The opening lyrics of Coldplay's "Viva la Vida" inspired this story.

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own.

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand.

The attractively dressed executive rushing by looked absolutely miserable, but, at first, it was difficult to tell whether this was his everyday mood or exasperation triggered by a dreadful allergy attack he had before trudging to the front desk. All the signs were there: dusty-pink eyes and nose, sniffling, stuffiness and a crumpled package of tissues poking out of his leather shoulder bag.

"Good morning, sir!"

Goku, the building's weary yet cheery concierge, hoped the poor chap finally gave in and took some over-the-counter tablets. His decade-long career serving high-profile guests at Chicago's Hotel Sadala had mostly been a happy one. The strapping middle-aged man, who was blessed with a disarming, killer smile, enjoyed the challenge of taming the most difficult visitors, acting as a buffer for hotel staff who might otherwise feel overwhelmed. Even Sadala's meticulous general manager called Goku "the arsehole whisperer," blessing him with the title over generous pours of alcohol at the hotel's bar after an especially trying weekend.

"The thunderstorm outside is the about the only damn good thing about this morning, Goku. Where is your manager? It's seven thirty a.m. during a conference week, and the hotel is booked solid."

Goku was also extremely well-connected. Most concierges worth their salaries had to be, but others in his line of work all over the city envied the man's professional-contact list. Surely he could handle the cranky little guy with a terrible case of Chicago-style hay fever. Unfortunately, this was no ordinary businessman. Billionaire Vegeta Regele was the founder and chief executive officer of , a multinational company that owned Sadala and other hotels and resorts. Trunks, the corporate titan's son, had been Sadala's general manager for two years. This was Vegeta's first visit in the five years since bought and renovated the 85-year-old historic art deco hotel.

"Yes, sir! Lots of guests coming in. I also understand that you have an off-site meeting today with the mayor. Anything I can do?"

"I just asked you where your manager is. How about working on that, since I can't reach him."

Every single hotel employee had been on edge before Vegeta's arrival - and rightly so. No one wanted to be the person who made the CEO's son look incompetent. Similar to his father, the young man's tough take-it-or-leave-it attitude could be intimidating, but overall Trunks was good-natured and always rewarded employees for their hard work. Having Goku there took some of the pressure off of his numerous management duties as well, and they could joke around together.

Vegeta's quietly hawk-eyed observation of the staff's interactions began from the time he stepped out of the sleek chauffeur-driven car that brought him. He planned to reside at the hotel for almost a month to immerse himself in his son's understanding of the business - and, possibly, require Trunks to make stricter choices to increase the hotel's profit margin. Though Sadala wasn't losing money, it should have been making much more than it was, Vegeta judged, given its scenic location near the city's celebrated "Gold Coast" district close to Lake Shore Drive. Inevitably, Trunks expected a necessary yet annoying series of arguments about everything from the bar's top-shelf liquor to supplier contracts. How Sadala's workers behaved and got paid were other sensitive issues.

And then there was the matter of Goku. Though the big-hearted and faithful concierge had worked himself up through the ranks at the hotel, starting out as a restaurant server, Vegeta disliked him, believing he wasn't professional enough. Vegeta also didn't care for the man's camel-toothed grin or grating falsetto laughter (his descriptions). Though Vegeta acknowledged that guests who needed specialized assistance almost always left satisfied, he believed neither Goku nor Trunks had done enough to be more creative with the services offered.

Most of all, he thought Goku was too chummy and "familiar" with his son.

A line had to be drawn somewhere.

Vegeta himself did not drink alcohol routinely around any of his corporation's lower-level employees, ever. Seeing his son at the bar unwinding the night before - late - while Goku made multiple gin martinis irked him. This had been happening for a while, clearly. Father and son shared many personality characteristics, but Vegeta still suspected that Trunks could be too trusting. Leaning on close friends from business school and college for support would have been a wiser move. Not to mention he was there for Trunks too, wanting the absolute best for him. So what was it about this other guy? Vegeta wondered. Was it because he and Goku were close in age? Did Trunks need someone to bond with since dad wasn't around?

Vegeta was a little more than half of Goku's height, but his stately, reserved appearance made him seem taller - and, without a doubt, the esteemed executive just knew he was smarter. (Not once did he ever consider that he might have been jealous.) He also hated appearing weak in front of others, an Achilles heel that wasn't serving him well as of late. He was toughest on himself about everything, which filtered into his challenging expectations for those around him.

The hotel magnate had recently divorced too, rubbing acid onto his wounded pride. Trunks' mother Ellen left her ex-husband two years earlier to "rediscover" her "inner goddess," taking a job as a women's college basketball coach in Vancouver - as well as receiving a hefty and expensive divorce-settlement package. The couple's split was inescapable, and Trunks had long been prepared for it emotionally, hoping his parents could be happier apart than they were together.

