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The AdvAnTAGE Project

By

Mantrid Brizon

Episode 08: Van D'Steen

“I'm sorry, but the answer is still 'no'."

Agent Sharpe stares through his mirrored sunglasses, his face like frozen stone.

“I see... May I ask why, Mr. Van D'Steen?"

“Take a look around. What do you see?"

Elijah spreads out his arms and looks back at his grand manor. Agent Sharpe, who sits with the middle-aged man of Dutch ancestry, turns his head and scans the beautiful home behind them. With a quiet but frustrated sigh, he turns his attention back to Mr. Van D'Steen, who lifts a tea cup and saucer from the stone patio table and takes a sip of his drink.

“I see a mansion, Mr. Van D'Steen."

“Then you aren't looking hard enough. What you should be seeing is history."

“Oh? And what is the pertinence of that?"

“My great grandfather came here from the old country. He became a bricklayer and saved every penny he earned. Eventually, he started his own company and over time it's grown into the largest construction firm in the western hemisphere. This manor's construction began with my great grandfather and finished with his son, my grandfather. In that time, the core component to our business strategy has always been honesty. When I build another skyscraper for some rich tycoon to stick his name on it, I don't lie about the costs or the time it'll take to build, and I don't expect to be lied to about the building's purpose. That's no way to run a business."

“Was that an answer to my question?" Agent Sharpe raises a brow.

“History is important, Agent, and learning from one's past is paramount for success and survival. I don't trust you..." Elijah Van D'Steen glares, setting aside his teacup and leaning over the patio table. “You're shifty. You and your suit-wearing ilk can't even look me in the eye without hiding yours. That's not good. I haven't even met your boss, and that's even worse."

“It's odd that you bring this up, now. You've done work for us before and it's paid you handsomely." Agent Sharpe retorts.

“I helped you build some bunker in Michigan. You said it was a bunker and you paid well, but as my crew left, they saw some of the equipment you were moving into it. Not exactly survival gear..."

“What we do with our facilities is our business, don't you think?" Agent Sharpe smirks.

“I don't trust you, and I'd rather not work with you in the future. Whatever you're up to, it's nefarious, otherwise you'd wouldn't deceive me about its purpose. Leave me and my family's company out of it."

Agent Sharpe's smirk swiftly fades. He sits in silence, staring at the wealthy construction mogul who promptly lifts a folded newspaper and proceeds to ignore his guest.

“Perhaps if we paid double your estimations?" He finally asks, breaking the silence.

“I said 'no', now please leave." Elijah replies, never looking away from his paper.

“... Quadruple?"

“Get. Out." Elijah growls.

With that, several of Elijah's henchmen approach Agent Sharpe. One of the men maintains a bladed stance, a hand hovering near his hip. Realizing that he's lost, Agent Sharpe rises from his seat. He straightens his already immaculate tie and takes a deep breath.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Van D'Steen." He speaks in his eerie monotone. “I will see myself out."

As he makes his way from the table, he turns and glares at the men who guard Elijah Van D'Steen. They remain vigilant as the pale, suit-wearing man heads for the glass doors of the elegant balcony perched atop the third-floor. A younger and very attractive woman with flowing auburn hair watches as the Agent silently whisks himself through the manor. He glances back every so often, only to find Van D'Steen's guards watching him like hungry vultures. Making his way outside, three other men in matching attire wait for Agent Sharpe.

They stand beside a brand-new, black Chevrolet Impala, the windows darkly tinted, even on the front and rear windshields. One Agent opens the door for Agent Sharpe, before climbing into the car and closing it behind him. The other Agents enter the vehicle, which drives almost silently away from the exquisite mansion. The woman stands atop the balcony, her hands resting on the stone railing as she watches the men and their vehicle. She turns toward Elijah and sighs, crossing her arms before her chest. He finally lowers his paper, looking over to his wife.

“What?!" He asks with a little smile.

