(no subject)
"All right, Ms. Hollister. Sign here, here, initial here, and sign and date here."
It had taken her surprisingly little work and time to get what she wanted out of this particular deal. Her pub was so popular that a few subtle feelers brought in no less than five offers. Granted, she'd laid the groundwork for this months ago, but in the end, the selling of her business was smooth, efficient, and painless.
Her legal signature, with her maiden name, was all it took. Maiden because she had no marriage license on this world, and never would. Hell, there wasn't even a license in Ramon's world, since she was still technically a non-person there. Even further, Ramon was reported to be behind bars in an undisclosed location, as a terrorist. So their marriage had left no paperwork trail. All they had was the blessing of a god, and the support of a shadowy organization.
Her pregnancy had finally given her the excuse to pull up all stakes in her London. Her first true home was now being left behind so she could live full-time in Spain, as per Sharpe's request. No more being physically in the Nexus, either, which she agreed with entirely. She was not going to lose the baby because of a LOL.
Hippolyta Daphne Hollister was being left behind. Already Holly was sneaking into delicate computer systems, carefully undoing all the careful work Weasel had done for her ages ago, giving her an identity in this time. She would of course be remembered for her dazzling pools win. Not even a computer with an IQ of 6000 could erase thousands, millions of flesh and blood memories. But the story would eventually leak to the press, carefully timed until after the deal had been closed, that she was taking a long sabbatical to an unknown spot, retiring from public life. The Mayfair flats would still be hers, technically, and no tenants would be forcibly removed, or forced to pay rent. But her name would no longer be on the deed, she would not be responsible for the taxes. No, a woman by the name of K.Z. Kochanski was the owner of record, now, and a special corporate dummy fund had been set up in her name to take care of it all.
It wasn't stealing, per se. But it was shuffling numbers around in computer systems to keep the revenooers satisfied. By the time anybody figured out what had actually happened, Hips would be long gone, into another world. A world where she was married, where she had her own castle. A world where she was going to be a mommy in eight months.
Ian, her bartender, so loyal for so long, quit the moment she announced the sale of the pub to him. He looked her right in the eyes, shook his head, and said quietly, "I won't work for anybody else here. It just wouldn't be right. Good luck to you, Hippolyta." Then he simply walked away. She felt a brief pang, realizing suddenly that he'd worshiped her, and she barely gave him the time of day. The last paycheck she cut for him included a generous bonus, for which he didn't thank her.
He was the only remaining member of the staff who understood the nature of the Nexus, and already by his leaving, and her leaving, the random portals there began to close. It would soon be nothing more than an above-average pub in a wealthy part of London. This was the part that made her sad. Certainly, people from the Nexus would probably come and go from there in the future, but it would never again be the same.
The deal was simple enough. In exchange for the H.D. Hollister's trademark name, she'd get a percentage that gradually decreased as the years went on. In twenty years, the trademark would revert wholly to the new holding company, and her percentage would end. Which truly did suit her; she would probably not be coming back to this world. After all, who remembered the first names of the brothers who started the world's largest fast-food chain? If her initials and maiden name became a franchise, well, that was a sort of immortality, wasn't it?
Additionally, the deal had a sneaky little clause in it that stipulated certain percentages go to long-gone employees. Thorn was going to find himself considerably richer, soon. As was Key, if she ever came around again. It wouldn't set them up for life, or anything, but they'd at least have some rainy-day money if they needed it. Ian had turned down his percentage.
Now it was nearly done. And all it took was one last signature. She paused, pen hovering over paper, looking up and smiling wryly.
"Little more than two years. Amazing, isn't it?"
The lawyer she was dealing with smiled wryly back.
"That's why you're getting such a great deal. If you go into any other line of business, give me a call. I'll want in on the ground floor."
She chuckled, knowing that she never would, and signed with a flourish.
H.D. Hollister's Pub was now no longer her responsibility.
It was done.
She sat back with a sigh, and pushed the paper toward the lawyer. A few minutes of chatter followed, and then he finally took his leave. Carefully, she began to PINpoint all of her personal effects in her office to the castle. All she would leave behind were her carefully balanced books, her desk, and her chair. The computer came with. The cot Jack Frost slept on came with. All her prints, the mini-fridge, the potted fern in the corner, all of that suddenly found itself in Spain.
She walked out to the front room, which was empty. The pub was closed for the next week while it was being transferred to the new owners. The sign out front said 'refurbishment' but by the time the public realized what was up, it would be fait accompli.
Patting the polished bar fondly, she could hear the chatter of a busy night echoing in her ears. The music, the laughter, the yelled conversations, the karaoke singing, the clink of glasses toasting and the clatter of silverware on plates. She was incredibly proud of what she'd built here, and for just one moment, she was indescribably sad for the passing of an era. For all the headaches, the backaches, the trouble it caused and the times she'd neglected it, it was still hers. The first thing she ever had that was truly hers.
Her hand drifted onto her stomach, and she looked down.
She never dreamed she'd find herself in the spot of giving up her career to be a mother. But then again, this place wasn't her career. It was great, and she was good at it, but her real career was out in the stars.
Or perhaps nestled about two inches behind her navel.
"C'mon, you. Let's go home."
Carefully, she PINpointed herself directly to Spain, and the pub echoed with the ghosts of her successes...and failures.
