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Copyright 2010 by Wren Phoenix

Chapter One
Michael nestled into the warmed leather seats of his Porsche Cayenne as it made its way west; the all-wheel drive system kept it moving on a treacherous I-94. A passing semi hit a pothole, sending an icy spray splashing onto the SUV’s windshield causing a certain amount of alarming disorientation.

“I hate Michigan weather,” Michael Tallon mumbled to himself, knowing the overcast sky and freezing temperature weren't really the problem. Some days, Michael had a hard time dealing with his depression. He really needed sunshine, and the forecast for Detroit in February held little optimism.

His secretary had downloaded information for him about special electric lights to treat “Seasonal Affective Disorder”, but he wasn’t sure if he believed in their helpfulness. Perhaps a call to Doctor Dargay is in order, he thought. I’d love to visit my retreat in Maui for a week or so, but there’s entirely too much going on right now at the office.

He pulled into the parking garage and into the relatively dry spot marked “CEO”. He stepped out of his SUV, straightened the sleeves of his coat, and then reached in and grabbed his messenger bag. Michael thought that it was time to shake things up in the corporate fashion world, and he really didn’t like the briefcases that most of his peers used. His bag matched his dark brown leather jacket, and honestly was much more comfortable to carry. Michael got a few looks, but he didn’t care who thought him a little strange. It’s good to be the Boss.

In reality, he received more than a few looks, and they had nothing to do with the messenger bag. An attractive man, he was tall, lean and athletic and several of the ladies . . . and a few men . . . cast appreciative glances his way. It didn’t hurt, of course, that he was very wealthy. Hot Detroit had proclaimed him Michigan’s most eligible bachelor for the third year in a row, an unsolicited and ill-appreciated honor, especially this year.

The bright blue walls and mahogany floors of his huge reception room gave visitors a comfortable, relaxing place to wait for the Boss. Indeed, he held many meetings in the reception room, especially in the corner with the huge stone fireplace. Michael deemed his modest office a workspace, not a spot for meetings, and to be granted entry was a huge honor.

His secretary, personal assistant and primary confidant, Lisa Jensen, had a comfortable work area near the entrance to his office. She was a young, attractive brunette, very efficient and very married. Her husband, Greg, played professional soccer for the Rockers and enjoyed the status of being one of Michael’s few close friends.

Michael smiled fondly at Lisa, who he considered to be the epitome of intelligence and reliability, and fun to be with when outside of work. She had introduced him to several of her friends, and later reported to him that they had all said he was fun, polite and a perfect gentleman, but rather distant. Lisa often said that she was probably Michael’s closest friend, and Michael didn’t dispute it.

“Good Morning, Lisa. How was your weekend?” He pulled out his PDA to synch it with her computer.

She confirmed the data and handed the small machine back to him. “It was great, Boss; you should’ve come with us on Friday. Greg and I and a few of our friends decided to find the best pizza in Detroit; we hit several different restaurants before we made our choice. It was a lot of fun!” She laughed.

Michael smiled and nodded. “The Cloverleaf Bar on Gratiot. . .best pizza. No question.”

“Now I don’t see how you can tell, if you don’t experiment,” She giggled. “We couldn’t choose between Buddy’s and Pizzapapolis. We’re thinking about checking on the finest steakhouse this weekend, and you should really come along with us. Bring a date; it’ll be a blast!”

He shrugged. “Possibly. You know my schedule better than I do…see if I can work it in. No alcohol, though. I just got my SUV cleaned out from the last time I played designated driver.”

“Oh, yeah. Ewww.” She grimaced and laughed.

He walked into his office. He had spent hours decorating the walls with wood that was recycled from an old barn. It felt very warm and cozy, and reminded him of spending his afternoons at his Grandfather’s farm. He sat down at his small but efficiently laid out desk, and started checking his messages. He could have checked them on his PDA, but it was just a matter of habit that he started his day on the computer. Anything that was truly important would have been handled on the phone.

As expected, there were few messages: a couple of his previous dates trying to re-establish contact and a quick note from his cousin and Chief Financial Officer, Randy Tallon, confirming lunch. He spent most of the morning in meetings.

He and Randy went over taking on a new health insurance provider that could add another level of coverage at a very attractive cost while having a good lunch, and then Randy brought up another idea.

“I know you want to re-energize Detroit, and some friends of mine and I are doing some quiet investing in housing in the downtown area.”

Randy’s a smart one to pick up on trends. “I don’t have much interest in being a slumlord.”

Randy continued after a sip of water. “It’s not like that. We buy up and rehab entire city blocks, providing good, inexpensive housing close to downtown. Property is cheap, if you avoid realtors. Take a look at the Craigslist ads; we have quite a good rehab crew. Your total investment can be fairly small, but the positive impact on downtown could be huge, and as housing values pick up, you could even make some serious money, along with some tax breaks.”

“You really think this could help Detroit? Could this help our employees, too?” Michael asked, thinking of the possible benefits of a more localized work force.

Randy smiled. “Several people have been thinking along those lines, and have already begun buying up properties in the area.”

“…bringing prices up, and adding value to their properties already. Very wise. I’ll look into it.”

They paid their bill and went back to the office.

Michael was very distracted by what his cousin had suggested, and as soon as he sat down at his desk, he pulled up the Craigslist realty listings. Randy’s right,he thought, there are many listings for homes with prices unbelievably low. In several instances the price to buy seemed more like what you’d pay for annual rent. He quickly found a beautiful, move in ready, three-bedroom brick home with a two-car garage for less than $15,000 . . . with a fireplace!

While he scanned through the listings, he found many interesting items. Michael spent the afternoon making arrangements to visit several homes quite near his offices. The expenditure could easily be justified. Then his eyes began to roam over the rest of the paper. A 1964 Shelby AC Cobra shell was listed at $38,000, which was an excellent price if it was truly in “prime” condition. He glanced at an ad for some vintage furniture, which he found interesting.

The personals even interested him. There had been a time when I had eagerly scanned the local classified advertisements “personals section”. Just for a laugh, he opened the section titled “Miscellaneous Romance”, and the first thing that caught his eye was an unusual advertisement.

“Late 20’s MtF, can’t afford to transition. Seeking wealthy gentleman, willing to pay for my surgeries in exchange for becoming their ideal trophy wife. Contact/prenup to be discussed.”

Michael sunk back into his chair and caught his breath. He pulled himself together and immediately called and made an appointment for the next day. They arranged to meet at the Fort Street Brewery, in Lincoln Park. It was one of Michael’s favorite spots, and it offered good food and a great atmosphere. It would be a great place to meet.

Why am I so intrigued by this? he wondered.

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