Chapter 2: Keep it In the Family

Closing a deal was often like playing an intricate high-speed version of chess, but the way Rebecca played it, maybe it was more like fencing. Lunge, make the offer, parry, deny their counteroffer. She had a method, a strategy, and she knew how to play and adapt to her clients. But tonight Rebecca was bored. The dance of closing this deal felt less like a seductive tango and more like a steady droning waltz. She had known she was going to close it hours ago and Rebecca really wished she could skip the bullshit just once.

Wining and dining with clients was usually her favourite part of being COO of Bonne Nuit. But when clients were this dull it really took the spark out of it. She spent years crafting the perfect route - special private dinner reservations at Galatoire's, followed by rooftop drinks at Rosie's to take in the beautiful New Orleans nighttime views, and once the blood alcohol levels were at regrettable levels, she would finish them by bringing them to her Arnauld, a snazzy and historic jazz club.

And yes, one of these places was not like the others. Galatorie's had a 2-year waitlist (unless you were Rebecca) and Rosie's menu was just expensive enough that would make tourists think it was some kind of joke. Now, this was New Orleans. It would be criminal not to indulge visitors in what they were best known for. And within the walls of Arnauld, the best names in the game have played there - Armstrong, Toussant, Shortly, Irma Thomas, you name it. Anyone who ever made history in the music world had come through these cast iron gates.

And when it was all said and done, Rebecca would take her personal and lonesome victory lap at Tara's. It was the name of a decadently indecent cabaret on Frenchmen Street, owned by one of her best friends Lafayette Reynolds. It had everything - drag queens, live music, exotic dancers, vampires, you name it. It was one of the few places in the world where she could leave work outside and just be her true self. No inhibitions, no clients, no responsibilities. Here she could be just Rebecca Bellefleur, without the legacy.

Tonight's clients were boring middle-aged French men from the Louvre Foundation who were a total snooze fest. But there was nothing like a southern smile, maxing out her corporate credit card on liquor, and with a dash of magical jazz that made men sign away anything - their yachts, private islands, and second wives.

Rebecca had closed a bold deal tonight - selling their top-of-the-line UV-proof glass to replace all the 673 glass panels of the Louvre pyramids. A delicious 410 million dollar contract. The special UV glass would help protect the artwork inside the museum where the three smaller pyramids served as light shafts to illuminate the archives.

Plus - talk about the PR exclusive.

"I hope you can understand Miss Bellefleur," their VP began, eyes droning out over the lively crowd around them. "Why we are hesitant to put vampire glass on such a globally known structure."

Rebecca had to smile through her feelings. She did not like the nickname their products had - vampire glass. It was so much more than that.

"I thought you of all people would appreciate it, Mr. Gagnon," Rebeca swirled the large ice cube and orange peels in her heavy whiskey glass. "Protecting what the Louvre holds should be above what people may or may not think of the exterior."

"We all agree that your product surpasses any museum grade class currently on the market," Mr. Gagnon nodded to his colleagues who were far too drunk and enthralled by the music. "But it sends a message about who we do business with. Your father has a certain reputation, and we had hoped that we would have the opportunity to speak with him."

It was hard not to take his comment to heart, but Rebecca was more than used to having to deal with their complicated fame and having a vagina. Rebecca Bellefleur was the COO of Bonne Nuit Research Labs, a branch of the much larger corporation Bellefleur Technologies - founded and owned by her father Richard Bellefleur, with the reputation of being an intelligent and ruthless businessman. He owned about 18 different companies in the pharmaceutical, biomedical, and innovation industries. Vampire innovation, that is.

"I'm certain you'll get the chance to speak with my father, but you must know that he holds this opportunity in the highest regard. Rest assured that he has put me in charge of Bonne Nuit himself, after all, we like to keep it in the family," she swallowed more of her whiskey, along with a bit of her pride. "Is your real concern that you are afraid of being seen as pro-vampire?"

"It's a big political statement."

She took a big gulp of the expensive smoky liquid, letting it burn on its way down. It was time to end this. "The Louvre has always been a political statement, Mr. Gagnon. It was built as a fortress 900 years ago to protect its people while the King went to fight in the Crusades. It was built to defend and secure its position on the Seine River."

His brows rose. "An American lecturing a Frenchman in French history?"

"Not quite," she set her empty glass down, still playing with the oversized ice cube. "I'm just stating that defending your weaknesses is what that very building was created for. And your weakness, Mr. Gagnon, is the deterioration of 11 thousand years worth of human art and history. Sure it may create ripples in the water today, but will it matter in ten years? A hundred? A thousand?"

A theoretical silence fell between them, and the only sound prevailing was the loud jazz music.

