[Chapter 81: Under the Night Sky of Los Angeles]
"Honey, come in quickly... I can't wait!"
"Immediately!"
"Don't take too long..."
"Hurry up~ I feel so uncomfortable..."
Orlando closed the door behind him, shutting out Madonna's impatient voice as he continued his phone conversation.
"...What do you mean there's a problem? You told me during the conference call this morning that everything was fine and going smoothly!"
"Someone else has their eyes on the land too? Then let them compete!"
"A famous New York real estate mogul? Or some big shot? Screw that. According to the tabloids, I'm a big shot too!"
"Kurt, listen, we don't care who he is. Even if the President himself comes out to challenge us, why should we back down? Or unless they're willing to outbid us by a huge margin, then maybe I'd accept defeat! It's not like some wannabe is just threatening us to back off!"
"..."
Orlando had started his call by the door of Madonna's master bedroom on the second floor.
The call was from New York.
During this morning's meeting, they'd reassured him there was no issue with his plan to purchase land near Brooklyn Pier. The city government itself was reportedly eager to sell that land -- an aging factory ripe for redevelopment, promising to revitalize the area and bring jobs.
But tonight, just as he was about to head in and unwind with Madonna, Kurt called with news.
Something about eight acres of industrial land Orlando had his eye on in Brooklyn. Turns out a local real estate developer had been eyeing it too, wanting to connect it to adjacent properties they already owned to boost the overall value by at least 20%.
That developer had been interested in the rundown factory for years but lacked the funds to acquire it before. Now that Orlando had the cash, he was suddenly the competition. This developer was trying to strong-arm Orlando into backing off -- no compensation offered, just veiled threats.
Orlando was stunned.
If they had the money to outbid him by twenty or thirty million, maybe they'd win fair and square. But just demanding he quit? No way.
He wanted to know more.
Kurt mentioned the other party's connections -- a seasoned New York real estate veteran with close ties to powerful families and political figures. Someone who, while maybe unable to physically harm Orlando, could certainly make his life miserable.
Kurt might've taken a cut from the developer or could've been looking out for his own interests. Orlando couldn't tell, especially with them being so far apart -- his telepathy couldn't reach that far.
Still, Kurt pushed Orlando to give in, reasoning that Brooklyn, or even the neighboring borough of Queens, had plenty of available land. Why fight this battle over eight acres with a heavyweight like Charles Kushner? Why risk everything when you could walk away and find other opportunities?
"Maybe you really are loyal to your employer," Orlando muttered, holding his old-school analog phone that was slowly losing signal.
He had already left Madonna's bedroom and strolled out onto the terrace, which overlooked the sprawling cityscape of Los Angeles -- the dazzling City of Angels at night.
Orlando frowned.
"But Kurt, have you thought this through? If I give up this time, what happens the next? What if the next land I want is more valuable, and someone else steps up to push me out? Should I back down then?"
He didn't wait for Kurt's reply.
"Either they come find me here in Los Angeles, or I'll make my decision when I'm back in New York."
With that, he hung up.
He took a breath, gazing out over the glittering LA skyline.
That vibrant city, once the homeland of his soul, no longer felt the same.
He thought quickly.
First -- he would never cave just because he heard the name Charles Kushner.
People didn't value finesse or compromise. One thrived on strength -- if you're strong, you're right to push around weaker competition. A classic pirate mentality.
Unless you faced a truly superior power, fighting was pointless and likely to get you hurt.
If that happened, Orlando would back down.
Because pirates didn't risk everything over pride.
But he hadn't decided yet.
As long as they could talk face-to-face, with his telepathic ability in play, no one would fool him -- whether it was Kushner or Kurt, who doubled as his merger and acquisition lawyer and financial advisor.
And Orlando would never back down first without a fight.
---
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop," a clear, gentle voice said suddenly. "I just couldn't sleep and wanted to enjoy the cool Los Angeles night air. But I have to admit, I caught some of that."
