Chapter 19

            Ten minutes. Ten minutes on television had changed their lives. Scott had called his driver and changed into a suit his butler put in the back of the limo for him. He was speaking to the headmaster in his office.

            “The police escorted the photographer away, Mr. Kelly. We have had children of the rich and famous attending our school for over fifty years, and nothing like this has ever happened,” Headmaster Morris expressed with deep regret.

            “I know that, and I understand,” Scott said seriously.

            “The police officers put the photographer in the back of their squad car. At the most, we can only press charges for trespassing.”

            Scott knew the photographer would only get a fine at the most. “Did you get the photographer’s name?”

            “Yes,” he said and gave Scott a business card. “The cops got it off him when they frisked him.”

            “What newspaper is he affiliated with?”

            “He’s a freelancer,” Headmaster Morris said.

            “Was Clay frightened or upset?” Scott asked as he put the card in his inner suit jacket pocket.

            “No, he was more confused than anything,” he answered. “He couldn’t understand why the photographer was so desperate for his picture.”

            Scott nodded.

            There was a tapping at the door.

            “Come in,” the principal said.

            The middle-aged secretary from out front opened the door. “Clayton Kelly is in the reception area, sir.”

            “Thank you,” Headmaster Morris said.

            The secretary closed the door.

            Scott stood.

The headmaster did, too. “I’m going to have a meeting with all the teachers and staff after school lets out today to inform them that they need to be more vigilant of strangers outside of the fences. I assure you we will do what we can to sustain Clay’s privacy.”

“Thank you,” Scott said and shook hands with the elderly gentleman.

A few minutes later, Scott was walking Clay to the limo. Clay had been quiet until they got closer to the car. “Dad, am I in trouble?” he asked with a hint of fear.

“No, son,” Scott said in an assuring tone. “It’s just that . . . something has happened.”

The chauffer opened the door for them.

“Like what?” Clay asked and climbed into the car.

Scott followed behind him.

They sat across from each other.

“Are you familiar with the TV show called The Orlando Dish?”

“No,” Clay answered innocently.

“It’s a short TV show that talks about celebrities and wealthy people. Clay, the people who run that TV show have found out that I . . . pretend to be Scott Jenkins.”

“Oh,” Clay stretched out with wide eyes. “That’s not good, is it?”

The chauffer started the limo.

“Not really,” Scott said. “People will try to invade our privacy now. On the TV show, my picture was shown along with the front of the house we currently live in. And . . . a picture of your mother was shown.”

Clay just looked at him. He didn’t say a word.

“Did that photographer scare you today?”

“I wasn’t scared, but he did make me feel uncomfortable,” he admitted in a low tone.

The limo pulled away from the curb.

“Uncomfortable how?”

“Well, I was talking to Rickie and Tobin, they’re two boys in my class that I’m friends with. Then I heard someone calling my name. We turned and saw a big man outside the fence. Well, he wasn’t big like tall, he was big like fat, but not too fat. He had on a funny hat. It was flat on his head with a brim in the front, but not like a baseball cap. It was smaller. He had the biggest camera I have ever seen in person. It had a long lens on it. Anyway, he was trying to get me to come closer to him. He was a stranger, so I didn’t go near him. He kept trying to get me to walk closer to the gate. Rickie ran to get Ms. Faulkner. The man was taking pictures of us . . . well, me, I guess. Next thing I know, two of the male teachers were outside of the gate and started chasing the guy with the camera. As they were chasing the man, Ms. Faulkner and the other teachers made us all go inside.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about him again,” Scott said as the limo got on the highway. “But you’ll have to be more careful about what you tell your friends and strangers from now on. Family business stays within the family, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Clay said.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at their drop-off location, but there was a problem. There were three photojournalist milling around the sawmill.

Scott had no idea how much information the press had reported on before he saw The Orlando Dish. He had been running errands all morning so he wouldn’t have to do them during the weekend. The dummy corporation he had set up to run the small “Jenkins” contracting business was tied to the sawmill. Damn it, they’ve found out about the dummy corporation, too.

“Lucas, keep going, don’t stop,” Scott instructed.

“Yes, sir,” the chauffer said.

Scott and Clay hadn’t changed into their street clothes because they were busy talking on the way to the sawmill.

“Dad, you’re not scared of those guys, are ya? You can whup them in five seconds.”

“No, I’m not afraid of them, Clay. And I can’t go around beating people up that I don’t like . . . no matter how much I want to, and you shouldn’t do that either. I’m trying to protect you, Clay. Those men want to take pictures of you, too – and me.”

“Oh,” he said. “Why do these people want our picture so badly? We look like everyone else.”

Yeah, but we’re richer than most. “Clay, you remember that I have a lot of money, right?”

“Yeah. So? All the kids’ parents at school have a lot of money, too.”

“Well, not like I do,” Scott said. “When you have lots and lots of money, you become . . . kind of famous.”

“Like the popular kids at school.”

“Something like that. When you’re really popular, people you don’t even know want to be around you, have their picture taken with you, and use you for what they can get out of you.” Scott had hoped this conversation could wait for another four years, but once again, his plans for the future had been derailed. “Those are the people I’m trying to protect you from. I’m also trying to protect you from being exploited and exposed in the press.”

