Winning the Lottery - 31. Chapter 31 Don and Marco

Donald Deacon, as CEO of the Dea-Con Foundation, was one of the most powerful men in America, yet little was known about him. Introverted—some would say shy—he avoided social gatherings and cultivated few friends. His father, Darius, and his brother, Darius, were the faces of the Dea-Con Corporation. They were the ones attending the glittering galas and being photographed warmly shaking politicians’ hands. Accolades and praise were heaped on them for the billions of dollars the Dea-Con Foundation disbursed to various good causes every year. But it was Don who oversaw the smooth running of the Foundation and set its philanthropic policies.

As a second son, Don had been groomed from a young age to run the Foundation. His older brother, Darius, had, of course, been groomed to head the Corporation. That was the way it was in the Deacon family, the direction of which was modeled on the British aristocracy model. Older sons, or daughters, inherit the ‘title.’ Subsequent children could do what they wanted provided they didn’t cause trouble. But after Uncle Douglas’s defection to Buddhism, Don’s grandfather and father stepped in to steer him in the direction of the Foundation. To keep him ‘in the family’ as it were.

If he’d wanted to, Don could have played a much more public role in the Foundation. But he made it clear from a very early age that he shunned the limelight. He cultivated, and was content with, anonymity.

He was in all respects an ordinary man. Not short, but not tall either. His body, although well toned from regular gym workouts, lacked that sort of look-at-me shape of the typical gym bunny. His facial features were even and pleasantly portioned, but a certain roundness to his jaw lent an ordinariness to his looks. His strawberry blond hair was thick and lustrous, but he wore it short and conservatively styled.

Then he stepped out of character and married a free spirit.

Don’s husband, Marco, was every bit the image of a free spirit—some might label him a hippie. He was tall and rangy and strikingly dark, except for his startling blue eyes. He wore his jet black hair in a queue tied at the nape of his neck. His face was all planes and shadows. High, prominent cheekbones set off a long, Roman nose. His lips were full and sensual, perched as they were on a leading chin.

Definitely counter culture, but also a genius.

Marco had a PhD in Astrophysics from MIT and was currently employed in a post-doctorate fellowship by an observatory in Hawaii. A mathematical prodigy, he wrote algorithms to filter out background noise from cosmic signals for the study of black holes, specifically the gravitational effect thereof. He often worked at night using his facility’s super computer. Although he enjoyed the company of his colleagues, he found he could concentrate better when undisturbed.

Undisturbed, like when he was on his surf board. Few of his colleagues also knew that he was a passionate surfer. He enjoyed nothing better than seeking the perfect wave while hanging out with like-minded, half naked, ‘surfer’ dudes and girls.

In fact, he and Don met at the beach. Marco had spotted the self-contained man sitting watching his cousin, who was one of Marco’s surfing buddies. For some reason, the very un-surfer-like dude drew him like a magnate, and the rest, they say, was history.

Now here they were, over a year later, happily married, living the good life on the Big Island of Hawaii. They were the proverbial two peas in a pod. Every love cliché ever penned applied to them; they couldn’t get enough of each other. Their bodies’ hummed in tuning fork precision when they were together. Marco even wrote a mathematical proof about it, which is the closest thing to a love poem that a mathematician can do. They ached when they were apart, even for a few hours.

Which was a problem, because they spent far too much time apart. Don spent part of every week in San Francisco on Foundation business, and Marco’s fellowship demanded long hours in the lab. As newlyweds do, they ignored the not-quite-right situation, sweeping their frustrations under the carpet, avoiding conflict. Marco felt it wasn’t his place to ask Don to stay home more. Don ‘understood’ that a mathematical genius would need to spend long hours ciphering.

Neither having had a significant other before, they didn’t recognize the warning signs. The pressure built, little by little, and just like the volcano on the Big Island the release came in a fiery eruption. Accusations were thrown, voices were raised, tears were shed. Either one could have won an Oscar for his performance of the ‘wronged man.’ Fortunately, the battle lasted only a few intense minutes before they, as many couples before them did, ended up in bed having incredible, intense make-up sex.

