Grant (Final)

Grant

 "What about poor old senator Baxton?"

Leroy

Ex-Ambassador Seamus Grant's hands were no longer bound to the side of the bed.  He had become very feeble. It took him a few minutes just to sit up. Standing is the first step, the first step is the second step, Grant thought, coaching himself to move towards the bathroom.  His slow shuffle was now caused by his own fatigue and pain whilst before it had been due to metal ankle bands.  The steps were small but he tried going faster. That was when he became dizzy and the world suddenly flipped upside down.  He grabbed the wall in time and continued. 

When he exited the bathroom his attorney, Max Leroy, was sitting on the chair next to his bed. The doctor visits had slowed since his condition was terminal but Leroy was there in that chair everyday by 10am.  The unmistakable glow of fame and ambition shone from the lawyer.  But from Leroy it was more of a slippery brine that leaked from his slanted grin and waxed eyebrows.  

If his brother hadn't recommended the lawyer personally Grant would have never hired him. "He's the best in the business," Grant's brother, Tony, had said.  Tony was the only person who he trusted with his back-up plan.  Large sums of money were now being deposited in his old account at regular intervals by various fast food chains. He asked Tony to retrieve them for him.
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Mini-Chapter on Grant's International Corporate and Diplomatic Crimes

Grant had been organizing frequent but minor political feats in order for food chains to gain certain portions of the market share in Europe.  He managed this though government regulation on certain products such as organic, genetically modified, and even as general as high fiber products.  He had exercised Newtopia's longstanding, stable wealth against smaller countries in order to force legislation banning or taxing this type of food or that.  Once passed, one fast food chain would move into the area with a product that filled the new gap in the market.  As an ambassador he had many opportunities to perform these behind-the-scenes deals.  He had seven ongoing 'cases' before he had been imprisoned in Crete for espionage.  

The International Security Council was right to suspect him but he had done very little actual espionage.   His crimes were actually laundering, accepting bribes, and political coercion. His brother might have suspected something. But so far it seems his little brother was as loyal as he was ignorant of Grant's international crimes. Tony was an ideologist so Grant had told him the money was from Newtopia as both back-pay and compensation for his own hardship for being in prison.
End Mini-Chapter
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Leroy, the very public and proficient lawyer, gleamed back at Grant as he hobbled back to his bed.  It make Grant uneasy that Leroy knew everything.  "I don't want to talk today," Grant said.  

"I just want to undestand one last thing," Leroy said.  The news that Grant was dying arrived two days ago.  That same day Grant revealed to Leroy the multi-layered schemes he used to extort money using his political influence. Leroy had listened in a quiet, somber state. And throughout that day and yesterday he had asked followup questions about Grant's strategy: which political people he involved, which countries, etc.  Today's question seemed like another such question.  But Grant was surprised when Leroy asked, "What about poor old Senator Baxton?"  How did Leroy put the pieces together so fast? Grant thought.  Surprised at the lawyers ability to connect the dots Grant, nonetheless, answered honestly.

"Well as far as I can figure: one or some of the fast food companies found out I was playing them against each other.  And since they had no clue I was pulling the strings they figured out it had to be someone with political connections. They guessed wrong. And instead of killing the bad guy they killed just a plain old scum bag politician," Grant said.  It felt good reviewing the facts with someone who was smart... and legally obligated to conceal his wrongdoing.

"I see so they thought Baxton was you.  But then why did they try to kill you in Crete?" Leroy tried answering his own question: "Because by then they found out you were the one manipulating them."

"No, see that's what I thought at first.  But they don't- they're so clean.  The wealthy echelon of Europe were responsible for so many deaths in the past seven months you wouldn't believe.  But they never hire some fool to shoot someone in broad daylight, at such a public venue as the Cretan court. Those, people, they kill clean."

"Then who tried to kill you in Crete?" Leroy thought out-loud.

Just then Grant's nurse swung from the entrance of his room holding tight to the wall as she violently pivoted into the room. She searched the room for only a second with swift scans from the doorway.  When her eyes met Grant's she shouted at him, "your brother was attacked downstairs!" Leroy watched Grant struggle to rise from the bed.  The recent trip to the bathroom and discussion about his schemes in Europe had drained Grant to exhaustion.  Leroy pulled out his pen and notebook and nodded at Grant before rushing out of the room.  The nurse followed Leroy.  

A bearded man in blue jeans walked in casually moments later.  He could have been in his thirties or fifties, Grant could not know.  

Grant squeezed the aluminum rails of his bed and began sweating.  "Who are you?" he asked. 

The bearded man just shook his head and walked to the window.  He grabbed the tall metal cabinet next to the window and dragged it to right in front of the window.  It can't be the end, now.  I'm supposed to die later.  The bearded man walked over and looked at Grant. "Looks like you're already dying," he said callously. 

"I am actually," Grant said.  "The doctors have given up. I'm supposed to die in a month at most." Tears were welling in Grants eyes now.  He thought of Nancy doing all the hard work in searching for his incriminating flash drive.  And he thought of her innocent passion that he would never see again.  "Just let me stay another month."

"Why do you care," the bearded man asked. "If you die you die. We all die." The simple lesson from the bearded man was chilling to Grant.  

"What are you going to do?"

Picture by Liam Hanninen Downtown Chicago

"Do you really want to know? Just close your eyes."  Grant closed his eyes.  He listened to the distant noise of commotion downstairs.
Grant began to sense every emotion he felt: he hoped his brother was ok.  He wanted to see Nancy one more time.  He had a sudden surge of empathy for the bearded man.  He's just doing his job, Grant thought.  His thoughts raced to the road he made for himself. That's something I never did.  But at-least my job didn't get people killed. The irony hit him on his last moments as an image of the newspaper headline appeared in his darken thoughts.  "Senator Baxton, Murdered!"