“What does ‘exploited’ mean?”

“I mean that I don’t want you or your picture to be used to make a profit for someone else. In this case, magazines and newspapers.”

“I don’t want my picture in newspapers. That sounds creepy,” Clay said with a small pout. “Thank you for not letting that happen, Dad.”

Scott gave him a half smile. “You’re welcome.”

“Where to, sir?” Lucas asked from the driver’s seat.

Scott almost told him to drive them to their two-story house, but he realized the place was probably swarmed with photographers with a few reporters in the mix. Scott took a deep breath and said the words he hadn’t said in five years. “Take us to the mansion.”

“Home it is,” Lucas said with what Scott thought was a chipper tone.

Home. The lavish house on forty acres was his home for a while, but during the last seven years, the charming stucco house in the modest suburban neighborhood had become home – and now it was gone. There was no way they could go back and live the life they had now. It was too dangerous. Scott had installed a security system on the house, but that wouldn’t keep fortune-hunting criminals from abducting him at gunpoint right out of his driveway – and it wouldn’t keep Clay from being kidnapped for a huge ransom.

His mansion and land was surrounded with a fifteen-foot brick wall, and the gates were so strong a Mack truck would have problems busting through them. Security cameras were on the outside of the property, and the security system there was more up-to-date than the one Scott had installed at the smaller home. The mansion was safer for him and especially Clay. He could play outside without Scott worrying that someone was going to take his picture or kidnap him.

During the drive to the mansion, Scott’s cell phone rang like he was at a call center. The first call was from his VP, the second was from the public relations department, and the third was from his secretary. There was a fourth call from his foreman of Jenkins Construction, but Scott let that go to voicemail. He couldn’t deal with the foreman’s questions at the moment. The guys he employed at Jenkins didn’t know he was really Scott Kelly, the billionaire CEO of the biggest construction company in Florida. Apparently, Kelscot had been overrun with phone calls from reporters, gold-diggers, and businessmen looking to work with him.

The ten-bedroom mansion was located fifteen miles outside of Orlando. Scott still had a small staff there to keep the place up.

The chauffer put in the code to the gate to open it. They rode in silence up the long driveway.

Clay was looking over the seat so he could see out the front window. His eyes widen with every inch as they got closer to the house. “Holy cow,” he whispered with awe.

Scott smirked weakly. “You’ve seen the place before. You just don’t remember.”

Clay turned to Scott. “When?”

“The last time you were here you were three.”

“Wow, that sure was a long time ago.”

Scott chuckled. He didn’t think he could laugh at a time like this, but Clay had a way of always putting a smile on his face. “It seems like it was only yesterday to me.”

Lucas rounded the small courtyard and pulled in front of the double front doors.

“Thanks, Lucas. You don’t have to open the door. We got it,” Scott said.

“Yes, sir.”

Clay opened the limo door and hopped out. He was in such awe of the house he left his backpack behind.

Scott shook his head with amusement and grabbed the pack.

They climbed the stairs to the double doors.

Before Scott could open them, they were opened for him. “Welcome home, sir,” William, the butler, greeted. He was tall and pudgy with brown hair with gray around his temples. He had a British accent. Scott had hired him a year before he married Marlena on a work visa.

“Thank you, William,” Scott said solemnly as he and Clay crossed the threshold.

William closed the door. “Welcome home, Master Clay.”

“Hi,” Clay said as he looked up at the tall butler.

“Clay, this is William. You know him, you just don’t remember. He takes care of this place and us.” Scott handed Clay’s backpack to William.

“Yes, it looks like you’re too big for the nursery now,” William said with a small smile.

“The nursery is still intact?” Scott asked with surprise.

“Yes, sir. We mostly kept everything the way you left it.”

Scott nodded. “Well, Clay looks like you’ll have to pick out a bedroom for yourself.”

“Really? I get to pick whatever I want?” Clay asked with disbelief.

“Yep, you’ve got ten, well, with the exception of my room, nine bedrooms to choose from,” Scott said.

“Wow,” Clay said with amazement.

“I’ll escort the young master, sir,” William said.

“Please do. I don’t want him getting lost,” Scott said with a crooked smile.

“Come along, young sir,” William said.

Clay walked alongside the butler. “Hey, do I have any clothes here?”

“You have exactly two T-shirts, one pair of trousers, and two pairs of shorts,” William answered as they started climbing the long staircase.

“That’s not a lot,” Clay said.

“Don’t worry, young sir. We can always get you more clothes,” William said.

Since Clay was occupied, Scott walked to his office located in the study downstairs. He was taken aback to find that some of the furniture was covered with white dust cloths. He supposed most of the house had dust covers since he hadn’t been there in almost five years. Luckily, his chair and desk weren’t covered. Scott plopped down in the large, light brown leather chair. He blew out. “Well, it was nice while it lasted.” He leaned his head back. Regina came to his mind. He was so distracted with worry about Clay he barely said goodbye to her. He knew he had a lot of explaining to do, but it would have to wait. Scott sat up and pulled the business card Headmaster Morris had given him out of his pocket. He read the name. Mitch Bernstein didn’t know it yet, but his career as a photographer was over. “Nobody messes with my boy,” Scott sneered as he picked up the phone on the desk.