“Would you like to talk about it?"

His smile fades and he sets his paper aside. Slowly nodding his head, he motions to his wife with his fingertips. She steps up to her husband, who stands to his feet and slips an arm around her.

“Alright, darling. Let's talk."

He gives her a little kiss and leads her inside of their home.

“You did what?!" She gasps, standing in one of their large and extravagant living rooms.

“It's not like we need the money, darling!" He replies, slumped back in a vintage Victorian couch.

“Twenty... Billion... Dollars..." She slowly responds.

“Uh-huh..." He murmurs, averting his eyes.

“Billion, with a 'B'... Doubling our net worth with a single contract and you said no?!"

“It's a single contract, but multiple projects, and some of them don't sound right. They asked for another 'bunker', fifty times the size of that last one, and then wanted an entire village built above it."

“Whatever! One project or fifty projects; that amount is more than we could make in our lifetimes, with all of your other customers! How could you turn that down?!"

“Let's be real, here. We have all the money we could ever spend."

“So?! Should we just liquidate the business and retire?! Never collect another contract and never do another job because we have all of the money we could ever spend?! What about Elias?! What about his future?!" She looks to their toddler who plays with his toys atop the genuine alpaca rug.

“Don't do that. Don't bring our son into this. I don't want to fight..."

“Then tell me why you turned down their offer!"

“... I don't trust them. It feels... Strange. A knot in my gut that tells me to stay as far away from them as possible."

“A gut feeling..." Her expression shifts, becoming blank with her overwhelming shock.

“It's never steered me wrong, Delilah. My father, grandfather and great grandfather always did what they felt was best, and now we have one of the top ten most expensive homes in the United States. As for money, our liquid assets alone already put us well into the top twenty richest families; little Eli would have to take up the world's most expensive drug habit to blow his inheritance before his one-hundredth birthday." Elijah quips, trying to soften his wife.

“Maybe." She giggles. “But I still think you should reconsider. He'll have a family of his own, someday, and his children will want children and a super yacht."

“Got to have that super yacht." He smiles.

“Mhm! Please, baby?" She coos, approaching her husband and sensually swaying her buttocks.

“I'll think about it..." He says, resting his hands on her slender waist. “But don't be surprised if my answer is still 'no'!" He insists.

“Okay, baby!" She throws her arms around his neck. “That's all I'm asking!"

Listening to the audio, a suit-wearing man with high-quality studio headphones writes a note in a booklet. He tears out the sheet and passes it to another man. The Agent looks at the note and immediately places a call.

“Hello, sir. Yes, it has. We may have a target for you..."

Several days pass and Elijah Van D'Steen refuses to change his mind. Even with guarantees of payment and his wife, Delilah, pressuring him, Elijah doesn't budge. The more the Agents try to persuade him, the more unnerved the construction mogul becomes. He looks into the location they've chosen for the site, only to learn that it's almost as remote and secure as Area 51, nestled deep in the gnarled forests of the southeastern United States. Making his way through the hall, Agent Sharpe notes how Van D'Steen's guards don't follow him like they did before. Perhaps because neither had lost their temper? He turns a corner, looking to and fro. Walking the halls, he soon finds what he's looking for.

“Hello, Mrs. Van D'Steen." He begins, stepping inside and closing the door.

“Oh! Hello, Agent Sharpe! Where you lost?!" She chirps.

“No. In fact, I was looking for you."

Delilah's bubbly facade quickly fades, a sinister grin spreading across her face as her posture becomes more relaxed. Her shifty eyes, as green as emeralds and as sharp as a lioness's, scan his form.

“To speak to me, or about my husband?" She asks.

“Your husband. I was wondering if-"

“I've already tried speaking to him." She cuts him off.

“I have no doubt... There's a slightly different conversation I had in mind."

“Mmmm... I'm listening." She steps closer to him.

