Raising Father

By M. Lee Fox

During those last few hours of inky pre-dawn, Henry found it more difficult to breathe. He had turned up his nasal oxygen, with little effect. An all-consuming malaise descended, as if his internal battery was sputtering and failing. Keeping his normally crystal-clear mind working became impossible. His thoughts ebbed and lost focus and drifted, as if on an expansive sea rolling to unconsciousness. In eerie, insistent red, his bedside clock read 3 am and he grabbed for his call button to summon help. So tired of asking for help then, he had a change of heart, sighed, and turned away, This is not my style! This is not the SOP of Henry Giles, he protested to no one. Alone and powerless, he felt a blanket of grayness swaddling him that soon dimmed to black.
Although Henry Giles was dead, he’d had no intention of going quietly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. Lee Fox
• Release date: Jun 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781949433432

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Hyunwoo Park, Director of AccuGen Research, sat in his dimly lit lab office alone with portentous thoughts. He had read, re-read and carefully reviewed the latest confidential report handed up from his staff that day. He fully comprehended the enormity of findings on the white paper sitting on his desk. Its contents made this the most momentous day in his brilliant 40-year career and in AccuGen’s history.

Over the past decade AccuGen, a subsidiary of Gilles International, had discovered and patented innumerable milestones in the science of biological cloning. This new report stated in irrefutable terms that the reality of human cloning was one Go Ahead phone call away. There was no review board to pore carefully over every step of the scientific process; Gilles International served that purpose. And it was well known that Henry Gilles wanted the human cloning project to commence immediately and at all cost. This was perhaps his pet enterprise among the countless companies he owned.

The science behind sequencing the human DNA genome was old news.  In studies completed in 2005, AccuGen, prompted, if not dared, the global scientific community to realize that humans shared about 99% of their DNA with chimpanzees, making them our closest living relatives. Chinese scientists had succeeded in cloning healthy Macaque monkeys Zhong-Zhong and Hua-Hua, to the amazement of the world’s scientific community. This development had fueled the interest and continuing personal investment from Henry Gilles.

For Dr. Park, neither the science nor the white paper distressed him, any more than did the normal, healthy newly cloned chimp in the lab where he sat. Rather, Dr. Park was wrestling with the stark reality that all moral and ethical precedents, requirements, and basic considerations for human life were to be summarily overturned, as if they were of no consequence.

What was equally glaring was the fact that the first human subject had already given consent to the procedure, and had also awarded AccuGen another multi-million-dollar endowment to assure the complete success of Gilles International’s monumental achievement.

Of course, as was Henry Gilles’ way of conducting his businesses, the project would be kept secret; the world would never know, until Henry Gilles said it could.

CHAPTER 1

DEATH and El DIABLO

He lay alone in his hospital bed, his room illuminated only by the surreal lights of the financial computer screens on his bedside desk. It wasn’t fair that his life was being cut short. After all, his life wasn’t typical, rather, it had been one marked by breathtaking accomplishments. There was no doubt in his mind that he had earned the right to continue onward. There was so much yet to be done, so many deals to be made.

Henry reached a trembling hand to his nightstand where it fumbled through and upset the many medication bottles that had collected there over the weeks. Finally, he came upon what he was looking for, an open envelope with the brightly colored AccuGen logo. He clumsily removed the document and carefully read the words as he had done so many times before. He sighed gently, content once more with the realization that his well-thought-out plan to live on was well in the works. Seeing the words again gave him a weird sense of solace, so much, in fact, that he realized he was now ready to begin letting go. He had battled this illness with every fiber of his being but he had at this very moment accepted the reality of his demise. As he replaced the AccuGen document in its envelope he was content in the knowledge that this corporeal end wasn’t going to be the finish of Henry Gilles. Not by a long stretch.

It had become so much harder for Henry to breathe during the last few hours. He had turned up his nasal oxygen, but it had produced little effect. He now felt an all-consuming malaise, as if his internal battery was finally sputtering and failing. It seemed that even the effort of keeping his normally crystal-clear mind working was becoming an impossible chore. His thoughts lost focus; his mind began to drift upon an expansive sea of unconsciousness. The bedside clock read 3 am. He reached out in vain to grab his call button to summon help, but then had a change of heart. He sighed and turned away, so sick and tired of asking for help. Sick of it! This is not my style, not the SOP of Henry Gilles! All alone, he felt a blanket of grayness swaddling him, a grayness that soon dimmed to black.

Although Henry Gilles was dead, he had no intention of going quietly.

Later that morning Amanda was awakened by Carmalita’s shriek. She ran down the hallway and soon came upon the upstairs maid. She had knelt and was hysterically crossing herself as she pointed towards Amanda’s father’s room. Breathlessly, she wailed, Oi Amanda! Es Senior Gilles, Esta muerto!

Amanda pushed open the door Carmalita had left ajar. There was Henry in his hospital bed, propped up on three pillows and surrounded by scattered piles of investment research. At his bedside was a high ball glass filled with an aged bourbon and an ashtray piled high with half smoked Cuban cigars. His piercing blue eyes were open and seemed even bluer, framed by the pallor of death. Even in death, his eyes seemed to gaze upon her in critical distain. Random crumbs from Henry’s last meal flecked the patchy gray beard that sprouted during the course of his illness. A tuft of white hair stood strangely upright on his bald, pale pate.

