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Santeni & Omar

 Introduction

Santeni’s Childhood
 

The setting is current day Morocco. They found people dead in unusual circumstances. Familiar cases date back to the eighties, and began in Spain. The coroner, records all of them as accidental. However, Scotland yard’s investigative team’s cold cases point to something more sinister. Omar Bennani, a top special investigator agent, is being prepared to travel to Morocco. The suspicion has centered on 27-year-old, Santeni Giovanni, who has left Spain, where his socialite girlfriend, Maria Fernandez lived, and found dead, after he returned home to Crete.

Santini groomed as a young boy to one day take over his father’s multi-billionaire business in banking as owner and CEO., to one of the largest firms in Milan Italy. Banco Italiano. Santeni was a beautiful child, easy on the eyes, favoring his mother’s looks and blue eyes, his father’s physical build and mannerisms. By the time Santeni reached the age of five, he knew the names of world renown designers and tailors in Crete, Italy, Spain and Morrocco.

While positioned and standing on the fitting platform, being measured for his suits. Five-year-old Santeni was still and patient and never complained about the time in getting fitted. Santeni went to the best schools. Not only for academics. He also learned posture and etiquette of the wealthy. It was not a surprise, nor uncommon to see little Santeni sitting at the front of the board’s meetings next to his dad at age seven, an old soul in a child’s body taking notes.

One Saturday while visiting one of Santino’s friends, Noah Ferguson’s stately properties, overlooking the Mediterranean sea. Luna, who worked as a domestic servant, cleared the dishes after lunch, and brought Noah and Santino a bottle of vino and two Cuban cigars on a platter. Nine-year-old Santeni watched his father and friend light the cigars and drink wine from crystal goblets. Santeni asked, “Papa, may I have a cigar and some wine?” The older men looked at each other, grinned, and Santino said, “Sure you’re old enough.”

 

Noah said, “Luna, please bring master Santeni Giovanni a glass of wine.” She handed the wine to Santino, and he gave it to Santeni, who is imitating his father, sitting with his legs crossed. He took a sip of wine, wrapped his small lips around the cigar, and inhaled. His eyes bulged and violently began choking and coughing. The little boy’s glass fell to the marble surface, shattering into pieces. Santino grabbed up his son, gently patting him on the back to comfort and stop his crying. “Come on now, you are OK…” Stop crying, like a little girl.” Santeni in hearing those words, snapped back.
“I’m not a little girl, I’m a man.”


“Si, tu sei mio figlio.” Santino, put Santeni down, and patted him on the head. Luna brought back a glass of apple juice. A few slices of cheese, bread, and handed Santeni a napkin to wipe his tears and nose.

Later that evening, when they arrived home and before Santini went to bed. Santino asked his son. “What was your biggest lesson today?” Santeni said.” I am not a man, and I will never smoke another cigar in my life.” Santino smiled, pulling his son close, giving him a hug, and a handshake. “Now, off to bed with you.” Say goodnight to mama, and Acea, and don’t forget your prayers.”

“Yes, papa.” As he headed to his room, Santini turned and asked his dad.

 

“Papa, why did you give me the cigar?”
 

“To teach you a lesson, which you learned.”
 

“I love you papa. Goodnight.”
 

“I love you too, Seti.”

Santino Giovanni, 55, years of age: Husband, father, owner and CEO., of a multi-billionaire business died when the Jaguar XKR-S GT, he was driving went over a cliff at a high rate of speed, falling 50 feet exploding into a ball of flames that could be seen for miles. The road is one of the most dangerous in Kalikratos. The authorities suspected foul play, but it was never proven. Santino’s Will had a contingency provision in the event of his untimely death. Noah Ferguson, business partner, and trusted family friend for over 30 years, will act as trustee in running and managing the family business until Santini reaches the age of 30 years old, at which time he will inherit the entire company and its operations. Net worth $328 billion. (Cont).

 

Santeni & Omar 
Death by Accident

The Trip

I 

They list Marrakesh as one of the nine most beautiful cities in Morocco.” 