Hillary Clinton smiled with dignity -- blonde hair, fair skin, and silk pajamas that accentuated her beauty.
But behind that gentle mask, the occasional gleam in her eyes and the restless tapping of her fingertips betrayed a hunger for power.
"Has something from New York been troubling you, dear Orlando?"
Orlando was caught off guard. He'd been so wrapped up in the phone call about Charles Kushner and Kurt, he hadn't noticed Hillary approaching.
Realizing her presence, he quickly smiled.
"Ah, ma'am, I didn't expect you to still be up."
...
Hillary had been in Los Angeles for a few days, always busy with meetings, soirees, and press events.
The wife of the governor of Arkansas was far busier than the governor himself.
That evening, she'd come to Madonna's villa, finished dinner, and chatted briefly with Orlando and Madonna before retiring for the night.
After taking a shower, she came out for some fresh air, when she bumped into Orlando who was on a call from New York.
"I should be exhausted and fast asleep by now," she admitted with a shrug and a smile, "but Ciccone's personal therapist is incredible. After her massage and treatments, I felt perfectly relaxed. Then, lying in bed, I just couldn't fall asleep. I wanted to get some fresh air and maybe crash afterward."
"Yeah, she has some great skills," Orlando said. "She's Ciccone's personal nurse. I've also had treatments from her."
"So, you and Ciccone..." Hillary's eyes flickered as she gestured toward Madonna's master bedroom at the end of the hallway. "Are you two... a couple? Like those celebrity relationships kept secret? But I heard you're also close with Ms. Daisy Cuomo from New York..."
"Ma'am," Orlando interrupted with a casual shrug, "Ms. Cuomo, Ciccone, and I are just friends -- like you and me, really."
Hillary raised a beautifully arched eyebrow.
'Like me, like them? But you slept with them. Unless something unusual is going on, you're probably about to spend the night with Madonna again. You and I don't have that kind of relationship.'
"Alright then, I get it," Hillary smiled.
Orlando certainly knew what she was really thinking. Everything was out in the open for him.
"Back to the New York issue," Hillary said. "I happened to have friends there -- Bill and I. If you ever need help, don't hesitate to reach out. We're friends, and I'll support you."
"Thank you, ma'am, thank you!" Orlando replied quickly.
Though the Clintons weren't yet the most prominent power couple who would soon cement the Arkansas dynasty, they were extraordinary.
Not just in how they operated, but in their abilities and backgrounds.
Even though Hillary was still just Mrs. Arkansas at the time, if she genuinely wanted to help, no one would dare ignore her.
The youngest rising stars of the Democratic Party, the state's youngest governor, and even the youngest president of the United States in the future.
Knowledge of the Clinton couple's power made Orlando all the more determined to find a way to join their rising Arkansas dynasty.
---
Half an hour passed -- enough time for a wide-ranging talk.
"...You like ice hockey too?"
"Yes. Most Americans prefer football and baseball. And many African Americans favor basketball. But I've always liked ice hockey a bit more," Orlando said sincerely. "It's a classy sport that sharpens hand-eye coordination, concentration, and willpower. How could anyone not like it?"
In truth, Orlando had never actually played ice hockey -- either in his original life or now. But why say that to Hillary? Because --
Hillary smiled broadly. "I must say, dear, it seems we're finding more and more in common."
"Oh, really?"
"Absolutely. Ice hockey is my favorite sport too. Back in school, when most people called me Diane instead of Hillary, or Ms. Rodham; I played ice hockey most of all."
"So... ma'am, may I call you Diane from now on?"
"What?"
"Most people just call you Ms. Hillary or Mrs. Clinton. You're probably tired of that."
"So..."
"I want to be special. I'd like to call you Diane, because I prefer that name myself. Is that okay?"
"..."
After a moment's pause, Hillary finally said,
"Yes."
*****
https://www.patreon.com/Sayonara816.
https://discord.gg/eKByGBSw.