Date: Tue, 11 Jun 2019 07:26:41 +0000 From: Simon Mohr Subject: David's Contribution: Ryan-Chapter 1 This story is a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance of characters to real persons and reality is a coincidence. This story eventually includes descriptions of sex between adult males. If you are a minor, if this material is illegal where you live, or if this material offends you, please don't read it. Please donate to Nifty. Find the donation button on the Nifty web site to help you to pay your share of their expenses to provide these entertaining stories for you. All rights reserved. David's Contribution: Ryan-Chapter 1 Ryan took an early interest in art history. One of his tutors had made a computerized graphic outline of world art history, obviously condensed, with examples of different schools of painting and art objects through time where examples were available in museums or private collections. To this day none of us could say why Ryan took the interest. He just did and every chance he got indoors and sometimes outdoors, he would curl up with a book or a computer and memorize dates and schools. He made flashcards with a painter's name on one side and that painter's date of birth and significant paintings and their school and their contemporaries and those painters who influenced them and those they influenced in turn...all kinds of data I never wanted to know...Ryan memorized. Art became his world. He didn't like to draw or paint, wasn't a fan of creating art. He was a fan of knowing all there was to know about it. When we sent him to a boarding school an hour away in 9th grade, the school to which we sent him had a very strong art department. It wasn't unusual for graduates of Mason Academy to go on to prestigious art colleges, degree in one of the subspecialties of professional art such as conservation, restoration, curating, national patrimonies among others. Ryan finished Mason Academy with a 4.0 GPA. He didn't coast through but his tutor's work prior to his attending the academy gave him a head start. At graduation, Ryan had dual certificates in art provenance and national patrimony. He applied at the University of Southern California and completed a Bachelor of Arts in Art History. He then obtained a Master's in Art History at the Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art, followed by an internship at the British Museum. He flew home to Ohio from Paris in March, having taken the train under the Channel to spend a few days in the Louvre getting acquainted with every wing, bypassing the most popular tourist-jammed art features. With his training and memory, his week at the Louvre was illuminating. The French patrimony of art as well as the 'imported' Chinese and North African and Middle Eastern cultures were all well represented at the Louvre. The flight home from Charles de Gaulle airport to JFK in New York might have seemed longer except for a flight attendant who seemed very friendly, attentive and whose physical appearance was handsome. A card found its way into Ryan's hand midway through the flight inviting him to call if he found himself at loose ends in New York. He filed the card away and grinned at the attendant while lifting his eyebrows in friendly recognition. Then it was off to Columbus after a 2-hour layover in New York. David and Payne met him at the airport and drove him home, noticing that Ryan had added an inch or two everywhere, not an ounce of baby fat remained, his chest was well-muscled, his abs tight, and his package full. While at home following the internship, he dropped by a 7-11 in town to pick up some American snack foods. Waiting in line, watching the customers in line, Ryan noticed an older man ask for twenty dollars of Powerball tickets. His first thought was the low likelihood of winning; the second thought was that he would not win that jackpot without a ticket. The concept of buying a ticket to get the chance made sense; spending anything to get nothing grated on him, then he thought that perhaps the expense was for the small chance itself, not the prize or lack of one. The ticket price bought potential value or hope, not value itself. He presented in his turn the items he had picked up, Cheetos, peanut butter, chocolate, graham crackers and milk and after he got his change, he looked at the cashier whose name tag said 'Tami', wondering what the man would think, decided he didn't really care, and asked for Powerball tickets, all options and laid down $50. Tami didn't blink an eyelash, this being business as per his usual. As the jackpots got higher, people tended to lay down more money for some reason. The odds didn't change a bit with higher jackpots, but people were willing to spend more for the chance, however small, of getting that money. Ryan received a handful of tickets for a drawing date two days away. He jammed the tickets into his wallet and took his food items home to enjoy. He promptly forgot about the drawing. At home once again, he walked into the house, parking his BMW in the garage, entered the kitchen startling George Friske, the cook, who gave him a hug. "Welcome home, kiddo! If you're hungry, supper's in an hour, but I have some great apple cake if you're in the mood. Sit down at the table and let me warm a slab for you. It turned out moist and spicy with cinnamon and nutmeg. "Thank you," Mr. Friske, I'd like a piece." His dads had the talk with him when Mr. Friske was hired and the house rule was