“By whose norms?” 

“Travelocity's,” relates Acea, Santeni’s baby sister, three years younger than he. 

“And what do you claim, my emerald-eyed beauty, who makes even the coral in the oceans jealous?”  

“Well, dear brother, if you’re asking me. I’d say go. You’ll love it, at least that is what the article says.”  

“Alright, Marrakesh it is.

“Seti, do you have to leave so soon? You just returned from Spain and mom hasn’t had the chance to throw one of her spectacular dinner parties inviting all the eligible single ladies.” Santeni turns his head, raising his left eyebrow to a point, and left corner of his mouth twisted, looking at Acea, letting his body language speak his thoughts.

” Seti, you need to prepare to take over the family business.” 

” Papa had prepared me from the time I was five until… papa no longer could.” Now Noah keeps me in the loop. Besides, this gives me time to introduce myself and connect with other bankers and financiers across the globe.

" I understand. Mom wants you to settle down; and stop being a jet-setting playboy.”

 “I have two more years, before I take over the business, per papa’s Will. Until then, I am traveling to experience all the splendor the world has waiting for me.”

They fall on the couch laughing and hugging each other. “Now, let me get finished packing and tell Mustafa to bring the car around.” Acea bows as she is walking backward says. “Yes, your majesty.” Santini throws a towel at Acea. “You missed.” Acea turns and walks out of the room.

Santeni’s mother, Alexandria, graces her son’s room. “Sabaah Alkhyr mama.” He puts down the jacket he was folding and goes over, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Alexandria responds. “Aistijabat Sabaah Alkhyr Lahore, my son; have you decided where you are going?” 

“Yes, mama I’ll be traveling to Marrakesh.”

“Mashallah, your father and I honeymooned there. It is a beautiful place. However, there is an underbelly of precarious and deceitful goings-on. I know you‘ll be careful to avoid it.” 

“I will, mama.” 

” Seti, have you spoken with Noah?”

” No, is he keeping you abreast, concerning the trust?” 

” Yes, our personal and household spending accounts are the same every month, but I don’t know about this sort of things, for running the business. Your father took care of those things.”

” How is the bookkeeper Carmen, does she go over the books with you?”

” Carmen is a dear. She sits with me, making sure I understand, what we spend, and how the investment manager allocates the personal investments.” 

” Moma, last month we touched basis with Noah while in Spain. He assured me then - the company is running smoothly. There is nothing to worry about. I will have Noah schedule a time with you and Carmen to go over the business portfolio. I will also have him zoom me in. How does that sound?”

” Zoom you in; what is Zoom, Seti?” His mother asked.

” It is an online - live meeting, accessible around the world. Don’t worry, I’ll have Acea set it up on the computer for you, and go over it before the day of the meeting.”

“Thank you dear. Come join us for breakfast before you leave.” 

“Yes, mama. I will finish packing and be right down.” Alexandria blows her son a kiss and leaves. 

Santeni’s phone rings. He picks it up from the nightstand by his bed. “Ciao, I miss you too, but it’s time to end this; no, I must leave, I cannot stay. I’m sorry, it will never work, they will not leave us at peace, it’s too dangerous. This is best for both of us. Please, I beg you, forget about me, and don’t call me again.” Santeni hangs up the phone. While still holding the phone, he sits on the edge of the bed, remembering the events leading up to him leaving Barcelona and returning to his home in Crete, sooner than anticipated. Beads of sweat formed on Santini’s top lip, wiping it away, and holding in his fist. His brow clenched, and forehead furrowed in a frown. His eyes welling up, he beat back the tears. Taking a face cloth from his bag, he dries his face, wipes his hands, and continues packing. The phone rings again. He does not answer. Acea calls from downstairs. 

“Seti, breakfast is ready.” 