Then, as they should have done before the situation reached critical mass, they talked. And talked. And talked. They were in total agreement on one thing: they wanted, no needed, to spend more time together. And, logically speaking, it wasn’t like they needed jobs to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. So, bottom line, what could they realistically do? Marco wanted to be free of ‘academic bullshit’ to be with Don, work on his equations, and spend more time surfing where, he told Don, he did some of his best thinking. Don, in all honesty, simply wanted to start a family and be a stay-at-home dad.

“What’s stopping us?” asked Don.

The next day he phoned his executive vice president and told her she was taking over his duties immediately, and that he was supporting her as his permanent replacement. Marco spent the day at the facility finishing the algorithm he was working on. When it was done, he walked to the lab director’s office and handed him his security pass and key card. He said thank you and goodbye, and left.

They made love repeatedly that night. Don ignored repeated phone calls from his father. The next day they chartered a sailboat at the marina and had it take them to Honolulu where they’d arranged to spend a week as guests of Don’s cousin Derrick and his husband, Gabe. They’d use that time to ‘think things over.’

Once Don’s father got over the surprise at Don’s sudden departure from the Foundation, he said he fully understood and supported Don and Marco’s decision. In typical Deacon fashion he said, “You can do anything you want. Just as long as it’s not illegal or immoral.”

Derrick and Gabe were also very supportive of their new venture, as directionless as it was for the moment. Marco enjoyed a few days surfing and thinking, while Don sat on the beach doing his own thinking.

They spent hours talking to Derrick and Gabe about the ‘reality’ of having children. “Nothing is more rewarding or frustrating,” they were told. “Even with help, it’s an unremitting commitment. And if your kids are in school you’re tied to one place for ten months a year!”

It sounded like a big job to Don and Marco. Was the aggravation really worth it?

What tipped the scales in favor was watching Derrick and Gabe and their friends, Jordan and Kelly, with their boys. They could see how demanding the two very active youngsters were. Every spare moment the parents had seemed to be taken up with child-rearing activities. Yet the parents showed almost infinite patience—not that they let the boys take advantage of them, there were obvious boundaries and rules and limits. . More than obvious, however, and what really sold Don and Marco on the idea of parenthood, was the love the parents and children shared that was demonstrated in countless tangible and intangible ways every day.

Adoption or surrogacy? There were advantages and disadvantages to either route, but in the end they concluded adoption was the better choice for them irrespective of the fact that a ‘biological’ child of Don’s would have Deacon DNA, therefore the child, or children, would be eligible for Dea-Con shares. Don felt that was discriminatory to Marco, whom he felt protective of. Plus they had the example of several adoptions within their circle of friends, which they admired and respected. To create fiduciary fairness for the child, or children, Don negotiated (more like extorted) a multi-billion dollar trust settlement from the Dea-Con board. (The logic being that adoption was more beneficial in the long run for the existing shareholders and their biological decedents.) It only took a few phone calls, and with Gramps in their corner, the trust was unanimously approved.

At Derrick and Gabe’s urging, the search for eligible children was contracted to Sam Kozitsky’s former ‘spy’ team who had the means to search any and all necessary electronic records. Nonetheless, they wanted a legitimate, legal, state sanctioned adoption. Of course the Deacon ‘influence’ was a big help in cutting through red tape. Their preference was for a family of two or three sibling children. Sam, who had experience with adoption—both his boys were adopted—assured them that there were hundreds, if not thousands, of just such children in need of adoptions.

Once the ball was rolling, Don and Marco traveled to Fiji where Marco surfed by day while Don relaxed and read. They passed several idyllic and hedonistic days, and when they weren’t making love, they talked about their future. Specifically, where they should ‘settle.’ They wanted to make the right choice because, once committed, with children in school, they would be there for a long time.

