Chapter 10: King's History

Later that night, around ten, Isobel went downstairs for some tea. She had not seen her father that day, as his physician had given him potent medicine that morning to stave off his cough and allow him to sleep deeply.

Isobel was in her pajamas, and loved the way the cool tile felt on her bare feet.

She saw that Clopar had still not come home, but she imagined that he would be there soon, so she wanted to fix her tea and head up to her room to avoid him.

Jack had come home for a couple of hours in the evening but had then gone to a friend's.

Isobel poured boiling water into her cup, and steeped her minty tea for a few minutes. She turned off the kitchen light and went down the hall. As soon as she stepped onto the staircase, she heard the lock in the front door click, and she felt her blood turn cold.

She turned her neck, and it was Clopar.

He shut and locked the door behind him. It looked like he had just caught his breath, and was glancing around, as though he expected someone in the house aside from its usual residents.

He finally turned to Isobel, and his brow lowered slightly.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Where have you been all day?" Isobel turned the question to him.

Clopar straightened up, his serious expression back. "Your father needed some things done for him now that he is not well."

That was not an unreasonable excuse, but Isobel did not quite buy it. "You looked afraid when you came inside."

The look that Clopar sent her way gave her that feeling instead. "Word gets around, Isobel. People could know by now about your father's illness. It is not too much to assume that someone would sneak in and finish him off."

Isobel was shocked by Clopar's words. He said it so formally, as though it were nothing more than business as usual. "How could you say that?"

Clopar obviously noticed her mood change. "But it is unlikely for that to happen. Your father's business is not…Generating the income it used to."

"He is wealthy." Isobel said, defensive. "But no one would want to harm him. He has treated all of his business partners with respect and kindness."

Clopar nodded. "I will be sure of that."

Isobel said nothing more, and she turned to continue her walk up the stairs.

Clopar followed after her, but his room was not upstairs.

She turned around again, her brow lowered. "What are you doing?"

Clopar did not even pause. "I must check on you father."

"You don't have to walk so close to me." Isobel said, quieter this time, but still firm.

Clopar looked at her for a moment, but then folded his hands and stood at attention, waiting for her to finish walking up the staircase before he proceeded.

Isobel continued on, feeling his eyes on her back again.

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The next morning, Isobel awoke to a text from Julien, asking if she would have dinner with him sometime. She agreed on Tuesday, as she would be in rehearsals for six hours on Monday.

She sent the text, and then got out of bed. She brushed out her long hair, and then brushed her teeth.

She went down to her father's room, and saw that Clopar was already there.

Clopar turned and smirked at her, and Isobel looked to her father, who was a little mad.

Instantly, she knew something was up.

"What is happening?" Isobel asked.

"Aji." King said sternly in his native tongue, Moroccan Arabic.

Isobel obeyed, and she closed the door behind her, and came to her father's bedside.

King patted the bed, and Isobel sat down, facing him.

King looked sharply at Clopar. "Go."

Clopar only smirked again at Isobel as he left.

King exhaled audibly, and he looked to his daughter. "Isobel?"

"N'aam?" Isobel replied softly. "Yes?"

"Clopar has told me that you and Jack snuck off to a party on Friday." Her father told her.

That rat. Isobel thought. But she could feel the sting of her father's anger in his voice. And yet, he also sounded hurt. "We did."

"Where was this?" King sat up as straight as he could. He still wanted to be imposing in his old age and weakened state.

"A friend of Jack's in the city." Isobel said. She imagined that Clopar had already told him everything, as Clopar somehow knew everything. Her father was simply fact checking. "We…did not stay long."

Aristotle crossed his arms, his expression still stern. "If you had already gone, and you knew that Clopar and I would not be home until late, why would you leave early?"

Isobel glanced down, and then back at her father. "I did not know anyone. It didn't seem like Jack did either. And…he drank too much. It was time to leave."

Aristotle's folded arms loosened a little, and his gaze began to soften as he sighed. He spoke quieter. "You are a good sister for looking out for him like this. But, Isobel," he reached out to take his adoptive daughter's hands, "I worry for you. This city has never been kind. Even I worry now. You remember what I told you of why I changed my name before coming to this country?"

