Investment Opportunities

Posted on Fri Dec 1st, 2023 @ 9:56 by Claire Cavendish & Alastair Temple

Chapter: All Hallow's Eve
Location: Head Teacher's Office, Avalon Institute
Timeline: November 17th, 1992
2149 words - 4.3 OF Standard Post Measure

With the help of Jhanvi, Claire had been able to return her office to a semblance of professional workplace. In that professional workplace she had received word of deliveries that her administration couldn't quite explain and it hadn't taken too long to trace them back to the source. She put her finger on the PA system's microphone and in a calm voice spoke into the receiver, "Will mister Temple please report to the head teacher's office, Mister Temple to the head teacher's office, please." She had made sure he wasn't scheduled for class, but it would probably still take a moment for him to arrive at her door so she started going over the schedule for the festival, making sure all the moving parts would come together nicely.

Last minute additions and retractions had made for a bit of a mess, and she was sure Jhanvi and/or Soren hadn't been too happy with that. Unfortunately such was life at Avalon, especially now that they were out operating in the open without much protection from her political and media contacts, or her father's need to keep her existence a secret.

"Uh .. " Al felt a pang of unreasonable panic at the call. He still clearly remembered the most notable time he'd been called to a head teacher's office was when his powers had manifested and he was kicked out of school and disowned by his parents. This had been the start of years of living on the streets (or rather, in the woods) just trying to survive. It was only Robert McIntyre's friendship and generosity that had brought him back on the right path, had given him purpose in life and that had eventually led to his success. It was going to take a while for this panicked feeling every time Claire summoned him to dissipate.

So it was with great trepidation that the tall man with the bushy facial hair made his way to Claire's office. There he took a moment to compose himself, closed his eyes and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

"Door's open." Claire called looking up from her ruminations over the proposed new schedule for the week leading up to the Winter's Crest Festival. She was happy that the kids there were embracing the idea behind it and were already excited about all the non-curricular stuff they were going to be doing. She looked up from her desk and saw the tall brooding man enter her office, which prompted her to get up from her seat and walk around her desk, pointing at the Chesterfield couch and seats set up in the corner. "Care for a drink?" She asked standing next to the small tray holding coffee, tea and water.

"Just some juice, please. Thank you," he ventured as he sat down on the quilted leather couch and made himself comfortable. She seemed to be in a decent enough mood. But then, this could all just be pleasantries before she tells him in how much trouble he is for - whatever it is he had done. "You know, I don't think I'll ever get used to being called into the head mistress' office," he added.

There was a slight pang of guilt in Claire's gut at that admission. She never really saw herself as the head mistress, it was such a strict term as well. There wasn't really a different term that she could land on though, at least not one that resonated enough with the rest of the staff and the kids. Officially she had a plaque calling her Head Teacher, but the mistress part just seemed to flow easier in people's minds. Perhaps one day. "I'm sorry. There's nothing to worry about, there was just something I wanted to discuss with you, a business opportunity I guess you can call it. Between peers. Not employer, employee, or Head Teacher to Faculty." She grabbed a cooled bottle of fresh orange juice from the ice bucket and poured it into a glass before pouring herself a cold glass of water and joining Al across from him, putting the juice on the table between them and taking a sip of her water. "First, though, how are you doing? How are you settling in?"

"Doing alright, I suppose. Settled in alright. Met a lot of the other faculty," such an official word to use. But then, if he wanted to fit in he supposed he'd have to speak the language. "Keeping very busy with preparations for 'sing'. I've done casting, simplified the song a bit so it's easier to learn for students - but I think we're on track," he mused, taking a sip of the orange juice. "So what's this about a business opportunity?"

Claire took a sip of the cold water, feeling the liquid cool her throat. "That's good to hear. Yes. Why I called you hear." It was clear she was making him ill at ease, at least until the reason for her calling him here in the first place had been cleared up. "I've been getting a few odd reports about deliveries made that none of my administrative staff has made, then when I walked into the kitchen I saw a new stove that Mister Beaumont has been asking about for months now, which seemingly appeared magically. Now I know your abilities don't include conjuring up stoves, even though it probably counts as a shiny object, but a little bird told me you might be behind these welcome upgrades."

"Uh - I'll take credit for the welcome ones," Al appreciated her choice of words. "When they start being unwelcome is when I start looking for someone else to blame," he added with a grin and a chuckle before turning a bit more serious. "Nah, that was all me. I figured you're operating on a budget and that you wouldn't mind the helping hand. Plus, it helps me meet people. And, sometimes those people want something in return for me leaving a bathrobe in their space."

"I appreciate you going about this in a pragmatic way." As the head mistress said that she already heard the big lingering but there herself. "The unforeseen circumstance is that it kind of messes with resource allocation and prioritization." It was a politically correct way of saying people got jealous. "So, I wanted to offer you an opportunity to invest in the institute itself, rather than in ovens, drum kits, and bathrobes."

