largest family-owned transport and warehousing businesses in the world with offices and storage space in 62 countries. It had also afforded him an opportunity to finally create an estate of sorts although it was not the fieldstone country manor that his father had envisioned. This was more a concrete fortress - Jack's cocoon and buffer to hold the world at bay.
As urban sprawl had sent highways and other transport in different directions, it had slowly become isolated and cutoff, impractical for the constant movement of the large trucks, vans, and semis needed to support the growing business.
The isolation of the building might have been a drawback for some with no other buildings or houses within yelling distance but not for the small group of professionals that enjoyed the privacy and isolation provided by the thick stand of trees that surrounded the building. A circular drive and finely manicured lawn completed the facade with an entrance to the underground garage off to the side. Two security guards sat in a small island of light, watching sentry monitors that were as boring as black and white reruns from the 50's. A third guard was making his way down through the parking garage and then up the stairwell to listen outside the door of each apartment just long enough to know that all was well.
Half the first floor was dedicated to a small sports and fitness center with a twenty- five yard two-lane lap pool, sauna, and shower rooms. The other half was a party room, available to the occupants, and complete with a small stage, baby grand piano, and a sound system for those nieces and nephews who were coming of age and wanted to dance away the night with friends and family. A wet bar and a fully-equipped kitchen finished it off.
Jack had taken the half-billion dollar company and turned it into a billion dollar one after his parents' deaths. It had taken five years. Not really the playboy type, he was also not the wallflower some liked to think. His nose was always to the grindstone, and his only free time was the time needed to shower and shave before jetting off to breakfast and business in one country and dinner and business in another. Nevertheless, he did have a few "special female friends" around the world that were always happy to see him when he flew into town.
He was an Ivy League graduate with a feel for the blue collar worker that his empire was built on. He had found it fairly easy to bring new opportunities in and let his people build the business for him. That, coupled with the willingness of his college classmate, Juan Franciso, had made the hard work of doubling a fortune easy.
Juan Francisco Martin, better known as John F. in the states, was the son of a British father and Mexican mother, and he had opened up Latin America for Jack. The quiet rivalry during their first year at college had grown into a friendship that even their girlfriends were jealous of. Juan's parents had in many ways become Jack's own after the plane crash that had changed his life. It was not unusual for Jack to fly south of the border for a weekend. He seldom called to announce his intentions, but he was always received like one of the family and sent off to settle in the room they had christened his. Juan's three sisters found Jack fair game for practicing the fine art of Latin flirting which for some reason always left him red-faced. The girls' father only grinned knowingly, and their mother always seemed to find some obscure Saint to bless Jack with while admonishing her daughters who stood innocently watching Jack squirm.
Coming out of college and going directly into the family business had kept Jack busy; his father made certain he learned every aspect of the business - from how to store a dolly on a truck so it wouldn't slide around and damage the cargo to how to fly the Airbus 300's used as their long haul jets. His presence was expected at all board meetings even if he happened to be on the other side of the globe when notified. "Get it done," his father would say into the phone, "and don't forget to bring a tie," a small chuckle in his voice as he left Jack listening to a dial tone. And he did it. He always got it done. He always did the best any father could expect, and oddly enough, it was always more than enough. His father made no bones about the fact that Jack was the hardest working employee he had - the brightest and the best.
It was clear from the first board meeting Jack attended that he was expected to take the reins some day. Placed at his father's right hand, Jack sat at the same table he had played under many years before while listening to his father consider this and contemplate that with the group of old friends that helped during those early years. Jack was expected to be an active participant in Pond Enterprises from that first official board meeting. He was not to be relegated to the role of a well-educated showpiece, sitting in some plush office taking social calls and making 'strategic' dinner dates.
That, combined with Jack's drive and willingness to do any job that needed to be done, including sweeping the floor in the warehouse, had earned him the respect of his people and made a transition that might have destroyed other companies fairly smooth. He could still conjure up his mother's voice as she pleaded with Jack's father not to take him to the warehouse. "Sweeping the floor was no place for a twelve-year-old boy. Playing with his friends or going to a museum was certainly a more appropriate activity." But it seemed the Ryan boy had been caught stealing again, and this time, it was something much more valuable. As much as his father had hated it, he had been forced to take drastic measures and needed Jack to fill in. It would just be a few days until someone else could be found. Those few days turned into several years as Jack became a permanent fixture, running errands and filling in when someone didn't make it in for the day.