Isobel nodded, remembering. Aristotle King was not her adoptive father's name. His name had been Ahmed Kamali, and he was born in Tangier, Morocco. He had grown up in a wealthy family who often gave to charities. But Ahmed's father was not the most pleasant man, and when Ahmed was twenty-one, he wanted no part in his father's money. He decided that America would be his next stop, where he could build his own business. The year was 1976, and he had been warned that Iranian and Iraqi immigrants or those of Iranian or Iraqi descent were not particularly welcome.

"I am Moroccan, not Iranian or Iraqi. What should I worry about?" Ahmed had told his friend.

"Americans cannot tell the difference." His friend shrugged. "You speak Arabic, you look Middle Eastern enough. Your success will come through assimilation. Start with changing your name."

And so he had become Aristotle King, already wary of his new home. He did run into obstacles and deal with difficult people, but he found that there were many good people willing to work with him, and even befriend him. His trade business, which involved the importing of spices, rubber, and later insulated wire from his beloved Morocco, and exporting petroleum gas back to Morocco, boomed. He became the top Moroccan importer/exporter on the eastern seaboard. He had fulfilled the American dream. But he wanted to give back, and so he did. He regularly donated to refugee charities, animal wellness, and even built a string of public libraries up and down the east coast. He had married a Moroccan woman in 1981, but she passed away tragically only months after they wed. He never loved anyone the same way afterwards. He only knew love again when he adopted Jack on a business trip to England in 1999. He was planning on making a big donation to a particular orphanage there, but when he saw Jack there, he knew that this boy needed him. Jack was seven, and the nuns at the orphanage described him as "an absolute devil".

Adopting Isobel was a more complicated story. Aristotle had made a Syrian friend in 1991. The friend, Wilan Nazari, was a business partner. Their friendship grew, and in 1993, Wilan married a French-Carib woman from the island of Guadeloupe. The couple remained friends with Aristotle, and in 1994, when their daughter Isobel was born, they made him the godfather.

But in 2000, tragedy struck. Wilan and his wife died in a plane crash on their way to America from Guadeloupe. Isobel had been staying with her grandmother in Guadeloupe, but in accordance with her parents' will, her grandmother had to give her over to Aristotle.

Aristotle brought her home, and his chief housemaid, Naomi, declared that they had been blessed with a whirlwind for a girl.

Isobel was drawn back in to the present, and she looked into her father's milky blue eyes.

He sighed, and sat back. "But, I must ask, how did you manage to get Jack back home by yourself?"

Isobel knew she could tell her father the truth, especially after he had calmed down. "I had help."

A smile flickered in Aristotle's eyes. "Oh? And what is his name?"

Isobel wad about to speak, but she stopped to assess Aristotle's expression. He was smiling now, and Isobel smiled back. "Julien."

Aristotle chuckled lightly, and for a moment, it seemed as though he were a younger man again, free of his sickness. "I should have known."

"You are not angry?" Isobel asked, beginning to feel tears of joy prick the back of her eyes. She had been so afraid of harsh words from her father about seeing a boy, but he had reacted in the way she hoped.

Aristotle shook his head. "How can I be? You are my beautiful daughter. A woman now, even. I cannot lock you away in a tower, as much as I would like to."

Isobel laughed again, sitting closer to her father. "He was so kind. And… He promised not to say a word about the house, should he see anything."

Aristotle nodded. "Alright. I would like to meet this boy. Next time I have a party here, invite him."

Aristotle and Isobel continued their chatting, with Clopar just outside the door. The walls surrounding Aristotle's room were thick, and Clopar could only hear there muffled voices.

A few minutes later, Isobel came out of the room, and Clopar frowned at her bright smile.

Isobel closed the door and looked up triumphantly at Clopar. "It seems your plan backfired, Clopar."

He said nothing as she walked back down the hallway.

I know this chapter read as kind of...factual, like lots of dates and places to remember, but it's all important background information. And hey, I did a lot of research for this. :p Anyways, thanks for reading and please review!