"And electronic keyboards, a few acoustic guitars, a new amp," Al counted on his fingers before offering a sheepish grin. "I get your point though, and I apologize for making things difficult for you. I've never had to run an estate, so I honestly don't know anything about it," A slight pause as he furrowed his brows. "But if I'm understanding you correctly, you're asking if I could make a donation to the estate directly, which would then allow you to allocate it, is that right?"

"Yes. Now I know this just sounds like I'm just trying to fleece you, but there are some benefits for you as well. Seeing that Avalon is an educational institute and the estate that was set up is a non-profit our accountant could help you with your personal finances to make it so that practically the treasury is footing most of the bill." Claire wasn't sure how much Al was into this sort of corporate accountancy that most of the rich used to stay rich. A broken system, for sure, but broken in just the right way for them to have a government invest in mutant rights and education when they themselves were reluctant to do so publicly.

Al considered for a moment, furrowing his brows and steepling his fingers under his chin. "Hmmmm," he quietly rumbled, tilting his head a bit. "You know, I could use an accountant. I've always just managed my money myself, and by 'managed' I mean 'let it sit on my bank account and spent it when I wanted to'. If you could send an accountant my way, I'm sure he and I could come to an arrangement about managing my money. Though it will still be, mine."

"As for a donation, I can do that. You don't have to sell me on it. I mean, I'm living here, I don't pay rent, you feed me, a job to do - " he trailed off, his thoughtful expression making way for that rogueish smile again. "How's two hundred thousand pounds sound? You know, for starters."

It almost physically hurt Claire to hear someone tell her that he had simply left his money on his bank account to practically rot. She wanted to interrupt or start a sentence a couple of times as Alastair finished his thoughts. "You'd hire an accountant. I know a trustworthy one. This is important, since a good accountant is worth their weight in gold. A bad one will drain you faster than the Dutch drained the south sea."

"But you mean to tell me that your band management never helped you out with your finances? Because what you just described I think is the single worst thing one can do with a substantial amount of money. Do you not have a trust set up for yourself?" It was clear that the Head Mistress had been dealing with the kind of generational wealth that came from rebuilding a country devastated by war for quite some time.

"We had a manager, but after Robert and Sylvain died, I - " he sighed. "Look, I was not in a good headspace, right?" Another pause. "Still not sure I am. I don't even know what a 'trust' is, nor do I care. Money is - I didn't come from money. My parents were just middle class workers - Dad in a factory, mom a nurse. And they kicked me out when I was like twelve. I never learned to handle money. Never had much of a need to or reason to. And now?" a shrug. "I know enough to know that money is just - stuff. And stuff doesn't buy happiness. Or purpose. Or even a metaphorical ladder to climb out of a hole the universe saw fit to dump a proverbial you in. You - this place - gave me that ladder."

Claire smiled, it was nice to hear that Avalon could be that for someone. "It took me way too long to realise those truths, Mister Temple." She never really openly talked about what she considered a very shameful period in her life, especially in the light of the atrocities some of the others here had to go through. The worst time in her life? Wallowing in self pity as she was exiled to Wales living on a very generous stipend. "I want to make sure that you can stay out of the pit even if, God forbid, something were to happen to the Institute. So before we talk amounts I want to sit with you and my accountant, for a donation as sizable as you propose I think it's almost mandatory for me to put your name on something." She gave a bit of a wink, knowing he'd care not for such things.

"Put my name on what? Like a contract? Document? Thing?" he frowned, then chuckled. "How much would I need to donate for you to name a wing after me? 'Temple' is a good name for many things," he leaned back, taking another sip of his juice. "There are a few things I want to discuss with you as well, since we're talking about money to begin with. First, the music classroom needs some soundproofing. When I start teaching the kids about rhythm - well, drum kits are loud and the sound carries. Also, I've learned that some faculty don't have a driver's license, I could help fix that. And maybe buy one or two cars and a van for faculty to use when they need to. Establish a motorpool that belongs to and serves the estate, rather than just whatever personal vehicles faculty has."

"I didn't want to suggest a wing, in case you'd find that insensitive." Claire felt like the tensions between them were subsiding and slid easily into a more banterful exchange with the man across from her. "And you make a good point vis a vis a motorpool. Valjean's van is technically property of the Institute, but some more vehicles for faculty to go to and from New Cresthill would be nice. I'm sure Graeme's would be happy to help procure some." She was all for supporting those who openly supported them. "How about I set up a meeting with the accountant after the holidays?"

"Hey, I like wings," he chuckled. "And, yeah, that sounds like a plan. I don't know what a 'trust' is, but I'm willing to try some," he smiled.