Sam had told them it wouldn’t take long to find kids, and it didn’t. Three recently orphaned children (a girl 8, a boy 5, and a boy 18 months) were in immediate need. They were Nebraskans whose parents had been tragically killed in a multi-car crash on I80 the previous winter. All attempts to place them with relatives had failed. They were temporarily housed in a group foster home awaiting a more long-term placement. The case worker was nearly at his wits end trying to find a placement that would keep the children together. The Deacons pulled strings at the highest level, and the governor—not immune to appropriate incentives—was onside, but insistent that ‘procedure be followed.’ In other words, he was, as politicians do, covering his ass.

Sam explained that the eight year old had taken on the role of ‘mother-protector’ and it was mainly she who needed to be won over. The children, who were naturally suffering the trauma of losing their parents and removed from their home and friends, were in otherwise good physical health. The Protection Services case worker invited Don and Marco to come to Omaha and spend time—as much time as necessary—getting to know the children before proceeding with the adoption process.

Meanwhile, photos of the children were emailed, and against all rational logic, Don and Marco fell instantly in love.

They were excited and terrified. And not ready! “We still haven’t decided where to live!” lamented Marco.

“Marco, think!” said Don. You want to be near a surfing spot, right? Where would that be?”

“Well, there’s Fiji,” said Marco, since they were there at that moment. “Australia. New Zealand, South Africa, Canary Islands, Namibia, the Maldives, California, Tofino, BC. Those are all world-renowned spots. I could write an algorithm, putting in all the factors, then we’d have our answer!” (Don rolled his eyes, but Marco was nothing, if not serious, about his mathematics.)

“There’s one other fairly obvious one,” encouraged Don.

Marco thought for a few seconds. “Hawaii!”

“Yes!” said Don. “Didn’t you say that Oahu has three of the top surfing spots in the world?”

“Do you think Derrick and Gabe will mind if we invade their territory?” asked Marco. “I could work that into the algorithm.”

When asked, Derrick and Gabe didn’t mind at all. In fact they were delighted and more than encouraging, pointing out the many advantages of Hawaii. Don and Marco engaged the services of a property manager in Honolulu and gave her a rough idea of what they wanted: Beachfront, good neighborhood, large house, a second, neighboring house for the security minders. Naturally, they were willing to pay a premium for the right properties. The agent said that often beachfront homes were bought by investors looking to make a quick profit, and Don and Marco could be optimistic about getting what they needed.

Two days later, after receiving a detailed report about the children, special delivered from Sam Kozitsky, Don and Marco’s chartered jet landed in Omaha where they were they whisked to the offices of the Child Protection Services Branch. They were kept waiting at least thirty minutes in a room fitted with plastic chairs and year-old, dog eared issues of Good Housekeeping and Time. Don was fuming; he’d never in his life been treated in such an insulting manner! Marco who, like most average Americans, had been subjected to the vagaries of government employees, advised him to “Chill Bro.’”

Finally! They were called in by a harried looking, and somewhat confused, case worker who introduced himself as Tim Van Slade. “So you guys are interested in adopting the Allenby children?”

“There’s no interested about it,” said Don in his most authoritative, aristocratic voice. “We are going to adopted them.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been told by the director, who was apparently told by the governor, to cooperate. Just who are you people anyway?”

“People with a lot of clout,” replied Don coolly.

“Yes... Well, these kids need a good home. They’re really sweet. Easy to love. In fact, my wife and I considered applying to adopt them, but we already have three kids.... But my instructions were to cooperate and expedite, but also to follow all due procedure, and that could take months, maybe a year or more! You can understand my concern about the children going to a good home. My job is to protect kids. Clout or not, I will stop this adoption like that (he snapped his fingers) if I feel any discomfort about it. I’ll...I’ll...go to the president if I have to!