"She's right," Mr. Chastain interrupted from the other side of the table. "We have a responsibility to humanity to ensure our collection stands the test of time."

Finally.

Rebecca ordered another bottle for the table, and the conversation turned philosophical and conceited in a way only the French could do. Museums had a bit of an identity crisis after vampires became public. They were institutions that behaved as if they were the only access point to the past and our origins. But now there were people on this earth that carried firsthand knowledge of history, culture, art, and customs and were willing to tell first-hand stories of how history perhaps actually happened.

You just had to be brave enough to talk to them.

Landing this contract was a gigantic win. Bonne Nuit had been rapidly growing in the past three years, from 3% to 18% of the Bellefleur Corporation's revenue. Give it eight more quarters, and she would surpass Ethelyum, the division her brother was COO of. One day, once her father retires Rebecca planned to be CEO of Bellefleur Tech and its subsidiaries. She may have to actually kill her older brother for it, but goddammit if she wasn't determined to be the owner of the whole fucking thing.

Basking in the high of another successful night, she bid adieu to her new clients. It was time to take this party solo. Arnauld would invoice her the bar tab, so she simply walked out back to where her private car was waiting. Rebecca had bagged the motherfucking Louvre. Not even her dead cell phone could put a damper on her mood.

Once she got to Tara's it all became a blur, like it always did. Here she got to forget everything, and just be her fucking self. The world outside simply ceased to exist. There was no Bonne Nuit to build, no CEOship to chase, no sister to protect, no brother to compete with, no father to impress, no clients to woo, no reputation to uphold, no responsibilities, no shareholders and no goddamn fiduciary duty.

She got to lose herself, release control, let it all out on the dancefloor and bought the whole bar a round of tequila and blood shots to celebrate. Her friend Lafayette even put on a little special dance show just for her. He may be in his 40s, but damn he still got it. Before she knew it, she was covered in someone else's body glitter, made out on the dancefloor with a hot stranger, and started a feminist riot in the bathroom where about 30 women started chanting 'Men ain't shit'. But just like Cinderella, all good things must come to an end. She stumbled into the back of her black Mercedes GLS parked in the dark back alley.

"Good night, I take it?" Terry asked from the driver's seat, his tired eyes looking at her through the rearview mirror.

"Oh hell yes," she took a deep breath, relaxing in the leather seat.

Terry was probably the last good man on earth. He was her cousin from the redneck side of the family whom her father hired as a driver and personal bodyguard after Rebecca and her sister started working in the vampire business. Terry was ex-military, and although she had only met him a few times growing up, he was apparently never the same after three tours in Iraq. Taking pity on his dead brother's kid was probably the only truly kind act her father had done in his whole sour fucking life.

"Oh!" Rebecca exclaimed, watching the colourful and bright nightlife of Bourbon Street through the dark tinted windows. Her drunk body was starting to give out, but her brain never turned off. It was both a blessing and a curse. "Could we make a quick stop by the Glass Tower before you drop me off at home later? I need to check on something."

Terry said yes (he always said yes), and drove straight through the French quarters and into the Warehouse District. Rebecca scanned her ID at the front door and entered the iconic glass-covered building. And yes, it was all made of their premium UV-proof glass, hence why it was popularly known in the city as The Glass Tower. Her heels echoed loudly against the cold marble floors and the elevator. She wasn't expecting the doors to open the next second and even less to see someone inside at this hour.

Rebecca's sister, Kate, appeared to be sleeping and standing up. Her white lab coat hung off her shoulders, looking even more oversized than usual. Upon hearing the elevator open, Kate opened her bleary eyes. Her little sister Kate was a genius when it came to inventions and numbers, but was just as bad as Rebecca when it came to being a workaholic.

"Really, Becca?" Her sister sighed with amused yet judgemental eyes. "Again?"

"You're one to talk!" She entered and hit the button for the top floor, and when her sister failed to exit the elevator, she felt happy to have company. "I was working, same as you."

"You call going to Tara's working?"

"I just had some downtime after I slayed the Louvre's board of directors," Rebecca grinned. Closing multi-million dollar deals was her favourite hobby, ranking only slightly above pissing off their brother. "Also, I called you earlier, I could have used your help tonight."

"I highly doubt that."

"I'm serious. They had a lot of questions about the UV-proofing compound, and my French sucks."

Her sister's blue eyes struck her, confused. "Didn't you date a Parisian guy for like six months last year?"

The elevator doors chimed and opened, revealing the beautiful glass-capped top floor. Dating might have been a strong term. "Yeah, so?"

"Wouldn't you have practiced your French then?"

She tilted her head. "Oh, Kate honey, we did very little talking."

Her sister's brows creased and she could see the gears turning in her big genius brain. Kate didn't look entirely sure she understood what Becca meant. Her sister tended to be aloof that way.

