What ended the assassination attempts on Fawn Jackson? – Weirdlet
After she bought Main Security, she used a shell company to purchase the competitors. Kept them intact, but rearranged their priorities for the greater good.
Fawn Jackson was beginning to gain a controlling interest.
And the assassins weren’t even getting close.
She was doing almost the exact opposite of what the Executives and Pundits insisted was the correct way to manage large sums. And worse, her actions were stimulating the economy despite the wails and outrage of both.
Andrew Albertson IX was the first. He had been trying to buy his five-year-old daughter a horse, attendants for the horse, and sundry horse accouterments. And, of course, riding lessons. It was there that, for the first time in his life, his purchase was denied.
“I’m sorry, sir, but your bank is saying your credit has been denied.”
“They can’t deny it, it’s my bank!” He dug out his phone and told his broker to sell enough shares to cover the expense. He’d get them back, before long.
He always got them back.
“Sir. You have no more shares to sell.”
“I always have shares. What are you talking about?”
“Sir… over the passage of two months, you have sold all of your shares.”
“But… you get them back for me. You always get them back for me.”
“I don’t know what else to tell you, sir. ‘Always’ is over. The company that bought your shares is not selling anything.”
“Fine. Sell the old yacht.”
“You did that last week.”
“Fine. Fine. What about the new yacht?”
“You also sold that to finance your wife’s dinner party, last week.”
“Get rid of some of my residential holdings, then.”
“Uhm. Sir? Your only remaining residential holding is your house.”
Oh. Can’t get rid of that. “What about the business holdings?”
“Sir, you sold all your shares. There are no businesses that have holdings to sell.”
“No, you idiot. The non-residential buildings.”
“Those were owned by the corporations you sold, sir.”
“So how the hell am I supposed to buy my daughter her horse? I only need a million, for crying out loud.”
“For that, you would have to evaluate your personal assets, sir.”
Which would take weeks. Chablis was not going to be happy about waiting weeks for her horse. He put a hold on his purchase and hurried home to assess a few things, himself.
His wife, Diamond, and her parties had waged attrition on the cellars. It hadn’t mattered, before today. Today, it mattered beyond belief. All his vintage assets were down to some mismatched bottles and those of historical significance that had probably turned into vinegar.
He loaded up on the vintage ones and arranged some discrete auctions. With luck, he could have the money for Chablis’ horse in a few days.
Nobody met the reserves. He was forced to make a deal with the vinters’ museum, for less than an eighth of their value and a percentage of ticket sales.
And, by then, the bills were coming in. Bills he’d never had to worry about, before.
He sold Diamond’s jewelry. He sold the more high-ticket items of Chablis’ toys. He sold most of his suits and all of his jewelry. He sold all of the decorative items in his home. He sold most of his cars.
He was forced to learn how to drive so he could downsize his chauffeur.
He had to sell his jet.
And, finally, he had to sell everything.
To the tumbledown slums he used to sneer at.
Chablis was not happy. Diamond was even less happy. All of her friends abandoned her. None of the single quillionaires wanted to know her, since she was a fading 'cougar’.
And they were all discovering how expensive it was to be poor.
Andrew’s friends, too, distanced themselves. At least, they did so while they still had assets.
Once they were rendered broke, too… they were after him for advice. How to cope. How to deal with (shudder) public schooling. How to influence the local security teams in ones’ teenaged heir’s favour. And repeated explanations of how that wasn’t possible when one was poor. Poor people, they had always held, deserved their criminal records for being poor.
It was a sharp shock to suddenly be the group of people one had always looked down on. With criminals for children and horrible money skills and living in squalor and addicted to anything that would take the misery away for a handful of minutes.
Diamond became addicted to a street drug that Andrew had a hand in developing. The called it Angel, because it felt like being lifted up by one. And while they felt uplifted, the rest of the body slowly rotted from within.
And they couldn’t afford the help she needed to get off it, let alone the help she needed to last for very long.
When Diamond finally passed, it was more a relief than a tragedy.
Chablis learned and adapted fast. She dropped being a brat like a hot stone, started calling herself 'Shaz’, and began a girl gang dedicated to policing the halls of her school for proto-crime. And growing rooftop gardens. And helping senior citizens. She never got her horse, but a friend made her a Pillow Pony, and that became her only, and best-loved toy.
Andrew didn’t have it as easy. He only knew how to be an Executive, and no company hired Executives. He had to go with unskilled labor, which never paid well.
He could, with enough tiring and thankless work, scrape together just enough to keep going for another week.
On beans and rice and a little bit of spice.
Fawn had a checklist. It contained the Executives who did the most damage to the working person. One by one, she bought their companies, puchased their holdings, and otherwise took over their sources of wealth. Until they had no wealth, any more.
And when another wicked Executive stepped into their shoes… she did the same.
One by one, the people who funded the assassins found themselves without funds. The Pundits, too, suffered. Without their Executive cronies to pay for their campaigns, they also faded into obscurity.
And without trying, Fawn wound up in control.
She never lived in any mansions she owned. She turned them all into hotels, hostels and hospitals. She even turned a few into schools. One, she ploughed under to become an organic garden. Just to see what would happen.
What happened was the exact opposite of what the pundits said would happen.
Things improved for everyone.
Different cities, different continents, started demanding the Fawn Jackson Treatment.
By the time she was done, they renamed the planet after her. Fawnregis.
And she still lived in her old flat.
And she still ate beans and rice with a little bit of spice.