Let me check your application and see what we’ve got.” He read quietly for a few moments. “This defies belief! The process is...well underway... Ah, I see you are resident in rural Harrison, in the northwest corner of the state. Everything is in order...state tax returns, drivers’ licences, voter registration. The application is complete...there’s a record of your initial interview...background checks...oh, and look here...a home inspection. All approved, of course. And what’s this?...records of renunciation of guardianship by all of the children’s surviving relatives. Now the renunciation doesn’t surprise me, we asked all of them, and they all made excuses...but to get their actual sign-off on guardianship...and duly approved by a judge...now that’s nothing short of miraculous!

What’s next? Are you going to pull rabbits out of your asses for me?”

“Dude, there’s no need to get snarky,” said Don in his best surfer dude accent.

“Indeed not,” said Don aristocratically.

“Okay, I get the CIA shit and the NSA computer hacking shit, and all the corner cutting bullshit that you guys are pulling off. But is any of this crap true?” he asked redundantly, waving at his computer screen. “And, most importantly, true or not, what I really want to know is: are you decent human beings and will you make good parents for these kids?”

“Yes!” Don and Marco chorused.

“Yes to both questions,” added Don. “We do have a residence in rural Nebraska. It’s part of a ranch that spreads across the border into Wyoming. It’s been in the family for generations. As for making good parents, well, we hope so, and we will do our utmost. We’ve got family and friends with adopted children and those kids are thriving, so we’ve got lots of support. Will we be perfect? Probably not. But we’ll do our best, I can promise you that.”

Marco switched to his MIT accent and said, “Tim, if you honestly think we’re not parent material we’ll accept that. But don’t judge us superficially. Don’s family has money and power and influence, and I had to cut through that shit—overcome my own negative prejudices—to realize that Don is one of the nicest, most decent, people to walk this earth.”

“And Marco,” added Don, “Is a genius with a heart of gold.”

“Okay...” said Tim contemplatively as his body language changed to a more easy, open posture. He’d somehow decided that Don and Marco were okay. “Well, if you’re serious you can meet the kids tomorrow. How about 10am at the group home? They’ll be expecting us. Angie, the oldest, is quite precocious, and she understands what ‘adoption’ means. Brad, the middle boy understands that he might be getting a new mummy and daddy. Sorry about the hetero bias, it didn’t occur to us that a gay couple might adopt, although that’s perfectly permissible in Nebraska. The youngest boy, Johnny, just wants comfort and love. Well, they all do. Their parents, apparently, were quite affectionate, mores the pity. For the moment, the house parents at the group home are doing a wonderful job with them, but they’re stretched thin. I know they’re kind and loving as much as they can be...really, if nothing else, the kids are lucky there.”

As soon as Don and Marco left Tim’s office, Don called Susan Daniels and expressed his concern about the hetero bias Tim had inadvertently let slip. Marco had picked up on the same thing. Kids can pick up on very subtle messages as well. Did Tim have his own agenda—even a subconscious one—in spite of the orders he’d received from on high? He seemed to be on board, but a good offense is often better than a good defense, especially in a state as red as Nebraska.

Susan Daniels understood their concern, but said not to worry. She’d take care of it. “Trust me,” she said, “I’ve dealt with this nonsense all too often.”

That night, Don and Marco found sex to be a delightful outlet for all the worry and anxiety they were experiencing about the next day’s meeting.

After their post coital breathing slowed to normal, Marco said, “I think we just discovered a new wrinkle in the space-time continuum.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, when you had your legs up over your head and I was kinda angled sideways...well, it defied the laws of gravity, and physics, and quantum mechanics!”

“Awe, Marco, you’re so sweet....”

They arrived on time for their appointment the next morning. Tim was already there. The group home manager, Lisette, ushered them into a sitting room where they caught their first sight of the children perched on the couch. Angie was holding Johnny on her knee and Brad was snuggled up to her side. Her arms were wrapped protectively around the boys. Mother-protector, indeed, thought Don.