“I’ll be right down.” He finishes packing his suitcases, sits them outside his door for the servant to place them in the car that will carry him to the airport. He then goes downstairs. Santeni walks down the long marble corridor and around the hall to the dining room. Acea is sitting to the right side of their mother, who is at the head of the elegantly designed Birchwood dinner table. A gift given on her fourth wedding anniversary from her in-laws. Etched with deep ornate carvings from the Spanish era? The chair’s seat cushions plush and the open rounded backs matched the wide lion legs, and claw feet design. 

The servants are setting out the crepes, jellies, falafels, coffee, cream, and tea in luxurious silver settings. Once Santeni sits to the left of his mother, the servants served the meat and potatoes. “Grace,” Santeni, says Alexandria. They all bow their heads as Santeni delivers a short, reverent prayer.  Alexandria says, “Acea, after Mustafa drops Santeni at the airport. Then have him take you to Boglioli and pick up my wardrobe for this evening soiree with the Gildardo’s. Have you decided on what you will wear?” 

“Yes, mama, the purple and white evening dress with the diamond necklace and earrings papa bought me for my sixteenth birthday.” 

“Then you will be beautiful, my dear.” 

“Santeni. Min fadlick, call as soon as you get to your hotel room, so I’ll know you’ve arrived.” 

“Yes, mama, as soon as I check in.” 

It’s a shame you are leaving so soon. I wanted to show you off to the single ladies, that will be at tonight’s dinner party.” Acea, kicked Santeni lightly under the table; giving a slight giggle.  “I’ve been telling the Gildardo’s about my gorgeous son and how, you're  like  your father, a successful financier. “Your father would be so proud of you.” Alexandria took her lace napkin and wiped the moisture from her eyes. Then looks at both her children and says, “A mother could not have asked for better children than you. Bismillah, may Allah always watch over and protect you.”  

The servant enters the entrance to the dining room and announces. “Sir Amari, your luggage is in the car.” Santeni glances at his watch. 

“Alright, Sulieman.” Santini finishes his coffee, wipes his mouth and hands, rises, kisses and hugs his mom, and says, “Al-salaam artani bik ahbuk.” Acea gets up from the table and retrieves her purse from the foyer table. Santeni puts on his Versace Sunglasses, and they both leave. Alexandria can hear him saying “Ciao” to the workers outside as they climb into the backseat of the family’s white Bently. At the airport, they exit the car. Acea says. “Seti, I will miss you. Be sure to call us when you get to Marrakesh.” 

“Love you.”

“You too.” “Watch over mom.”  

“You know mom does not need watching over.” 

“Do it anyway. I am having Noah set up an online zoom with mom to go over the books. Please set up her computer by next Tuesday and show her how it works.” He, then kissed Acea on the forehead and said. “Ciao.”

More of the book will be available soon. Thank you for visiting and reading. We at Vicarious Voyeur, would love to hear what you think. Please join and leave a comment. Clover Journesy- author.

© Clover Journesy 2021, Ja’Nala’s Generational Wealth, 2014

 

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Hotel Sahara Marrakesh Morrocco

 

BROKEN

PRIVILEDGED AMERICAN

Chapter 1

by

Clover Journesy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Jumma Friday. Islam’s holiest day of the week. The center’s transportation van, filled with those coming to worship. This will be my   first Jumma after being released from the hospital and six months of intensive physical and psychological therapy. A painful journey of   remembrance, and which I still have not accepted as real. I am young, 38 yrs, yet my body feels as though I’m not. I still talk to my  children and husband, consciously aware they have returned to our Lord. Some of me see it as crazy, but it is the only thing that makes sense. I have no family alive. I had not seen my mom or baba in weeks before the bombing. I can only pray, Allah ta ala reigned his mercies upon them.

Breathing in fresh air and not the smoke, dust and corpses lying in the streets... "Aisha! Think of happier times." The psychologist would say. Easy for her to express those words. My only hope is in Allah - Al Jabaari, restorer. I will focus on the beauty. The shopping malls, delightful houses, with green grass and trees, and well maintained large and small buildings. There are cars, paved streets, and street lights. No blown out windows, crumbled buildings or smoke billowing from burning cars… Aisha! Think of happier times.

