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Desiree laughed and began to surf through the channels with the television remote.
A commercial ended and went into a teaser for the evening news, and just as Desiree went to check the next channel, Ayla stopped her.
“No, no, no! Don’t turn it! Oh my God!”
Desire dropped the remote onto the ottoman and held up her hands as if she’d been holding a venomous snake. “What, girl?”
Ayla had set her ice cream down and picked up the remote. Her hands were shaking. She pressed the button to rewind seven seconds, then she pushed the pause button. “That’s him. Right there in back. That’s him. Holy shit.”
Desiree studied the image. Two men in suits, stood in front, shaking hands. A young guy she recognized as some sort of local casino executive, the man next to him an older Asian fellow. They stood in front of a Watterson Gaming banner, with a small group, three men and one woman, off to the side, in the background.
Ayla walked over to the television and pointed at the tallest of the group, a rugged, broad-shouldered man with closely-cropped dark hair, just graying at the temples.
“That’s Preston’s dad. I swear. I’d never forget him.”
“Are you sure?” Desiree asked. “I mean, what are the chances?”
“Shh, let me hear what they’re saying,” Ayla insisted.
Nightly news anchor Rikki Randle narrated the clip: “Tonight at eleven, our lead story is the announcement of Watterson Gaming taking their local casino empire overseas. Where and when will their project break ground?”
She went on to discuss an update on the search for a local missing person, an elderly Alzheimer’s patient who had wandered away from his nursing home and disappeared.
Ayla muted the TV.
“I swear on everything, on Preston’s life, that’s him. That’s Preston’s father. He must work for Watterson. What do I do?”
Ayla had rewound it back and frozen the screen
. She got close to the glass, studying it for a clue.
“I don’t know, Ayla, if you’re totally sure,” Desiree started.
“I am!” Ayla insisted.
“Okay, okay, let me finish,” Desiree said. “We have to figure some way to get you to talk to him, I guess? I don’t know. But look at him. He looks like a movie star. He must have a wife and kids somewhere. What do you think he’s going to say if you show up claiming Preston is his kid?”
Desiree joined Ayla right in front of the screen, to get a better look. Ayla was gazing intently at the man in question.
“Shit, Ay, he does look like Preston.”
“I know, right?” Ayla asked, wiping a tear from her cheek.
“I don’t know anybody at Watterson, I mean the place I work is small potatoes next to them, but some of the old-timers where I work retired from bigger casinos and wanted something smaller, slower-paced. Somebody might know who he is. Or know somebody who might know,” Desiree said, rubbing Ayla’s back.
“Let me get my laptop,” Ayla said, leaving the room for a moment and returning with her computer slung under her arm. The two friends sat down on the couch and brought up the Watterson Gaming web site. After doing some digging, they came up with Winston Watterson, the president of the company, as the man who was front and center on the television news story.
They searched for the Watterson board of directors and anyone else they could think of who might have been standing behind Winston, but the only one they found was a woman named Robin Chuang, who was “Director of International Development,” or some such. The mystery man remained a cipher.
It wasn’t long before the evening news aired, and the lead story, indeed, involved Watterson Gaming’s announcement that they were entering the lucrative Asian market, beginning in Macau.
Winston Watterson made a brief statement, but Ayla heard none of it. She was focused on the man over Winton’s right shoulder in the black suit. He was handsome and intense, eyes sweeping from side to side.
“I bet he’s security. Or a bodyguard, or something,” Desiree announced. “Look at how everybody else is relaxed and smiling; they’re excited about the announcement. But your guy is stone-faced. Except his eyes, they’re darting all over the place. Looking for danger?”
Ayla nodded. “Yeah, you might be right,” she agreed. “He was big… It would make sense if he was a guard or something.”
“How does that help, though? It’s not like you can just call up Winston Watterson, or send him an e-mail, and ask him who his bodyguard is, right?” Desiree asked. She commandeered Ayla’s laptop and punched Winston’s name into a YouTube search and checked on Google Images.