In plain sight on the coffee table were two books. Two Very Interesting books: Two Dads by Carolyn Robertson, and One Dad, Two Dads, Brown Dad, Blue Dads by Johnny Valentine and Melody Sarecky.

Introductions were made, and Don and Marco were directed to seats across from the children who stared round-eyed at them. It was all either man could do not to rush over and hug the three adorable children.

Lisette began, “We’ve told the children that you, Don and Marco, are potential adoptive parents, and well...these wonderful books arrived this morning from...uh...the governor’s office, so we’ve just finished reading them.

Susan Daniels had come through.

Don, who was used to taking charge in the boardroom, led the charge. He directed his question to the children. “And what do you think of the idea of having two dads?”

Angie lifted her little chin and said quite assertively. “We don’t need a mother. We have me!”

“Yes, and I bet you are more than capable of taking care of the boys,” agreed Don. “It’s a big job, though. Perhaps Marco and I can help a little?”

“I’ve assured the children that they’d all be together, in the same house,” said Tim.

“Oh, that’s for sure!” added Marco. “You can even have the same bedroom if you like. It’ll be your choice.”

Angie wordlessly consulted the boys, who seemed to answer, wordlessly, in the affirmative.

“Yes,” said Angie.

“Yes?” repeated Don.

“Yes, you can adopt us.”

“Whoa, not so fast,” interjected Tim. “There’s a process to follow, Angie.”

“Why?” Angie asked. “You said we could go live with them if we liked them! You promised! They’re nice! We like them! You said we might not be able to stay together! And then you said we could because you found a...um...potent...family! You can’t change your mind! We have to stay together!” Tears glistened in her grown up, eight year old eyes.

Although instructed not to touch the children, Marco sprang up and went to Angie putting his arm around her and encompassing Brad also. “Oh Angie! ... Everything will be alright. Don and I will take good care of you all. You’ll see!”

Angie sniffled, but some of the tension drained from her thin shoulders.

“Rufus,” said Brad.

“Rufus?” said Don.

“Our dog, Rufus. He couldn’t come with us here, but you have to ‘dopt him too!” explained Brad.

“And where is Rufus?” Marco asked Tim.

“Uh...he’s in a shelter over in Sutton. It’s about two hours from here.”

Don pulled out his phone and sent a text: Find dog Rufus. Shelter in Sutton NE.

“Rufus would like the ranch, I think,” said Don.

“Ranch...?” said Angie.

“Yeah, that’s where we’ll live for a couple of months, until school starts. It’s in Nebraska, way over by Wyoming. It’s a working ranch. Cowboys, horses, cows, and lots of sheep.”

“Cowboys!” said Brad.

“Wufus!” said Johnny. “Wufus!”

After several simple questions to the children--What is your favorite food? What are your favorite toys? TV program? Movies?—they took their leave with a promise of an outing to the park the next day.

Once outside, Tim said, “That went well. The kids took to you. As you saw, Angie is eight going on thirty, but she’s got good survival instincts, and, most importantly, she trusts you.”

The next day Don, Marco and Tim escorted the children to the park where they walked, fed the ducks and entertained themselves at the children’s playground. Angie seemed taken with Don and she didn’t stay far from him. Johnny was in his stroller, but he didn’t like the confinement so he walked hand-in-hand with Don but mostly Don carried him on his shoulders. Brad took to Marco and the two of them were having a great time conversing about everything and nothing.

“Don, can I talk to you in private for a minute?” asked Tim.

“Sure. Angie, can you take Johnny over to Marco for a minute? We won’t be long.”

“I’ve got pretty good intuition,” began Tim. “And I think you guys would make good dads for this brood—which is pretty much a done deal, is it not?”

“Yes, my family...well...we get things done. You know?”