The young man knew straightaway that his father was having a much harder time from the moment Vegeta arrived to check up on him four days earlier. His dad's longtime executive secretary, Anton, warned him before "Mr. V" arrived that Vegeta was having bouts of insomnia and within the past couple of years worsening allergy attacks that plagued him in the spring and summer. Vegeta hadn't had problems with either since he was a young boy. Though all of these difficulties knocked some wind from his sails, Vegeta didn't take kindly to any worrying over him. At corporate headquarters in Toronto, workers wondered whether their once-tireless leader had grown tired of his wheeling and dealing and jet-setting. Maybe the exhilarating stress he felt at the beginning of his career had now become an anvil of strain.

Right then, all Vegeta wanted was to see less of Goku and more of his son. He almost considered taking Trunks off duty while he acted as general manager for the next two weeks. That would have shocked everyone - and probably made some interesting news headlines. He could run a property like Sadala from top to bottom almost blindfolded, daring anyone to do it better. He weighed whether to reschedule his visit with the mayor as a deliveryman dragged in several large boxes on a pallet, stopping next to concierge's station beside the front desk. A fine yellow powder covered the top of the boxes. Being preoccupied, Vegeta's reddening eyes hadn't spotted the imminent threat, but that was all about to end in a pollen-induced mess as wind gusts from the hotel's revolving doors scattered particles everywhere.

Feeling a tickle in his throat, Vegeta coughed slightly. The aggravating sensation extended to the interior of his sore nose, triggering a flurry of sniffling that wouldn't be tamed.

Then, chaos.

Vegeta snatched his bag, grabbing a wad of tissues from a huge box on the hotel's front desk. His entire face collided with them as the sneezing fit took over. His arms and shoulders tensed and shook with each burst. They were rapid and increasingly more powerful. People coming into the hotel for the conference had begun to stare, so he stormed into his son's spacious office, slamming the door. Luckily the windows were tinted. A pissed off Vegeta removed his suit jacket, throwing it on a nearby sofa, and turned on the room's air purifier. By the time Trunks walked in, Mr. V was in no mood for excuses or small talk from anyone, particularly from his son.

"Damn, dad. What happened to you?"

"Never you mind," Vegeta said hoarsely, directing Trunks to lock the door. He swallowed, trying to push down an emerging cough. "Where the hell have you been? Why couldn't I reach you?"

Trunks sighed. "Dad, I told you, I'm trying out meditation practice early on Wednesdays now after working out."

"So now you're becoming a Buddhist?" Vegeta said with displeasure, blowing his nose. "Look, if you need to go find your true calling like your mother, whatever the hell that may be -"

"You can end that line of discussion right there," Trunks warned, handing his father a steaming cup of tea. "Mom is off limits today. Drink this."

"What is it?" Vegeta grumbled.

"Ginger."

"I'd prefer coffee."

Trunks crossed his arms and smiled. "I don't keep any in my office as you can see. You know where the restaurant is, if that's what you really want, but you don't appear well enough to be anywhere but a physician's office."

"I'm fine."

"The hell you are. Between spying on me at night and these allergy attacks, I'm officially concerned. You're wheezing more too."

"You should be more worried about making those conference attendees happy out there, and I haven't been spying on you." By this time Vegeta had convinced himself that he wasn't, and no one could tell him otherwise. "This is an official field visit. It's my job to observe every aspect of this operation, day and night, for a true feel of how you're running the place."

"Bollocks."

Vegeta frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Dad, we've barely seen each other since I started working here. I know you've done that to give me some space to lead, and of course I expected you to inspect my work as you are now. But really, just like you enjoy cutting through my BS, I've learned a lot about sawing through yours. You're lonely."

"Perhaps you're projecting some," Vegeta said, stepping up from the desk. "You could call me anytime to talk, brat, rather than drinking on the regular with that grinning oaf of a concierge."

"I don't drink on the regular with Goku, and let me remind you that I don't tolerate anyone ridiculing my employees - behind their backs or in person. Just because I can't fire you doesn't matter to me."

"Evidently," Vegeta grunted through a hacking cough. "Just sit down in the damn chair."

Trunks refused. "No, you stay. You'll be more comfortable."

"And that's the problem right there!" Vegeta exclaimed. "Comfort for myself is not - nor will it ever be - my first concern, and I have a billion-dollar business to show for it. You think I busted my ass all of these years to be -"

"Divorced, sick and lonely? Jesus. I hope not." Trunks took a triumphant sip from his mug. Drawing death stares from his father was a favorite pastime, and boy did Vegeta return one that the young man would have loved to frame. He delighted in this more than beating his dad at tennis.

Vegeta's fingers tapped on the desk. He wouldn't forget that little joke at his expense, planning to take revenge later. "You really are trying to get fired, aren't you?"