that his name was 'Mr. Friske', not George or 'Hey there' or 'Frisky' or 'Cook'. "You don't just happen to have some vanilla ice cream to go with that, do you?" "I remembered the ice cream. Bought a gallon when I heard you were on your way home. Let me grab that from the freezer and I'll get a chance to try my new ice cream scoop too. How was your day?" "My butt still hurts from the long flights and no exercise. Other than that, boring travel with bored flight attendants serving the same boring meals. Once in a while a new flight attendant appears who still has a personality and wants to make his or her passengers comfortable if it takes cartwheels down the aisle to do it right. How was your kitchen day?" Mr. Friske raised his eyebrows. "Typical. Didn't have enough fresh lemons for the zest, had to get them delivered from Kroger, didn't have enough chicken for the coq au vin after three guests were added to the list so had to get that delivered as well. The torch for the creme brûlée ran out of fuel; the torch caramelizes the sugar topping and forms the crusty sweet topping. Without that topping it is just bland pudding. Otherwise no major problems." "If you were a new cook in a home that had never had a professional cook but wanted professional food prepared, how would you go about properly stocking the kitchen with the kind of equipment after making a list of what was already there?" "If you had gone to culinary school, you would have a class in that evaluation and some practice choosing equipment and have to pass a test on the pros and cons of certain kinds of equipment." "I've decided to go to culinary school." "Have you told your dads?" "Tonight's the night." "I'll say a prayer." It was easy. My three dads (well, my bio dads Payne and David and my functional dad, Joe) sat around the dinner table and I told them I had figured out the next move of my life. They exchanged glances, straightened up over their creme brûlée and David asked me to share my plans with them. I told them, they listened, they lifted their eyebrows in surprise, and it hit me that though the news was not expected, they had planned on my making my own life decision all along. I applied to a culinary school in Manhattan. I wanted to be in the city to be close to restaurants. I had the full financial backing, obviously, from my dads, so after acceptance to The Institute of Culinary Education on the southern tip of the island, I visited a realtor and offered him a $10,000 contract to find me a high two-bedroom apartment with a view, close to the subway in a nice neighborhood. Transportation on the island didn't include a car. There wasn't a garage at the apartment and I certainly couldn't depend on the street for safe or reliable parking plus driving in the city was a different animal, especially during certain busy hours and that rush hour reduced the 'fun factor' of driving by about 500%. So, it was the bus, the taxi, the subway. My dads would have paid for a limousine for me, but somehow, I didn't think showing up at school in a limo struck the right note, even in New York City. The first day was organizational stuff. Getting a student number, filling out local address forms, telephone numbers and getting issued student uniforms and books along with information about where to get toques and a set of knives (from an approved list), etc. made up most of that first day. We studied names of things and types of food. Food chemistry, kitchen appliances in restaurants, marketing, les mis en places, all the kitchen myths for good and bad, what customers liked and didn't like about service and tastes, all of this we had to learn. We learned about carbohydrates and protein and fat with some nutritional gems thrown in, but I was a little surprised that health wasn't the prime issue in eating in a restaurant. Naive me. We learned about the effects of heat and preservation and food safety, how long we could leave cold foods at room temperature and hot foods at room temperature safely. We eventually got into sauces, food prep and only later into baking and pastry as a specialty subject. We studied animal anatomy, chickens, cows, pigs, sheep, goats, snails...how to prep meats, different cooking methods and eventually into the classical French and American dishes. All that over time, of course. I was lounging in my 'den' one evening about six months after moving in watching a television commercial about something or other. After the commercial a piece about the New York lottery drawing for the day came on and the thought came to me that I had a lottery ticket somewhere in my wallet. I dragged out my wallet and eventually found the ticket now nearly nine months after the drawing. I googled the date of the drawing and wrote down the numbers of the Powerball from that date. I looked down the red Powerball numbers on my ticket and found 2 lines with that number. A little blink inside my brain jolted me and I kept looking at the numbers. One of those lines had all six numbers as on my list. I had the 2x multiplier on the ticket I had purchased. The thought went through my head that maybe I should have looked at this sooner. The Powerball rules, when I found them with my shaking hands, said the year deadline wasn't up yet and the prize for that ticket was some 433 million with a cash option of 223 to 350 million or so prior to taxes, federal and state which usually took less than 50% of the net amount. I picked up the phone and called Joe. He