It's clear from her body language and her subtle hints, all of which are painfully obvious to the highly trained Agent, that Delilah Van D'Steen is priming herself for an affair. Her willingness and even eagerness to cheat on her doting husband somehow unnerves the Agent, who maintains his icy cold demeanor. Ever the professional, Agent Sharpe doesn't flinch when Mrs. Van D'Steen stands only inches away, resting her hands on his shoulders and pressing her body against him. Her ample breasts, smooshed against his chest, begin to pop out of her five-thousand-dollar dress, which is made of the finest silk. However, she blinks and her eyes grow wide when she hears what Agent Sharpe has to say.

“What if you were to run Van D'Steen Construction, in the event that your husband was... Unable to do so?" He asked.

“What do you mean? Like, retired?"

“Something like that..."

A clever and coy woman, Mrs. Van D'Steen continued to play dumb, accepting nothing less than hearing Agent Sharpe say the words.

“Should you inherit the company, would you be more willing to work with us than your husband?"

“Since you put it that way, big guy... I'd be more than willing to open up my company for you." She says with a lustful wink.

“Good. It could be done right away."

“What else could be done right away?" She asks, a hand gliding down his chest. “Perhaps you could sign on my dotted line before we get going? You know... Make it official?"

“I think that's something that can be saved for later." He replies.

“Oh, come on, big guy. This mansion is so huge, no one will ever hear me submitting to your terms, no matter how loud I am." She softly kisses his cheek and cups a hand over his groin, feeling his flaccid bulge.

“Those tricks might work on your husband and the pool boys, Mrs. Van D'Steen, but not me." He growls, gently pushing her away.

“Hmph! Suit yourself..." She grumbles, angrily crossing her arms.

“If and when I desire you, I won't need to you approach me." He continues, straightening his tie.

“Ooohh! That's how I like it!" Her face lights up. “So, how will you handle this situation?" She asks, taking out an elongated cigarette and lighting it with a golden lighter.

“You let me worry about that, Mrs. Van D'Steen. Just expect a call in the near future."

“Please, call me 'Delilah'. If that's too much for you, Agent, then I'll settle for 'Ms. Van D'Steen'." She winks, before taking a drag of her cigarette.

“As you wish, Ms. Van D'Steen." He smirks.

“Dick." She softly giggles.

“Oh, and you should know, it'll likely be a closed casket affair..."

“That's fine." She chuckles. “I close my eyes half the time I'm with him, anyway."

As she giggles, Agent Sharpe's eye twitches, though it's concealed behind his mirrored sunglasses. After letting himself out, without ever once being noticed by the guards or the staff of the sprawling mansion, he again returns to his men, who wait in the wraparound driveway in the courtyard.

“How did it go, sir?" An Agent asks as he opens his door.

“It's time to do things the old-fashioned way." Agent Sharpe remarks as he slides into the backseat of the car.

“Where to, sir?" The driver asks.

“The owner of the shop where Van D'Steen has his fleet maintained has some debts. Perhaps he'd be willing to help us in exchange for those debts disappearing?"

“Yes, sir."

After enjoying a round of golf at a fancy resort, the tail end of a business deal with his latest client, Elijah Van D'Steen makes his way toward his limousine. Nearly a week since he'd last spoken to Agent Sharpe, he's long since forgotten about the unnerving man and his shady contract. His relationship with the Agent and his group, Sovereign Six, was always dubious at best. It's better to simply move on and continue with more legitimate business. He turns to his most trusted guard and waves him over.

“Could you collect my bags, Mr. Donovan?"

“Of course, sir!"

As Mr. Donovan dashes over to the garage, where Mr. Van D'Steen's luggage has been placed, his boss and fellow guards climb into the limousine. Ever the cautious types, his guards close the doors behind them. The driver turns the key and the elongate Cadillac roars to life. As Mr. Donovan collects the bags, he turns and freezes at a strange sight. Smoke billows from beneath the hood! Is the engine catching fire?! Why haven't they fled the vehicle?! Dropping the bags, Mr. Donovan races toward the limousine. He can vaguely make out the shadowy figures inside, through the tinted glass. They're struggling to open the doors.

