Chapter 7: Alex

ALEX

The hum of the engines in my private jet filled the cabin as I glanced out the window, the sprawling expanse of upstate New York unfurling beneath me. As the plane made its descent, Willowbrook came into sharp focus. From this vantage, it was a breathtaking panorama of autumnal beauty. The town nestled serenely amidst a mosaic of gold, crimson, and russet hues, with rooftops and winding streets offering the promise of charm and business. It was small but bustling, not a desolate backwater as many such towns turned out to be, but a lively heartbeat in the vast New York landscape.

Tapping my fingers against the armrest, I thought of the coming negotiations. Mayer Financials was my ticket to outflanking the competition. Most of my competitors were content playing their petty power games within the congested confines of the Big Apple. But my gaze was set further afield. With a solid foothold in upstate New York, I could leverage markets they hadn’t even considered yet.

So far, my only point of contact had been Diane Mayer. Her reputation as Mayer Financials' formidable legal head preceded her, but our conversations had been surprisingly pleasant. Amenable even. That was a start. But I knew the real challenge would be convincing the entire Mayer clan – Diane, her husband, and a daughter who, from what I’d heard, was a genius with numbers. Securing their agreement was paramount.

Running a hand through my hair, I considered my approach. Sentiment wouldn’t cut it; this was business. And while I had no intention of bulldozing them with brashness, I was prepared to push, persuade, and, if need be, prod them until I had their full buy-in.

The jet touched down smoothly, and as I disembarked, the crisp autumn air hit me. It was invigorating. I paused for a moment, letting the rustic charm of Willowbrook wash over me. But beneath the veneer of relaxation, my mind was at work, already strategizing, anticipating counters and formulating replies.

A wry grin stretched across my face. The beautiful landscape, the opportunity at hand, and the challenge of the negotiations ahead all combined to create a sense of exhilaration. New York City was where I cut my teeth, where I'd learned the rules of the game. But here, in places like Willowbrook, was where the future lay. My future.

With every step toward the waiting car, the pieces of my grand strategy clicked into place. The rest of the state was ripe for the taking. With Mayer Financials as my anchor, I'd ensure that while others squabbled over the crowded city, I'd have the breadth and depth of New York State at my fingertips. The game was afoot, and I was more than ready to play.

The town passed by in a blur of brick, wood, and autumnal foliage as my private car cruised the streets of Willowbrook. The vibrancy of life here was hard to miss, from children playing in the parks to couples strolling arm in arm. While the city's relentless pulse was where I truly thrived, there was an undeniable charm to this quaint town that, for a fleeting moment, made me see the appeal of a slower pace.

Yet, as much as the tranquility intrigued me, the undeniable truth was that I was itching to get back to the city's roaring energy. The skyscrapers that touched the clouds, the never-ending hum of life – that was my world. This was but a necessary detour on my ever-expanding map of dominance.

As my thoughts roamed, my eyes landed on a quaint cafe called “Lila’s Coffeeshop,” nestled between two brick buildings. On a whim, I signaled for the driver to stop. Walking into a negotiation with a peace offering, however small, might just tilt the odds in my favor. Besides, New Yorkers always brought coffee to meetings.

Pushing open the door, the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit me. The gentle hum of conversation stopped momentarily as heads turned in my direction. I couldn’t blame them. My tailored suit and polished demeanor contrasted starkly with the more relaxed attire of the locals.

"I'll take four lattes," I told the barista behind the counter, flashing her a quick smile. Her wide eyes, still processing the unexpected entrance of a stranger, blinked a few times before she nodded. Her hair was deep red, a few stray tendrils hanging loose around her face. 

"Of course!" she responded, her voice pitching higher than I suspected was normal. It wasn't the first time my presence had rendered someone momentarily starstruck. Though she probably didn’t know who I was, she clearly recognized I wasn’t from around here.

As she worked the espresso machine, she shot me a curious glance. "You're not from Willowbrook, are you? I mean, you have that city aura around you. It's kinda... magnetic."

I chuckled, leaning casually against the counter. "Is that a polite way of saying I stick out like a sore thumb here?"

She laughed, her nervousness easing. "A little bit. Though it's not necessarily a bad thing. The town could use a bit of city flair every now and then."

Grinning, I replied, "Well, if I ever decide to trade skyscrapers for tree-lined streets, I'll remember to bring a bit of the Big Apple with me." I paid, slipping a fifty into the tip jar before heading out. 

And with that, coffees in hand, I stepped back into my car, the weight of the coming negotiation ever present in my mind.