answered and asked if I was 'ok'. "Yeah, Dad, I'm sorry to bother you so late but I had a question." "Shoot." "I bought a Powerball lottery ticket about nine months ago." "Let me see. You just checked it?" "Yeah." "And you won some money?" "Didn't you win some money once in a lottery?" "Yes, but it was a lot." "Can I call you tomorrow after school?" "Sure...and take it easy. This, no matter what, doesn't change who you are." "Thanks, dad. Good night." "David. Payne," Joe shook his lovers awake. "I just got a phone call from Ryan. He wanted to talk about the lottery. He is trying to figure something out. Get up and pack, guys. Ryan needs us. We can be at his apartment after school tomorrow." "Payne, after you shower and dress, call NetJets and see when they can take us from Columbus or closer and when. Tell them our destination is Teterboro, N.J." "David, Google the unclaimed Powerball tickets from nine months ago and let's see if we can figure out which one was his." David narrowed it down to a really big one and a bunch of rumors of small unclaimed ones in Ohio. They didn't sleep that night, but packed and napped a little. At 4 am they left for the Columbus airport to meet their Gulfstream 550 flight to Teterboro. Joe had already called his bank in Columbus and had them wire the NetJet fees to their corporate account. The flight attendant had a great breakfast for them, scrambled eggs with hot pepper sauce and sliced avocado with wilted spinach and feta cheese, Belgian waffles with strawberries, lamb sausage and mango chutney, and a choice of orange juice or great coffee or both. The three men took a limousine to the Schuyler Bank in Manhattan and explained the purpose of their visit. The service was professional, and a senior vice-president met with them. He advised them that the Bank had ample resources and experience to safeguard whatever amounts might be involved, reviewed the Schuyler Trust's performance vis a vis the Dow over the last 20 years or so and described the men who currently managed the Trust's investments and their current performance. He invited them to meet with John Lodge and Jayden Miller, men who had a unique task together as beneficiaries of the Schuyler Trust, in effect owning it, and for the first time, also having the responsibility of investing its funds along with those funds belonging to Alain Industries. These jobs had always been separated in the past. Joe's pupils dilated. He realized precisely who John and Jayden were and had read all he could about them in the Wall Street Journal, Forbes, Fortune, and The Economist. Joe's quick mind remembered that John and Jayden were young men and wondered if Ryan shouldn't just meet them himself and said so to the Schuyler Bank senior VP, Donald Miller. "Why don't we let the generations talk to each other and evaluate each other on their own terms?" Ryan and his dads met up at the apartment that same afternoon after classes were over. "Ryan, we spent the day over at Schuyler Bank inquiring about investment services and financial teams in case you decide you need those." "Tell us about the ticket, Ryan," David asked." "I'll get a Powerball jackpot from March 22 and have decided I'll take the cash option. Some 233 million from a large jackpot but will meet with the Powerball people this week sometime." "May we see the ticket?" "Sure." Ryan handed them the ticket and Payne turned it over. "Sign it right this second, son." David handed him a pen and they watched Ryan sign it, fill in his Ohio address and print his name. His ID was still a driver's license in Ohio and Ryan figured it would be easier to deal with the Ohio Powerball branch in Columbus. "Fly back with us if you want tomorrow," said Joe. "In the morning we can be met in Columbus with your birth certificate and whatever other ID they'll need in addition to your driver's license. "Payne, why don't you call the Powerball people in Columbus early tomorrow morning or email them tonight so they can have Ryan's check ready. I wouldn't send them a copy of anything just yet." "We'll take a copy of the ticket now that it's signed, both sides, for the Schuyler Bank safety deposit box though." "We took the liberty of starting a Schuyler Bank account for you with a few million that will at least pay the Ohio state taxes and you can pay us back when you have your money and have Schuyler Bank wire our bank in Ohio." "No reason why the Powerball people can't have a check after withholding federal taxes for you and telling you the estimated Ohio state tax so you can mail that in pronto." "If you want, Ryan, and if the Powerball people offer the service, they can wire the money to your bank account. I have a feeling that takes some time, however." Two bodyguards accompanied them from the apartment the next morning. Joe had the Schuyler Bank routing number and account number. Ryan had his driver's license and the signed tickets in his wallet. They had gone to a FedEx Office center and copied the ticket twice, front and back. Both Payne and David kept a copy in their pockets. Their flight back to Columbus from Teterboro wasn't a long flight and they were met by Mr. Friske who brought Ryan's birth certificate from his top dresser drawer at home. In Columbus as the Powerball center, the requisite ceremonies took place after presentation of the ticket and a picture with a very large check was taken. Ryan was on the back side of the check and after the picture looked at the amount and said something offhand about taxes. "Oh, you didn't take the federal taxes out?" 