"The one thing I can say with gratefulness is - unlike other guys I met in school - you've done everything possible since I was a kid to include me in your life, all while building something extraordinary from what grandpa Regele started with his bare hands. If he were alive, I think papa would tell you to take care of yourself and that his favorite grandson is doing quite well on his own."

Vegeta swiveled to the right, viewing an oil-paint portrait of his father. "And no matter how much trouble his favorite grandson got into, you could do no wrong in that willful codger's mind. It was astounding. He worked me like a bricklayer when I tried to get away with the crap -"

"That you both let me get away with?" Trunks interjected with a cocky smile. "The best part was you catching us doing that street-art project together in downtown Toronto."

"Please don't remind me of my father's second adolescence. 'Street art' my ass. Had Ellen not ratted on you about that adventure, your faces would have been splashed all over People magazine or some shitty tabloid."

Trunks laughed. "Mom was only jealous that we didn't invite her."

"Most certainly," Vegeta said, setting his empty cup out of the way. "But let's move on. You need to walk around now that the conference sessions are underway. We'll meet this afternoon to discuss the balance sheet. Profit margin is on the agenda."

Trunks looked at his watch. "Feeling better?"

Also glancing at his watch, Vegeta pretended as if the question hadn't been asked. "I think it's still raining. Going to see the mayor shortly. I have to call her."

"Dad, I asked the maintenance workers to check the HVAC in your suite - to upgrade the air-purification system - and hospitality to steam clean. Starting today, every piece of freight coming in through the garage, like that pallet of boxes that set off your allergies, must be checked for excessive environmental contaminants and be cleaned accordingly."

Vegeta's teeth scraped together like flint. It wouldn't have been that difficult for anyone paying close enough attention to determine the cause of his allergy attack, but he figured that Goku must have blabbed the loudest about the situation as soon as Trunks arrived. Vegeta sought refuge in his son's office just as Goku returned to the concierge station, closing the door before anyone could offer help.

"You can forget about that last part, son. Too fucking expensive. What else does this list include? Crushed beetle wings and leaf clippings from trucks on the highway? I told you I'm fine. Just make sure the HVAC throughout the building gets as much of an examination and upgrade as my room. OK?"

"That's going to take more time. Until that happens, payment for the freight arrangement will come out of my pocket as long as you're staying here, not the hotel's operating budget."

"Nonsense," Vegeta protested. "That will set you back thousands of dollars."

"So?"

"So?" Vegeta shut his eyes, cursing to himself. "Trunks, you know that's not good business."

"Well it looks like we need some options, dad, because you aren't staying here at the cost of your health just to make my life hell. You can pay for my freight solution or wear a protective mask when you're on the premises and not in your suite, or you can see a doctor while in town."

Vegeta pushed a small red box across the desk. "I got this stuff from the drug store. It's helping."

Trunks leaned over with his arms straddling the desk. "As soon as the rains stops, which will be in about, oh, an hour, the wind off of Lake Michigan will blow a continent-size level of sexually active pollen in our direction - and obviously that pollen is having better sex than most people between March and June. I believe you already know that weak store-bought medicine will soon fail you completely. Choose an option."

"None of the above," Vegeta said angrily. "It's not like you can kick me out of here."

"Fine then. I quit."

"Son, I am not in the mood for your absurd theatrics. You're not going to walk out on your staff during one of the busiest weeks of the year. That's selfish. What about that sentimental lecture you just gave me about your appreciation for them?"

"I already told Goku that I planned to make him assistant general manager next month. The entire staff loves him. He'll just take over earlier, in my absence."

Veins popped over Vegeta's temples. "You did what?"

"Send someone down from corporate to support Goku until you find a permanent replacement for me."

"Over my dead body!" Vegeta's right hand pounded on the desk. "Have you lost all of the sense you were born with?!"

"Theatrics, eh?" Trunks put his cup down. "Your eyes tell me you know I'm not bluffing."

Indeed, Vegeta knew his son wasn't, but Trunks had pushed the limits of his patience. There had to be consequences. To see his son throw away two years' worth of accomplishments infuriated the man enormously. Leaving the hotel's staff like this didn't show proper leadership either, in his opinion. He had not intended for his son to make this kind of all-or-nothing choice, but he truly believed that Trunks shouldn't have been so concerned about him. It's not like he was comatose in the hospital.

"Your resignation is accepted, Trunks, effective immediately. See to it that IT transfers all of your tech permissions directly to me. Gather your top staff within two hours so we can announce your departure together. No long explanations should be given. I'll postpone my meeting with the mayor until tomorrow."

Trunks hoped his father wouldn't take it this far, but he wasn't surprised. "I'll take care of it. Send the rest of your requests to my Dropbox. I'll check my iPhone later."

Vegeta turned around in his chair, keeping his back to Trunks. "One more thing. Don't expect me to keep Goku on the payroll after we do find your replacement."