“Yes. I figured that out two days ago. There’s the plane you came on. Everybody in Omaha is talking about it. Then there are the security guards that seem to shadow you everywhere. So you’re rich; you can afford kids. But that doesn’t necessarily make kids happy. You haven’t said much about your life. I mean, obviously, you’re not going to settle in Nebraska. Where do you really live? Where will the kids end up? More importantly, what will life be like for them? I mean, what will it really be like?”

“Well, it’s no secret that we’re a rich family, and by that I mean all my relatives, collectively. The minute the ink’s dry on the adoption papers these kids will have big trust funds. Beyond that the kids will be loved. Marco and I intend to be hands-on parents. The kids will have routines, chores and rules just like other kids. Deacons are good at teaching their kids responsibility, and instilling good morals.”

“So they won’t grow up to be spoiled rich kids...” summarized Tim.

“Not if we can help it,” replied Don.

They were joined by Marco and the children at that point and Brad was excited to be the spokesman who announced that, “Marco promised us ICE CREAM!”

Johnny said, “Up.” So Don swung him onto his shoulders again where he immediately started to bounce and point. “Wufus!” he yelled. “Wufus.”

Everyone’s eyes turned in the direction of a man leading a scruffy looking dog, who was vigorously straining at his leash to get to the children and barking joyously.

“Rufus!” yelled Angie and Brad together.

It was quite a reunion once the leash had been passed to Brad and the security guy withdrew. Rufus barked and whined. The kids were shouting with joy, jumping around wildly stirring Rufus up to a near frenzy of excitement.

Tim raised his eyebrows and gave Don and Marco a pointed look that said, Let’s see what you’re going to do about this, then.

Marco’s voice broke through the din. “Dudes! Too excited. Need to chill!”

Immediately the kids obeyed. How did he just do that? wondered Don. The noise and excitement abated somewhat. Rufus stopped barking and stood quietly wagging his tail like mad. Angie on her knees cooed quietly to him. Brad stroked his back. Johnny grabbed his tail, which Rufus tolerated remarkably well.

Rufus was not an attractive dog. Part German Shepherd and part Scottish Terrier, he looked like a miniature version of the Hound of the Baskervilles with wiry hair sticking up in all directions. But his face bore a happy expression and his eyes were bright and eager.

Ice cream forgotten for the moment, the kids raced around with Rufus bounding along, running in circles and rolling on the ground. It wasn’t an off leash park, so Rufus was tethered and, luckily, when the leash was dropped, as it was frequently, Rufus stuck close.

Unfortunately, when it was time to leave the park the kids kicked up a fuss about not being able to take Rufus ‘home’ with them. Don explained that the rules didn’t allow Rufus to stay at their house. He would instead be staying in a luxurious doggy hotel for a few days until the children came to live with Don and Marco permanently. All three children wore pouty expressions, but they didn’t put up much of an argument. That made Don feel particularly sad because he realized their parents had done such great job in instilling good behavior and manners and probably gave the kids a lot of love in the process. He sent up a little prayer to them promising to carry on their legacy.

The next day went much the same, with the children and dog running wild in the park. That afternoon, they received word that their foster parent application had been approved by the court. With Tim’s sign-off on the paperwork they were free to take the children to the ranch in northwestern Nebraska.

The next morning they all said a tearful goodbye to Lisette and Tim. The flight to Western Nebraska Regional Airport took less than an hour. The kids were curious about the plane and explored every inch available to them. “It’s like a house!” declared Angie. Once they landed, they were driven to the ranch by the security agents who had made the long overnight trip in SUVs.

The ranch, which seemed out in the middle of nowhere was on a meandering creek just east of the border with Wyoming. It was flat, unforgiving country, but the homestead was picturesque with green grass and a copse of surrounding trees. The house was adequate. It was built in the classic ranch style with two stories and a wraparound porch. It wasn’t large, but it would do for the six weeks or so that they’d stay there. That’s how long they were told it would take to finalize the adoption process and the children could be taken out of state.