It had taken her surprisingly little work and time to get what she wanted out of this particular deal. Her pub was so popular that a few subtle feelers brought in no less than five offers. Granted, she'd laid the groundwork for this months ago, but in the end, the selling of her business was smooth, efficient, and painless.
Her legal signature, with her maiden name, was all it took. Maiden because she had no marriage license on this world, and never would. Hell, there wasn't even a license in Ramon's world, since she was still technically a non-person there. Even further, Ramon was reported to be behind bars in an undisclosed location, as a terrorist. So their marriage had left no paperwork trail. All they had was the blessing of a god, and the support of a shadowy organization.
Her pregnancy had finally given her the excuse to pull up all stakes in her London. Her first true home was now being left behind so she could live full-time in Spain, as per Sharpe's request. No more being physically in the Nexus, either, which she agreed with entirely. She was not going to lose the baby because of a LOL.
Hippolyta Daphne Hollister was being left behind. Already Holly was sneaking into delicate computer systems, carefully undoing all the careful work Weasel had done for her ages ago, giving her an identity in this time. She would of course be remembered for her dazzling pools win. Not even a computer with an IQ of 6000 could erase thousands, millions of flesh and blood memories. But the story would eventually leak to the press, carefully timed until after the deal had been closed, that she was taking a long sabbatical to an unknown spot, retiring from public life. The Mayfair flats would still be hers, technically, and no tenants would be forcibly removed, or forced to pay rent. But her name would no longer be on the deed, she would not be responsible for the taxes. No, a woman by the name of K.Z. Kochanski was the owner of record, now, and a special corporate dummy fund had been set up in her name to take care of it all.
It wasn't stealing, per se. But it was shuffling numbers around in computer systems to keep the revenooers satisfied. By the time anybody figured out what had actually happened, Hips would be long gone, into another world. A world where she was married, where she had her own castle. A world where she was going to be a mommy in eight months.
Ian, her bartender, so loyal for so long, quit the moment she announced the sale of the pub to him. He looked her right in the eyes, shook his head, and said quietly, "I won't work for anybody else here. It just wouldn't be right. Good luck to you, Hippolyta." Then he simply walked away. She felt a brief pang, realizing suddenly that he'd worshiped her, and she barely gave him the time of day. The last paycheck she cut for him included a generous bonus, for which he didn't thank her.
He was the only remaining member of the staff who understood the nature of the Nexus, and already by his leaving, and her leaving, the random portals there began to close. It would soon be nothing more than an above-average pub in a wealthy part of London. This was the part that made her sad. Certainly, people from the Nexus would probably come and go from there in the future, but it would never again be the same.
The deal was simple enough. In exchange for the H.D. Hollister's trademark name, she'd get a percentage that gradually decreased as the years went on. In twenty years, the trademark would revert wholly to the new holding company, and her percentage would end. Which truly did suit her; she would probably not be coming back to this world. After all, who remembered the first names of the brothers who started the world's largest fast-food chain? If her initials and maiden name became a franchise, well, that was a sort of immortality, wasn't it?
Additionally, the deal had a sneaky little clause in it that stipulated certain percentages go to long-gone employees. Thorn was going to find himself considerably richer, soon. As was Key, if she ever came around again. It wouldn't set them up for life, or anything, but they'd at least have some rainy-day money if they needed it. Ian had turned down his percentage.
Now it was nearly done. And all it took was one last signature. She paused, pen hovering over paper, looking up and smiling wryly.
"Little more than two years. Amazing, isn't it?"
The lawyer she was dealing with smiled wryly back.
"That's why you're getting such a great deal. If you go into any other line of business, give me a call. I'll want in on the ground floor."
She chuckled, knowing that she never would, and signed with a flourish.
H.D. Hollister's Pub was now no longer her responsibility.
It was done.
She sat back with a sigh, and pushed the paper toward the lawyer. A few minutes of chatter followed, and then he finally took his leave. Carefully, she began to PINpoint all of her personal effects in her office to the castle. All she would leave behind were her carefully balanced books, her desk, and her chair. The computer came with. The cot Jack Frost slept on came with. All her prints, the mini-fridge, the potted fern in the corner, all of that suddenly found itself in Spain.
She walked out to the front room, which was empty. The pub was closed for the next week while it was being transferred to the new owners. The sign out front said 'refurbishment' but by the time the public realized what was up, it would be fait accompli.
Patting the polished bar fondly, she could hear the chatter of a busy night echoing in her ears. The music, the laughter, the yelled conversations, the karaoke singing, the clink of glasses toasting and the clatter of silverware on plates. She was incredibly proud of what she'd built here, and for just one moment, she was indescribably sad for the passing of an era. For all the headaches, the backaches, the trouble it caused and the times she'd neglected it, it was still hers. The first thing she ever had that was truly hers.
Her hand drifted onto her stomach, and she looked down.
She never dreamed she'd find herself in the spot of giving up her career to be a mother. But then again, this place wasn't her career. It was great, and she was good at it, but her real career was out in the stars.
Or perhaps nestled about two inches behind her navel.
"C'mon, you. Let's go home."
Carefully, she PINpointed herself directly to Spain, and the pub echoed with the ghosts of her successes...and failures.