"Dad, come on! That's ridiculous. Now you're just being spiteful. This…this isn't like you at all! He doesn't deserve that. He's been a great worker and a friend. You can't just use him and then throw him out."

"Wise suggestion," Vegeta said coolly. "That would be dishonorable on my part, so you're more than welcome to take your new bestie with you today. I can get two people from corporate down here tonight to run the operation for me."

Trunks' blue eyes darkened with fury. He threw door open so hard that a diagonal crack formed on the double-paneled window. He didn't care who saw him. He just had to get away before saying something regrettable. Vegeta exhaled, standing up.

Goku looked back at the office and then rushed behind as Trunks dashed to back stairs, heading for the underground garage and loading area. He tried to keep his voice low, but that could only go so far. "Hold on for a minute, buddy. What happened?"

"My father and I had an argument. I quit. Just go back to the desk. I'll explain once I get some air."

"You did what?!" Goku shrieked. "Have you lost your mind?!"

"If I hear one more person ask me that, a windshield is getting destroyed," Trunks said irritably. "Keep your voice down, OK?"

"And I wouldn't like to see you arrested over something so silly," Goku joked, firmly holding the young man's shoulders. "Take a moment and calm down. Whatever happened between you and your dad couldn't have been that bad."

"You don't understand, Goku. Your head is on the chopping block too. Dad doesn't like or trust you. He didn't say it directly, but I know he believes you're trying to take advantage of me in some way."

At first Goku felt very hurt. Vegeta wasn't crazy about him, he knew, but he still hoped they could get to know each other better. He was eager to learn more about the man - and from him. Vegeta had raised a wonderful son too, which to Goku was testified to the businessman's true character. So as difficult as it was, he set aside fear to walk in Trunks' and Vegeta's shoes.

"So that's why you quit? Over a hunch about me?"

"I quit because I gave my father an ultimatum that he wouldn't accept."

"Soooo you put your head on the chopping block, thinking that Vegeta Regele, hotel-industry trailblazer, would back down easily - just because you're his son?"

"Goku -"

"That was kind of stupid, man. Was that blood-soaked hill you died on worth it?"

"This isn't productive, Goku!"

Goku laughed, slapping Trunks' back. "I only want to know how someone as smart as you could screw up like this. Your demand didn't make a worthy business case to your dad, it sounds like."

Trunks sighed. "It wasn't solely a business case. All I want him to do is look after himself better. He's not. It's bothered me since he got here. He's so fucking bull-headed. I don't want to argue like this. I really wanted us to have a fun time after getting work out of the way. I think he's been lonely."

"OK, my friend. He's certainly not going to feel less horrible as long as he's in Chicago, unless he sees a doctor. I can't imagine his allergies are that much better in Toronto."

"I have no idea." Trunks' removed his jacket, leaning wearily on the concrete wall next to the exit. "I don't know what I'm going to do, man."

"Hey, Trunks, a friend of mine I grew up with runs a medical practice called Brief and Associates. She's a wicked-smart ear, nose and throat doctor and just an all-around good person. I planned to say something before you butt heads with your dad. But I will warn you, she doesn't take much shit from anyone."

"That's great and all, Goku, but getting him to her office is the obstacle. He'll never agree to that."

"Who says Mr. V needs to go there first?"

"What do you mean?" Trunks' confused look touched off more of Goku's laughter.

"Bulma owes me two big favors, buddy. The reasons I can't tell you. I'll cash in on one today - to save my job and yours. She can do a house call."

"A house call?" Trunks asked, sounding skeptical. "I can't let you ask her to do that. Think about how that sounds. The woman runs her own business! She's got a million things to do, I'm sure. Dropping everything to see about some guy she doesn't know -"

"Not to worry, my friend," Goku interrupted, scratching his head. "She's off from work this week overseeing a home-renovation project. I'm sure she's probably ready to step away from that disaster zone for a while - and Mr. V isn't just 'some guy.' Have more faith in me, will ya? I haven't failed you yet."

Still doubtful, Trunks checked his rapidly growing stream of emails. "Dad wants to have a staff meeting in about two hours. That means the clock started ticking as soon as I walked out on him."

"I'll send a black car for Bulma, which should bring her to our front door in about thirty minutes. Here's what you do. Put out a message asking staff to be ready for the meeting Mr. V wants, but don't confirm anything yet. If I get my way, we won't need it."

Trunks chuckled. Goku's sly smile resembled a rubber-faced comic-book villain's. "I know you're trying to cheer me up, but don't ever do that thing to your face again. You'll scare little kids around the hotel."

After shaking hands, the men ran up the stairs to the main floor, moving in opposite directions.

Thank you for reading! This story is finished, but other chapters are being revised. For now, sit back and enjoy. Got a comment or question?