“Sir--the D.A. says, if Fawn signs the document, the official paperwork for the order will be erased.  In other words, Judd will live his life, believing that Fawn stayed away because of a restraining order that doesn’t actually exist.  That is the reason the D.A. wants the letter signed--just in case...”

Winston didn’t have to finish his sentence.  Amanda wanted it just in case Fawn slipped; and there were no shortage of ways to make good use of damning evidence.  Morpheus didn’t want to ponder on this problem any longer.

He stared at his daughter, then he spoke loud enough to wake the dead.

"Fawn!!!  Sign the gotdamn thing.  Sign it now--then get the hell out of my sight."

Fawn shook, but she wouldn’t cower.  She wasn’t a fool and she knew to fear her father, but her stubbornness wouldn’t allow her fear to show.  She watched Winston as he approached her.  She hadn’t even seen the documents on a desk nearby where he’d been standing.  He lifted the documents, then he approached her, handing her the papers on a clipboard along with a pen.  She took it, and while she signed next to yellow arrowed stickies, pointing at the lines where her signature was to be penned, she heard her father when he said...

“I will say this once...and I will not repeat myself.  Take this as your final warning.  Stay the hell away from Judd Marko.  Stay away from that man, and stay away from any art gallery that might be displaying his work.  Today is the last day that I want to hear any mention of this man.  Do not disappoint me Fawn-because if you do, you will not like the consequences.”

Morpheus watched his attorney gathering the papers after Fawn had signed the last one.  Winston nodded, and then he silently left the room.  He didn’t look back because he was grateful for this outcome.  Fawn stared at a wall of books, refusing to face her father.  And when he left the room, she would swear on a stack of bibles that his anger leapt across the divide, shaming, then branding her with his mandate.

**********

Morpheus stepped off his chopper, exchanging one air transport for another.  One of his private aircraft sat on the tarmac, fueled with its engine humming.  In his head, there was a clashing struggle, and each worry vied for his attention.  All around him, there was motion, yet these people went completely unnoticed.  His hand picked crew were all busy preparing for the flight.  Morpheus boarded the plane, and he didn’t even hear their greetings.  He’d moved passed them, then took his usual window seat.  He heard his assistant giving last minute instructions, telling the attendant that he’d not eaten any lunch and to be sure to encourage this.  Morpheus didn’t give a damn about his stomach because for months, he’d dreaded this day.  He asked himself, if a tree falls in the woods, does it create a sound?  When asked this question, his answer would always be yes, because he envisioned being their to witness the event.  But this thought twister wouldn’t help him when it came to his problems.  For his worries, he considered the butterfly-effect.  A phenomenon whereby one seemingly inconsequential change creates a larger effect on the entire waterworks.  In his case, there had been two seemingly inconsequential events.  Tollin Pettier and Andrew Wilcox.  Tollin had been Eliza’s screw-up; but he’d decided to take the blame for Andrew Wilcox.  He wouldn’t relive Eliza’s nightmare because at the time, she had not known the importance of her role.  She had not known--and she should have--so he blamed himself for that.  When he considered Andrew; Morpheus recalled the farce of a trial in the that one shotgun town that he lived in.  He should have seen the signs.  Andrew had been beyond himself, consumed by his grief; but he’d persuaded Morpheus, by saying that he would survive.  Morpheus had wanted to believe him--so he did.  Weeks had passed, and he’d believed him but Morpheus had been wrong to do so.   Believing Andrew had been a bad call on his part because Andrew had sought to level the scales of justice.  The governor had taken matters into his own hands.  Morpheus still didn’t know how he’d done it, but he’d gotten the name of Joplin Paddox, and he’d made one simple request.

“Take care of Tollin Pettier.  I don’t want him bothering my sister anymore.”

And that had been it, but Andrew had no idea how damning his words had been.  Morpheus grit his teeth because in his line of work, he knew that there was always a price to pay, whenever men flexed their muscles, exerting false bravado.  There was a price to pay when words held duel meanings.  To Andrew’s mind, the request had been a simple one; but the governor had not known who he’d been talking to.  When Joplin dealt with people, generally, they didn’t walk away, and he didn’t leave witnesses behind to tell their side of the story.  Not long after Tollin’s death, the truth began to slowly unfold.  Eliza had grilled Andrew until he’d finally confessed, confirming that he’d discussed his frustrations with a man named Joplin Paddox and that he’d enlisted his help.  Weeks had passed, and Morpheus still couldn’t believe that out of all the people in the world, Andrew had stumbled upon Joplin Paddox; and Morpheus didn’t believe in coincidences.  Joplin Paddox.  The name scrolled in his brain.  He thought about his brother Raal...and Kyle, his lover.  Before meeting Kyle, Raal had never been without a lover--and at one time, his interest had been women.  His brother had more children than he could count, and many of these women had never bothered naming him as the father on the birth certificates.  Morpheus recalled the dinner at his home, and when he looked at his brother and Kyle, the two men appeared to be so happy.  He thought about that night...then his thought’s went to his love--Mikita; then his brain jumped back to his brother.  What a fucking mess.  His brain drummed up the image.  Joplin--the name haunted him mainly because Joplin was Raal’s illegitimate son.  The son that his brother had never known--yet, Morpheus had known about Joplin for the past eleven years, and he’d never bothered to divulge this fact to his brother.

“Fuck”

He said...because in truth, he’d done a disservice to Joplin, and his brother.  There was only one clear way out of this. When the plane slowed to a stop, Morpheus felt as if he’d just wakened from a nightmare.  Although he had not slept one wink during the entire flight, his thoughts had busied his mind.  What to do--what to do; that had been the question that circled like a merry-go-round.  Yet all the while, one word tramped through his brain.  A word that would put the horde of them in their proper places if they defied him.  Fuck you.  That would be his response, and he gotdamn well would mean it.

“Your coat sir.”

The attendant held open his woolen coat like a valet.  After flying partway across the country, at this destination, the temperature had dropped by twenty degrees.  He had a mind to wave off the gesture, but he thought it best to dress for the weather.  He fit his arms in the sleeves while saying...

“How many...”

He didn’t need to say more.  This crew had traveled here with him on countless occasions, and they knew the drill.  How many, meant, who was here, and who wasn’t.

Olga spoke in her Swedish accent...

“They are all here sir...  Everyone except for one--and I am not privy to that identity.”

Of course you aren’t my dear, was his thought.  This group of people were known only to those who completed the circle.  Morpheus inclined his head, then he passed her while exiting the main cabin.  When he passed the cockpit, he nodded at his pilot, but they didn’t exchange any words.  The man was busy, and soon he would be occupied as well.  He walked down the steps of the plane, then he strolled over to a much larger plane, capable of transatlantic flights.

He had landed in the middle of nowhere.  Basically, this landing field wasn’t on any maps per-say, and the land had been owned by his family for as far back as he could remember.  Morpheus climbed sharply ascending stairs, then he entered a large cabin that looked like a board room.  Seated at a table were five people that he knew very well.  And now that he was here; his presence made six.  Six--but one person was missing.  Morpheus took his usual seat, then he acknowledged the rooms other players.  Berta Volker; billionaires and heir to the Volker Chemical Industrial Corporation.  George Stockton; media magnet, and owner of Triton Global Communications.  Woodrow Fist; retired Director of the CIA, owner of P.A.T. Pharmaceuticals, and Global Realties.  Maxwell Evans; CEO of Global International Banking Systems with a net worth off the scales and one of the richest men on the planet.  Vincent Tyne; CEO of Global Satellites Communication.