 

Back in my home country, Lebanon, which sits on Syria’s border before the bombs fell. A beautiful scenic metropolis, there were banks, condos, schools, hospitals, recreation centers, parks… and places of worship for both Christian and Muslim. Jumma Fridays were an auspicious time… A time of prayer, eating breakfast, bathing the children, and getting them and myself dressed in our beautiful clothes to worship our Rabb with family, friends, and our Ummah. Abdul,… and I had just welcomed our fourth child into the world with the grace and mercy of Allah. Our baby’s name was Abdul Bin Sau’ud. My husband’s his first son. He was also a loving and supportive father to our other three girls. Isma (9), Fatima (7), and Kareema (4).

 

I often would sit on the second-floor balcony and watch my husband beam with pride as he and his girls play soccer in the courtyard down below. He would show the girls his footwork when maneuvering the ball, keeping it away from them. I always knew when he let them get the ball on purpose. Our girls, had foot work of their own. They could balance the ball and punt the ball with their head. Then kick it to her sister, turn and hustled, from the youngest to the eldest. They would team up against their baba, when winning was in their grasp. Baba, would switch legs and kick the ball in the air with his knee. The girls would get frustrated and tempers would flare and tears flow. I would yell, “get the ball! ‘get the ball.” Abdul, pretended to be tired, and the girls together would kick the ball across the street. Abdul, would look up to me and smile, placing both hands over his heart, throwing a kiss at four-month-old Abdul. Our neighbors would smile, nod their heads as they greeted us.” Asalaamu Alaikum,” as they passed by. Some of our elders would bring fruit and nuts for the children. We were a close, loving, and supportive Ummah. (Muslim Community). Now my burden is heavy, my back bent over, and no longer can I lift my head. My right foot is now a prothesis, making it challenging to walk up the stairs and into this unfamiliar place, seeing these unfamiliar faces to worship our Rabb alone.

 

It was the eve of our twelfth Nika Anniversary. My husband was playing soccer in the courtyard with our daughters. A few neighbors had gathered and were standing on the curb on the other side of the square, talking, and smoking cigarettes. My childhood friend Samara; she was seven months pregnant; her husband would yell out to Abdul. “How many months left?” He would say, while touching my round, protruding belly. “Five more months, and you?”

“Two!” mimicking the way his wife walked, and we’d all laugh. They were both excited and looking forward to the birth of their first child. We waved and smiled at one another as they walked south in the market's direction. Abdul, and I listened to the faint sound of a plane flying in the distance, and soon it was overhead. A crushing sound, then silence. When I came to, I was in a haze of dust and smoke. I was coughing; I could feel blood oozing from my ear and a deep gash on my head. My right eye closed. I called out to my husband. “ABDUL! ABDUL!” I reached for my baby; where is he? YA ALLAH! YA ALLAH! LA! LA! LA! I called for my girls. ISMA! KAREEM! FATIMA! Repeatedly I called out; nothing returned but screams and wailing from those who the injured but alive and reaction to those who were dead.

 

My neighbors ran in all directions away from where the bombing decimated houses, markets, hospitals, schools, and our Masjids, the places we worshipped. Wives, mothers, husbands, fathers, brothers, and sisters cried, calling out for their family members. I could only sense them faintly, yet by the widening of their mouths and expression of pain in their faces, a story of a horrific tragedy communicated. The noise of despair and hopelessness increased, getting louder, though muffled.

 

I later found the blast had burst my eardrum. In attempting to stand on two legs,

I fell down in excruciating pain. I felt a gush of warmness coursing down between

my thighs. The balcony I was sitting with my son next to me; had fallen into one

story and collapsed onto its side. My right ankle has swollen twice its size, and

that’s when I became painfully aware. My left foot was nothing but a twisted

bone of bloody flesh. By the grace and mercy of Allah Subhana wata tala, a

team of rescue workers picked me up and carried me down and place me on

the stretcher. I shouted through dusty tears and frantic screams! “Aintazar!