I glance over my shoulder back into the café. The shop’s large paneled windows revealed not just a crowd of townsfolk but also a face – the barista, who seemed to be frozen mid-activity, her attention entirely on me.

There was a glint of recognition in her eyes, mingled with surprise. I squinted subtly, racking my brain. Did I know her? The city lifestyle, along with my many short-lived romantic endeavors, meant that my past was a tapestry of faces – most memorable, but admittedly, some blurred with time. But where had I seen her before?

The possibilities played out in my mind, and I had to stifle a chuckle. Over the years, I had crossed paths with countless people, some meetings more intimate than others. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that a forgotten tryst from my past was now living in Willowbrook. Life had a way of playing such sardonic tricks.

Drawing my attention away from the shop and the mysteriously familiar face, I took a moment to center myself, setting the lattes beside me. Business before pleasure, or in this case, potentially awkward reunions.

The car began to move smoothly through the winding streets of the town, and as it did, I couldn't help but shoot one last glance in the direction of "Lila's Coffeeshop." The woman had disappeared from the window. 

The journey was short, and before I knew it, we were pulling up to a majestic building that stood as a testament to the legacy of Mayer Financials. The stately edifice was imposing in its elegance, a beautiful blend of historical architecture and modern design. Tall columns framed the entrance, and a bronze plaque bearing the company's insignia glinted in the afternoon sun.

I took a deep breath, feeling a familiar thrill. This was it. The moment of reckoning. The lattes, now serving a dual purpose as a gesture of goodwill and a caffeine boost, would hopefully give me a slight edge in the forthcoming discussions.

With the specter of the unknown woman momentarily pushed to the back of my mind, I stepped out of the car, ready to make my case and leave an indelible mark on this town. Willowbrook, in all its quaint charm, would soon learn the kind of force Alex Newsome truly was.

As I strolled through the entrance of Mayer Financials, the muted hum of activity resonated throughout the expansive marble-lined lobby. The place was alive with the energy of a thriving business, every cubicle and office filled with diligent employees, many of whom shot me curious and sometimes awestruck glances. The reputation of Mayer Financials was well known, especially for an upstate firm. But then again, so was mine.

An assistant, a young man with an eager gleam in his eye and a clipboard tucked under his arm, quickly approached. "Mr. Newsome?" he asked, almost out of breath as if he'd rushed to meet me.

I gave him a nod, my expression unwavering. "Lead the way."

He ushered me towards an elevator, which smoothly ascended to the building’s apex. As the doors slid open on the top floor, a breathtaking view greeted me. The entirety of Willowbrook stretched out below, its quaint buildings dwarfed by the expansive and colorful forests surrounding them, their leaves painted in brilliant shades of autumn.

The conference room itself was spacious and modern, a stark contrast to the charming exterior of the building. The large mahogany table was surrounded by plush leather chairs, and floor-to-ceiling windows provided an even more unobstructed view of the town.

Already seated, Diane and Richard Mayer rose as I entered. The firm handshake Richard extended exuded confidence, while Diane, impeccably dressed and every bit as intimidating as our previous phone calls had suggested, greeted me with a curt nod. There was an undeniable air of expectancy, but beneath it, a hint of apprehension.

"We appreciate you making the trip," Richard began, his voice steady.

"I believe in taking a hands-on approach," I replied.

After a few moments of polite small talk, I couldn’t help but inquire about the missing piece. "Your daughter, I was looking forward to meeting her. I've heard quite a bit."

Diane exchanged a glance with Richard. "Ellie just stepped out for a moment," she replied. "But she should be joining us shortly."

Ellie. Now that was a name that had been on my mind for the last few weeks. 

As if on cue, the door to the conference room swung open. My casual statement about anticipation to meet her was interrupted as my eyes locked onto the figure that entered. Time seemed to slow as Ellie walked in, her demeanor a blend of grace and determination. 

It was her. 

My usually unflappable demeanor wavered. The head accountant of perhaps my latest acquisition was none other than Ellie. It took every ounce of my practiced composure not to let my shock show too vividly.

"Ellie, this is Alex Newsome," Diane introduced, seemingly oblivious to the tension.

Ellie's gaze was steely, and she extended her hand, her grip firm. "Mr. Newsome," she greeted, her voice holding a note of challenge. 

For a fleeting second, the weight of memories bore down on me, memories of that magical night in Vegas, the face that I’d assumed would be nothing more than a fond recollection. 

“A pleasure, Ms. Mayer.”

But for now, business awaited. Pushing aside the personal mysteries, I focused on the task at hand. After all, the game had just gotten a lot more interesting.