The two entered Rebecca's corner office and she quickly hopped on her computer to check. She worked on the top floor of the Glass Tower, with 360 views of beautiful New Orleans. While Kate spent most of her time deep underground, Rebecca worked up in the sky. Her corner office had all white furniture, from her Calacatta marble desk to Italian leather couches and armchairs. Behind her desk was the only non-glass wall, which contained a secret door that led to a private bathroom and panic room. Neither of them turned on a single light, as the city lights flooded the entire top floor with their shimmery glow. New Orleans was bright and beautiful and full of life at night.

"Okay… What exactly did the Louvre guys want to know?"

"How much UV proof the glass is-" she mindlessly answered while analyzing the Shanghai stock closing numbers.

"100% for the entire ultraviolet spectrum," she said factually.

"I know, and if you were there to explain, it would have saved me 23 thousand dollars worth of scotch."

"And the Louvre wants it?" Kate's jaw almost dropped. "Why?"

"To protect the art inside, they want to redo all their pyramids with it," Rebecca looked up from her screen. "I'm expecting the London Museum and the Vatican to reach out next."

Her little sister fell silent absorbing the magnitude of the deal Rebecca closed tonight. The UV-proof glass had been Kate's first Master's thesis (the first of many) and it was practically her child. It was much more reliable than their mother's initial invention of the vinyl coating.

Since joining the company Kate improved on every product design Bonne Nuit had, and created countless others, skyrocketing the value of the company in the three short years she had been working here. The girl was an underrated genius and made Rebecca's job much easier. Now her gifts would be safekeeping humanity's most valuable treasures. She hoped Kate felt as proud of herself as she did.

"But that's not really… What mom designed it for," her shoulders slumped.

"The world doesn't begin and end with vampires, Katie. UV-proof glass is expensive as hell and I have to sell it to whoever has the money to buy it, vampire or not."

Her sister sighed again, tired. She knew better than to argue with Rebecca. "I guess," she shook her head. "Is Terry downstairs?"

"Yes, you can go ahead, I'm almost done."

She did not move from the edge of the office window. Kate was going to stay until Rebecca was ready to go. "What are you doing, by the way?"

"Shanghai stock market. I need to know their closing numbers before my 10 AM meeting."

"Can't you do this from your phone?"

Rebecca shook her head. "Battery died two hours ago."

"You really should let me install that upgrade-"

"You need to keep your tinkering hands off my phone."

"I only need it for a couple of hours! Clearly, you can live without a phone for that long."

They had this argument a million times, but since Kate had fried her iPhone in high school trying to upgrade the processor Rebecca had never let her touch her electronics again. "Absolutely not, Kate. Do it to dad's phone, that can be his birthday gift."

The mood in the room dropped as it always did whenever the topic of their father came up. Rebecca imported the numbers she needed in her cross-analysis software.

"Right, that's this Friday. What did you get him?"

"I booked a penis implant surgery on myself, so he can have another son," Becca said wryly, turning off her computer and slowly standing up. Her body felt heavier to move. "That should make him happy."

Kate did not attempt to laugh because she knew it to be true. Both Kate and Rebecca worked their absolute ass off day and night for BonneNuit, but their father continuously failed to take either of them seriously. They both lived under the undeserving shadow of their older brother Richard Junior who was COO of Etheryum, a military contractor division of Bellefleur Tech of high-security development. Development of being painfully mediocre maybe, because their numbers were fucking atrocious. Dick Junior just had his worst quarter yet, with no sign of stopping.

Rebecca crossed her office floor, joining her sister in the corner of the room, at the very edge of the Glass Tower, and together they watched the beautiful city below for a quiet moment. New Orleans sparkled and twinkled like a kaleidoscope of colour, music, carefreeness, and indulgence. Its old buildings had weathered impossible storms just like its people, who had made the most beautiful music from all their loss, grief, and heartache.

There was a certain beauty in this decaying city. It should have been wiped out eons ago, swallowed by the ocean and the sky, but yet she laughed in the face of death each time. She even kept its bodies above ground and made entire cities with its dead. New Orleans was a master at turning grief into utter beauty. It made itself stronger by hiding secrets in its dark alleys, by filling its cracks with lies, by soaking its soil in blood and painting its walls with sorrow.

Rebecca looked over at her little sister, still staring out into the lights of the city, a faraway look in her eye. Kate's hand was opening and closing their mother's locket, the repetitive old clicking sound as if her mother was standing right between them. Oh, the murals they had painted with their own grief. Each brush stroke, a tear. Every breath filled with an unwillingness to give in, a defiance against everything everyone had ever told them. Death was everywhere for them, like an old friend. A companion, watching from the shadows.

Little did they know, it was about to get even closer.