Aintazar! Aintazar! Eayilati, Tafali!” As they carried me away, my head fell to

the left in despair. The heavy concrete balcony now in pieces had taken my

entire family. The blue bodysuit. I dressed baby Abdul in that morning, his

tiny arm, stretched out under the heavy blocks of concrete still and lifeless,

drenched in blood. Climatic and sinister, the cruelty of death had taken the innocence.

 

 

Therefore, you get up and move from me because you think I am ignoring you or being haughty. No dear sister, that could not be further from the truth. How blessed you are to be sitting here, smiling and greeting our sisters and worship our Lord in freedom. You may even have family here? However, you have not known the pain many of us immigrants and refugees have suffered. You assume everyone is like you, without thinking deeply about what others may have gone through, and why we are here in a land unaccustomed. Most would have much rather lived in their own country, without turmoil, corruption, conflict, death, and able to live with their families; healthy, happy, and intact, with hope for a better life for our children.

It’s just today...  all my attention and worship must be on Allah Subhana wata tala, because it is he who has brought me through the hellfire I recently encountered, and who will put the pieces of my broken heart back together. Until then, please continue to give me a greeting, a hug, and your beautiful smile. I love you, Fisabilillah, and my prayer for America and her people will never again experience the loss of 9-11 and the devastation. I know and sympathize for the pain it caused your country.

Ya Allah, Astigfirla. I never thought it would have been our neighborhoods, our mosque, hospitals, schools, markets destroyed. We are civilians; we were not part of the military or war. The innocent women, children, and men in a population are to be protected. Aren’t they?

© Clover Journesy  6/2021 *  Ja’Nala’s Generational Wealth, 2014

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 The Little Frenchtown By The Sea
Clover Journesy
Amazed

 

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Reginald peeks through the glass door, making sure Donald was not with a client. He burst into the office. “Hey, my man. What time are you taking off?”

 

“Around 6:00 and having dinner with the family. Will you still be able to drop me off at the airport?”

 

“No doubt. What time does your flight leave?"

 

“9:00a.m., American. Marcia, brought you the cases to file Monday?”

 

“Yes, she did - six right?"

 

“Yes, and please have Mr. Daniels sign the complaint affidavit. You may have to send it by DocuSign. He is the only one working at his business since Covid-19. I don’t want to take him away from the coffee shop.”

 

“Alright! And don’t you forget your itinerary. Remember to visit Saint-Jean-de Lutz. Marcia, is still talking about the little village. “She even went on the internet to find a picture or one resembling it, and she found it.” Donald held up the backside of his hand to slide it against the backside of Reginald’s hand, and snapping their fingers. They have done this handshake since college, when in agreement.

“It’s her investigation skills that landed her the position in the research department.” Donald said.

 

“She has saved our ass and millions of dollars, more than a few times. She is incredible.” says Reginald. The door opens, and it’s Marcia.

 

“Did I hear my name mentioned?” No, you must be, hearing things.” said Reginald. Donald began to laughing.

 

“Donald, Marcia said, “I swung by to wish you a terrific, enjoyable and safe French vacation, and visit…”

 

“I know Marcia, Saint-Jean-de Lutz.“

 

Donald’s plane arrived in Biarritz, France, met by Biarritz and Associates Law firm, limousine driver, who took him from the airport to the Hyatt - Hotel, Du Palaise Biarritz conference center, 570 euros a night. It was all very convenient. After the conference Donald, got on the elevator to the twelfth floor and retired into his hotel room. He made a few calls letting family and friends in the states know he made it safely. He then reviewed the notes covering international law before retiring.

The next morning, Donald received a message. The conference was being postponed for day two, since yesterday’s meeting ran later than expected and will resume Wednesday. This will be the perfect time to take an entire day and visit Saint-Jean-de Lutz. After breakfast Donald packs a light bag and rented a Peugeot 208, sub compact. He called his friend Reginald. “Hey Reg., we had a reprieve from meetings today, so I’m headed to the village.”