'Yes, we did." "I didn't expect this much." "If you're like everybody else, you forgot to factor in the 2x part. You paid for a double prize, you know, when you bought the ticket." "Your gross prize was 2x 433 million or $866 million. Federal taxes on that amount are $320,385,689.50 which have been subtracted for a total check to you of %545,614,310.50. We have calculated your Ohio State tax as about $$43,271,489.97." "You should write a check to the Ohio Department of Taxation for that amount and personally take it to Columbus and give it to the right person and make certain you take a picture of the check, get a receipt, and take a picture of that receipt on the spot. Then be certain to file your federal and Ohio state returns on time next year." "If you like, we can wire your final amount to your bank if you give us your bank information, however, it is safer for you to take it to the bank yourself. The fewer people who know your bank and your account number, etc. the absolute better. Here is the small copy of your check. You should deposit that in your bank as soon as possible, of course." Joe's pupils were dilated again. "Uh, we didn't put enough in that Schuyler account for Ohio taxes, that's for sure. You will have to make your bank wire that money to the Ohio Department of Taxation and take a picture of every receipt you get from the bank and the tax people. And since you are the rich guy now, you get to send the money we deposited for you back... just write a check to me when you can." Ryan took a picture of the Lottery check with his iPhone, decided to sign it for deposit when he got to the bank, made a mental note to get a credit card or debit card sometime. He went to sleep that night in his apartment after a short commercial flight to JFK from Columbus. Ryan's appointment was at noon the next day at Schuyler Bank where he deposited his check into his account after taking a picture of it and immediately took a picture of the receipt as well. His appointment with John Lodge and Jayden Miller, rather than at their office downtown, was at the Schuyler Museum for a working dinner at 6 pm. Ryan stuck a copy of his Schuyler Bank receipt in his back pocket and drove to the museum. The gate guards expected him, and he was met at his parking spot by a footman who escorted him to the front door and announced him. Ryan saw two handsome men, diverse in color, friendly, built, in shape. John and Jayden saw a good-looking, boy-next-door, muscular man in his young 20s, smiling, polite... Dinner that night no one remembered. All three remembered getting acquainted. John and Jayden had come from relative poverty and powered up by their bootstraps using their mental talents to achieve great business success. Ryan had been born of wealth into a family without a mother and taken the masculine traits of his multiple fathers and with some lottery luck had come into a fortune but wanted to continue his culinary training. "I need to apprentice in a major kitchen, number one. Number two, I need a team to manage the money I was lucky to win. I have no business talent. My dad has a couple of hundred million dollars in Ohio as well not keeping up with the Dow, losing value every day when inflation is factored in. I would like to bring his money and mine and marry it to a fortune that is dynamic and growing. None of us want money just to spend it. My dads have basic needs as do I; tuition, food, transportation, clothes, medical care, insurance, dental care.... all the expenses that normal people have. None of us want to go out and buy fancy cars or jets." "There's nothing wrong with those things. The ownership of them doesn't seem necessary. My dads and I have been thinking about giving some of the income away. My dads have been a throuple of men in love for some years and would like to give back to support the rights of those who love their own gender. They have a real passion for that." "My own thoughts include teaching people in less calorie dense areas of the world how to grow their own food and raise their standard of living." John look at Jayden and saw the nod. "Ryan, Jayden and I are lovers. The Schuyler Foundation owns entities that study Homophobic violence and its prevention, we watch over trillions of dollars of funds of which billions are earmarked so that the income from those billions provides medical care to the poor in Africa, social programs and medical programs like HIV diagnosis and treatment. We oversee the Blossom Jones Foundation for Africa." "Why don't we consider over the next few weeks the possibility of your dads parking the bulk of their money alongside yours in the Schuyler Trust Family of funds. If you agree, we'll manage those funds and disburse the income to your dads and you without charge. In return, the funds can be 'grown' to outpace the Dow like all the other funds we manage and the increased amount of total funds available will make for economies of scale that help everyone involved." "Only if you guys come over to the apartment for lunch next week. I'm practicing my culinary skills and need the practice." This time Jayden looked at John and got the nod. "We'd like that. Neither of us is allergic to anything except neither of us likes turnips. What day do you want us?" "How about next Sunday for lunch?" "You're on. What can we bring?" "A good appetite and a bottle of wine if you have one laying around."