Finster and Heather dropped Mark and Gene at a tall, stately building downtown. After unloading their luggage, the pair had driven off, supposedly to rid themselves of Kirk’s body.
Waiting at the front door was Rooke, his trim business attire right at home beside the rich tower. He ushered them in, welcoming the two to their “new home.” Inside, the lobby was grand. Gold and ruby curtains draped the windows. The matching carpet was soft, and the cushioned seats looked comfortable. Every possible example of upper-class wealth was present, a congregation of millionaires from the business elite to the idle rich.
“Have a good trip over?” Rooke asked. Mark nodded, drinking in the sights that he’d only ever imagined. “Heather informed me about what happened. Sorry you had to witness that. At least you two are safe and can move into your new place. You should be well protected here.”
“What about Mom?” Mark turned to his father, who in turn faced Rooke.
“I’ll see to it personally that she’s protected. I have to ask you not to call her until we have everything settled. Rest assured, I’ll let her know where you three will be staying,” Rooke said. “Unless you would prefer to go back to your own home.”
“No, no,” Gene said quickly. For once, Mark was in total agreement. The people masquerading as government officials knew where he lived. It would only be a matter of time until someone else swung by. Then he might not have anyone to help. Besides, he couldn’t refuse such an offer as this. He marveled at the tall ceilings as they strode down the hall. He didn’t belong here, and yet he couldn’t help acting like he owned the building. Mark was amazed and continued to gape at his surroundings.
One long trip up the elevator later, the trio stopped at the top floor, bellboys in tow with their luggage. Rooke headed to the end of the hall, right next to a thin window, and opened the door for Mark. “Welcome home,” he said, his upturned lips charming, showing delight in Mark’s awe.
The apartment they could call their own was huge. Mark believed two of his old house could fit in snugly. The living room was spacious, exquisitely decorated, with fancy art on the walls and deep brown leather sofas. Mark already was eyeing the lavish entertainment center and its wide television that dominated the room. The kitchen had all the amenities that any professional cook could ask for. Mark counted at least three bathrooms.
What brought Mark to a complete stall was his bedroom. He stepped inside it, almost in a haze, unable to comprehend that in reality such a room could be his. Rooke watched from the door as Mark ran his fingertips over the feathery bed, his own large television, the furnished dresser, the creamy walls, soft carpet, and the window—no, not a window, as Mark discovered. A door that opened to a balcony, where he had a view of the entire city. Mark gazed at the view below, up high, and far out into the distance. Every square inch of the city could be seen for miles. Nothing could hide from his watchful eye up here, up in this tower, up on top of the world.
Behind him, Rooke placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Mark lifted his head to the cool breeze that caressed his cheeks. Things were picking up for him. And for once, Mark was completely and utterly happy.