“Saint-Jean-de Lutz? Ok that’s great.” Donald could hear Marcia, in the background. “Bring me back a cocker shell bracelet, you can buy them on the fisher’s dock.”

" Did you hear her?"

 

“Yes, Reg., I heard her. She needs to find her a man to buy these things.”


Reginald says laughing, “Well for now we’re her man.” Be safe over there brother.”

 

“Alright I’m hanging up.” Donald, started down the country road, radio turned up and admiring the countryside’s farm houses and live stock along the way. When he reached the area close to the town, he slowed, looking for the exit to the little town named Saint-Jean-de Lutz. Having driven several miles and not finding where to turn off, he asked for directions. He drove past an exit sign and stopped. Placing the car in reverse, back up and turned right. The cobblestone drive followed a winding uphill course. He thought to himself, where will the street take me, and what will I find? I hope there is someone who speaks English and does not hate Americans. He drove higher up still and at the end of the block, a pub situated. Its shingle read “Kegger of Saint - Jean-de Lutz.”

He parked the car, taking extra caution to engage the emergency brake. He gets out and goes into the pub. Straightway he heads to the bar and asks the bartender. “Bonjour, can you direct me to the town of Saint-Jean-de Lutz, by the sea?”

 

"S’il te plait." To his delight, the bartender understood English, because this was as much French as he will attempt without his translator app. “You are a tourist?”

 

"Yes."

 

"You are here, my American friend, come with me."  The bartender lifts the bar's extension to leave, and walks out the front door. The tourist follows. The bartender turns right and scales the rather challenging incline, half a block. Once at the top. They peered over and saw the beauty of the ocean shore encapsulated by mountains. Village houses dotted throughout the hilly descent. The black slated sidewalk appeared wet. A lighted lamp post overlooked the area, and its glow bounced off the pavement. The bartender explained the pavement only looks wet, because the workers polish the stone until it appears as dark reflective glass.

Donald, stared in amazement at the beauty before his eyes and said. “My friend did not do justice in describing this exceptional place. It feels I am standing inside a Hemmingway’s painting. I did not know it would be this wonderful.” The bartender said. “Au Beau paysage... “Many tourists come here just for the view and the people.”

 

“I had planned to drive through, take some pictures and continue on. This scenery, ocean and the mountains. I am changing my plans.”

"We, We, my American friend, excellent decision.” said the bartender.

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 © Clover Journesy 7 2021  Ja’Nala’s Generational Wealth 2014.
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Town By The Sea

Continues

“Come, my friend, slapping the tourist on the shoulder. The bartender invites his amazed friend back to the bar for lunch and a beer. Thanks, my name is Donald Burk. “Ah, a good American name.” And yours? “We, my name is Louis Beau monde. The pride of Georgian London, and great, great, great-grandson of Louis Beau monde.” Donald holds his hand out and says. “Nice to meet you.” Louis grabs Donald’s hand and says. “Enchante de faire votre connaissance, and they head back toward the Kegger, under a drizzle of new rain. Once inside, Louis asks Donald. “A seat at the bar or table?”
” I’ll sit over near the window.” 

“Bien, I’ll get your brew.”

Donald makes his way to the middle booth next to the window. He looks out and sees a panoramic view of the mountain range circling the coastline. The ocean’s tide, kissing the shore, and retreating into the voluminous body of water. In and out thinking what a magnificent scenery. Donald’s beer arrived. A silver stein with a see-through bottom, and soon his Pan Bagnat sandwich: French bread filled with tomatoes, black olives, onions, bell peppers, anchovies, and tuna.

Donald took a bite, closing his eyes, savoring the mixture of spiced flavors. He turned up the stein and took a large gulp of beer. “Awe Magnifique,” he said aloud. Four gentlemen sitting across at the other table and wearing anglers’s gear, raised their mugs and nodded in agreement.

