Page 2 of Tributary

CHAPTER TWO

Asa

I KNEW I should have listened to my instincts and skipped this trip. I’m not worried about my investments here. I trust that the research nerds at this college are working on delivering. These guys have been chasing these dreams their whole lives. Nothing I say to them is going to urge them along any faster.

But Andrea insisted I needed to come here in person. It was supposed to be meetings, dinner, morning meetings, home. Back to the real work, where I have an ergonomic chair in my corner office on the top floor.

Now I’m stuck here, in a town with one snow plow, where even the rail travel is suspended. This never happens in Manhattan. Even during the hurricane a few years ago, I made it in to my office and sealed a deal with a shipping company worried they’d lose everything in the gale. Swooping in during a disaster is what I do…except I’m not seeing where the surefire profit is from this blizzard.

Before the hurricane, I knew the bay would be fine and I knew the shipping company was dead wrong. I chuckle, remembering the intel I got from a loose-lipped kid in my apartment building, making small talk in the hallway about some state of the art storm swell system his company had just finished building out of oysters and recycled plastic or some shit.

I might not be good at much, but I know how to file away kernels of information and pull them up when it’s most beneficial.

And by beneficial, I almost always mean profitable. Which this work in Oak Creek is not…yet.

Rose Mitchell is an interesting host, and staying here is certainly a break from the grind I’m used to. At least the people kissing my ass here are subtle about it, and they otherwise don’t seem to be putting on an act whenever I’m in the room. Nobody in this town cares who slighted who at the last benefit dinner, and nobody gives a fuck which fork I use to eat my chicken. Watching the snow fall outside my host’s window, I wonder if maybe the benefits here outweigh the drawbacks.

Andrea has called this morning about 40 times, from the moment the first flakes began to fall and we realized this storm was actually happening. Once it became apparent I am stuck here, Rose set me up in her own home office, but I slowly realized none of my employees were working, and all of our clients are snowed in, too. From what Andrea said, New York is getting hit worse than Oak Creek, even though we’re just a few hours away.

Suddenly faced with my first down time in years, I feel…what is this? Restless I guess. My hosts are outside trying to contribute their lawn tractor to the cause of digging out local sidewalks, but Daniel Crawford told me to make myself at home.

I start to peer into the closets, marveling at the neatly organized containers of yearbooks, old sports equipment, and laminated science fair awards.

Last month, I agreed to invest in Hunter Crawford’s biological tissue research, and I smile, noting the national awards he’s evidently been winning in the field since he was a teenager.

I wonder whether my mom saved anything of mine. It seemed like each thing I did was some desperate item on a checklist toward taking over Wexler Holdings.

The last bedroom closet is full of snow gear. I look out the window and see it’s still coming down hard, and from the looks of this gear I found, it belonged to a college-aged Crawford kid not too long ago. I decide today’s as good a day as any to go for a walk.

My phone rings as I’m lacing up my borrowed boots, just slightly too small. “Andrea, talk to me.”

“Oh, Asa,” she sighs. “There’s just nothing to be done here until the city digs out.”

I frown, pulling up the rusty zipper on a well-worn ski jacket. “Is the commodities exchange still open?”

“I think so.”

“Tell Scott I want him to invest in road salt.”

“Ten-four,” she says, and hangs up.

I zip my phone into the jacket pocket and step out into the storm, smiling as I strap on the snowshoes. I crunch away from the Crawford house toward town, not sure where I’m headed or why.

It takes me about a half hour to get to Main Street, and I wave at some guy who’s skiing around the streets. I actually feel really carefree. I don’t usually like unexpected changes of plans. It’s hard to run an empire without a five year plan, a five month plan, and a five day vision. Somehow knowing that everyone is equally affected by this lets me relax into it. I even get the urge to build a snowman, then laugh at myself. I never even spent much time doing that as a kid. You don’t get into Wharton based on your building skills, Asa Wexler, my mother used to scold.

Just as I start to shake that memory away, I’m hit in the face with a shovel full of wet, heavy snow. I start cursing and wiping it away, and then I hear a woman laughing.

“Well what are you doing standing where I’m shoveling?” she asks.

I look into a pair of brown eyes that seem incredulous. I glance down at the path she’s standing in. There’s nearly a foot of snow on the ground and she’s cleared almost the entire block, seemingly by hand. “Did you do all this?”

She draws her head back and cocks a brow at me beneath her snowy ski cap. “See anyone else out here with a shovel?”

I flash her my best smile. This chick’s got stamina. “Asa Wexler,” I tell her, holding out a gloved hand. “I forgive you.”

She arches a brow but pulls off her heavy glove to shake my hand. Her grip is strong and she pumps my hand twice. An assertive shake. “Diana Crawford,” she says, “You must be staying with my parents.”

I like this woman. She’s blunt. I find her intriguing, and this blizzard just got a whole lot more interesting.

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