He moves toward the panicked driver, who presses the buttons over and over again. Even grabbing the knob and yanking upward doesn't unlock the vehicle. The frightened driver looks to Mr. Donovan and yells. Though he cannot hear him, it looks like he's saying 'break the glass!' Mr. Donovan races toward the back of the limousine and draws his Sig Sauer P220 from his shoulder holster. Bang, bang, bang! The rounds embed themselves in the bullet-proof glass. Holstering his firearm, he grabs a golf club from Mr. Van D'Steen's bag and begins bashing the sturdy window.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" Mr. Donovan swiftly chants.

The flames rapidly engulf the vehicle, and as the panels melt away, he can hear the bloodcurdling screams of his boss and co-workers. Even as his suit is singed by the roaring flames, he still tries to save them. It isn't until staff from the resort physically drag him away that Mr. Donovan ceases his efforts. Sitting with her son, Elias, in their favorite living room, Delilah Van D'Steen watches the toddler playing. She turns her attention toward their projector television, the volume kept low so as not to disturb the child. Suddenly, a loud ringing catches her attention. She throws her flowing hair over her shoulder while lifting the antiquated receiver of her ivory and gold-plated telephone.

“Hello?"

“Ms. Van D'Steen?"

“Oh, Agent Sharpe! I was wondering when you'd call!" She chirps.

“It's done. Expect another phone call very soon."

“Alright. Agent Sharpe?"

“Yes?"

“Once I inherit the business, and after the funeral, I'll accept your final offer. For twenty billion dollars your bosses can consider themselves Van D'Steen's sole customer."

“Thank you, Ms. Van D'Steen. I'll pass that message along."

“Please do. Oh, and Agent Sharpe?!"

“Yes?"

She cups the lower end of the receiver and turns away from her son, as though the toddler was eavesdropping.

“When we draft the contract, I'd love it if it was you who came over. You can sign on my dotted line." She coos.

“You'll be seeing me again, Ms. Van D'Steen. I can assure you of that much." He says in his cold monotone.

“Mmmm... I look forward to it."

“Oh, and I'm sorry for your loss."

“Yeah, okay." She softly chuckles.

Hanging up the phone, she glances down at her child. He makes his way toward his mother, stumbling forward and holding out his little arms, eager for her to pick him up. She's more than willing to oblige and cradles her son in her arms. Little Eli looks around, leaning back as he peers through a nearby window, attempting to look upon the massive courtyard below. Delilah pets his little head and gives him a soft kiss.

“There, there, baby." She coos. “It's just you and me now. Now that daddy's gone, mommy will always look after you."

Little Eli mumbles in his childish way, bringing a smile to his mother's lips. The phone rings and once again she lifts the receiver, though she prepares herself for drastically different news.

“Hello? Oh, hi, Mr. Donovan! ... Okay, woah. S-. Slow down. What's going on?"

She listens to the caller, Mr. Donovan, the only one of Elijah's men who'd escaped the inferno. He explains how he'd witnessed the fire from the safety of the garage and explains his failure to Elijah's widow, assuring her that he tried to break the bullet-proof glass to save her husband and even suffered burns to his arms in the futile pursuit. Delilah covers her mouth, a tear running down her cheek.

“Oh, no!" She whimpers, sniffling audibly for Mr. Donovan. “Oh, Elijah! My love!"

She begins to cry, complete with real tears.

“I'm so sorry, ma'am. I did everything I could!"

“I-I know you did..." She sniffles again.

Abruptly ending the call, she sniffles and sighs, then wipes away her tears. After a moment, she cannot help but chuckle.

“Acting 101. Always appear genuine, even when they can only hear you." She remarks to her son, giving the toddler a little hug.