Once finished, Donald joined the other four men and listened as they talked to learn more French, and enjoyed drinking more beer. Pierre, who spoke English, aided in translating what was being said. After about an hour, Donald said his goodbyes. “Bonjour.”
Pierre interjected. “Au revoir.”
" We, Au revoir, it was a pleasure meeting you, and thank you for the beers and hospitality.” Pierre repeated to the men in French what Donald had said. A little tipsy, Donald goes to the bar to bid farewell to Louis.
“I must go, my friend. Merci, for your kindness and delicious food and beer. “De rein, drive carefully, and come back again before you leave our beautiful country. "

Donald got into his car, heading back in the direction he came. Down the winding cobblestone road towards his hotel. He thought to himself. After the conference tomorrow, I will extend my vacation. I’ll have Marcia find a hotel in the city center, come back the next day and visit the town, Saint-Jean-de lutz, and do some shopping, and don’t forget her sea shell… Cocker bracelet. Indeed, it is a town I want to experience up close and personal.

It’s 2:15 a.m., and Donald’s phone rings and he picks up. “Hello.”
" Hello Donald, It’s Marcia. Did I wake you?”
"Yea, It’s a couple hours past midnight.”
" I guess I could have texted you. I wanted to make sure, that you have your reservation for tomorrow.”
" No that’s OK., Give it to me.”
" You will stay at Grand Villa, Thalasso, and Spa. It is close to the fisher village, off from the city center.”
"Marcia, this is perfect. Thank you for suggesting I visit, and from what I have experienced. I already love it.”


"Great! How’d the conference and your presentation go?”
" The conference went well, and they enthusiastically received the presentation.
“The Steps to Becoming Partner?”
" You forgot already? You put it together.”
"No, I did not forget. I just wanted to hear you say it was good.”
Yes, Marcia, it was better than good.”
Marcia, laughing, says. “I aim to please.”

Donald says. “Speaking of that,”…
Marcia, interrupts. “You won Mr. Daniel’s case. Reginald was brilliant.”
" The full three point two million?”
" Yes, sir! The entire amount.” Marcia says gleefully.
" Fantastic! He can rehire his entire staff with back-pay and medical benefits. Hey Marcia, do me a favor. Take Reginal to lunch or dinner on me. Not the firm.”
" Yes. I will, I know he will expect it.”
Reginald definitely, deserves it. It was a gamble, and he pulled the winning ticket.” ‘And send Mr. Daniel’s a case of top label champagne.’ He’ll want to celebrate with his employees I’m sure.”
“Alright, Donald, get your rest and enjoy your vacation.”
“Thanks Marcia, good night.”

" Rest, I cannot rest after receiving good news about Mr. Daniels.”
He turned on the jazz station; Nina Simone is singing “Feeling Good.” dancing and humming along, then singing “And it’s feeling good” while packing for his five days extended stay in the little town by the sea. In the quiet solitude of early morning. Donald thought, sitting on the balcony sipping coffee. France’s orange, blue sunrises were dense, and seemed more spectacular. How the sun rose through the trees, till it reached over the horizon and burst into a broad, luminous, yellow, light.

 

Today Donald is paying close attention to the road sign’s directions. Saint-Jean-de Lutz 65 kilometres, Tournez a droit. Donald reaches the right turn, and this time, goes down a winding cobblestone road to the left. As Donald drives into the town, towering mountains serve as a scenic backdrop. He moves closer to his hotel over the small bridge sidelined with tall and medium pine trees. A babbling brook runs underneath through the village center, heading towards the ocean where it will become one. Hotels and Inns Swiss designed and colorful.

Donald thinks back to his imaginary childhood found in fairy tales and remembers. The gingerbread house in Hansel and Gretel, Little Red Riding Hood, and The Three Bears. Donald chuckled to himself at the memories and how much he loved reading fables.

 

© Clover Journesy  6/27/2021 *  Ja’Nala’s Generational Wealth, 2014