Amanda stood next to her father’s body and looked in the mirror across the room; she thought of how her life was about to change. She looked the same, tall and slender with straight shoulder length blonde hair, pale skin, large blue eyes and thin baloney lips—a typical white bread New England Presbyterian girl. Yet, at this moment everything in her reflection seemed altered.

Everyone knew that Henry was critically ill, but everyone had always assumed he would beat his disease and win in the end. In life, Henry had always been fond of saying that losing was never an option; to underscore his words of self-motivation, he had established a track record of immense achievement. Win at all cost and never apologize for anything he’d say time and again. Now his mantra had ceased; he’d lost his most important battle of all. The illness, he was hell bent on defeating had finally snuffed out his existence, just shy of his 75th trip around the sun.

Henry Stanford Gilles was a man who had come to stand bigger than life and he believed that his life deserved to stretch into infinity. He was convinced that he could, through sheer will and the power of his fortune, buy himself immortality. This had always been his plan. In these last years of illness, he had surrounded himself with the best doctors money could buy. In fact, he had used his jet to bring many experts to his bedside, to live under his roof until an acceptable alternative to death was conjured.

Henry’s bedroom had been transformed into a hospital suite where medical staff were at his disposal night and day. He had called on big Pharma connections to create a fully stocked pharmacy in the property’s guest house. Yet, despite all the world’s best medical experts, conventional, non-traditional, as well as highly experimental, no one could put Henry back together again. Like Humpty-Dumpty, Henry had now shattered into thousands of tiny little pieces.

Once Amanda had accepted the sudden shocking reality of her father’s death, she began to realize that it was going to take some time to adapt to his absence. After all, Henry had been hovering over her and making her life a living hell for years, just as he’d done for all those around him. In fact, many of the Hispanic house staff had come to refer to Henry as Diablo Blanco—the white devil. On so many occasions, and not unlike some of the staff, Amanda had prayed and even dreamt of his demise. In the weeks, days and hours of his pending last breath, Amanda had wished for his death under her breath even while standing in his very presence as he berated her, time and again, for being such a hopeless loser.

While she may have never said it aloud, Amanda had been longing for this day to come. Her mind and heart overflowed with unexpected mixed emotions along with an overwhelming sense of dread. As she began to cry, she kept trying to convince herself that maybe her tears could really be tears of joy, but panic washed over her as she was confronted by the realization that she had absolutely no idea of what she would do with the rest of her life. She hadn’t a clue.

Amanda Rose Gilles had lived for the largest portion of her life on Windrose Way, the family estate in Greenwich. As father’s health declined, she looked after all of his needs, serving at his beck and call without ever being offered even a splinter of gratitude in return. This last year had been especially tough; life started draining and seeping from him as his disease gained ground and became more powerful than his will to defeat it. He fought off death with the kind of tenacity that characterized his entire life. The sicker he became, the meaner and more abusive became his demeanor. Of late, Amanda had come to believe she was beginning to die with him; feeling as though Henry had resorted to sucking at her very life force to assuage his own diabolical, hopeless struggle to survive. She had imagined that Father’s death would be heralded by fanfare, blaring trumpets, kettle drums and thunder. After all, he was a man of such unsurpassed importance. Yet his unattended death had amounted to nothing more than a soundless whimper in the middle of the night.

Amanda and her identical twin Gillian had been raised, if in fact that was what you could call it, by a single, inattentive father. As they grew, it became apparent that despite their identical appearance, Gillian had become the lucky twin. She had managed to gain the self-confidence Amanda lacked, eventually escaping Henry’s controlling reach. Against his wishes and will, Gillian had run away to Los Angeles where she had used her famous family name to gain the spotlight of celebrity. Amanda, on the other hand, was left behind as Henry’s enabler, entrapped by tightening grip. Over the years it had become harder and harder for her to leave home as she acquired and coddled a quasi-agoraphobic fear of the world outside the safety of Windrose Way.

On seeing Father dead, Amanda knew her first call should be to Gillian.

At 4 am, on the opposite coast of the country, Gillian was nursing a Margarita and lay sprawled on a couch in the VIP room of an LA after hours club. She had just finished performing her late set and lingered with her entourage waiting for the usual adrenaline rush to subside. Her cell phone began to vibrate and Amanda’s picture came up on the screen.

Gillian, he’s dead. Father died tonight, Amanda began to sob. Father is gone.

It took a moment for Gillian’s mind to clear and process the sudden news.

Wow. I’m shocked, Gillian replied quite honestly. I thought sure Henry was going to find a way to beat it and continue crushing and torturing people forever. I can’t say as I’m really upset or sorry about this, in fact, I just feel numb. And as odd as this might sound, I think this really calls for some kind of celebration. The world is so much better off without Henry.

Gillian guzzled the last frozen sip, extinguished her cigarette and rose from the couch to leave the smoke-filled room. She entered a nearby stairwell and continued speaking.

The last time I spoke with him was last Christmas. I thought, after all this time, he’d be happy to hear from me; instead, he just chewed me out again about my degenerate lifestyle. He’d seen a story about me on TV and it had really pissed him off.

Amanda blew her nose and said hoarsely, Gilly, Father disapproved of your career and lifestyle but deep down I think he also respected you. It was just that he’d always worked so hard to keep his personal life shielded from public scrutiny to protect the business and you’ve just been so out there with your celebrity. That never set well with him.

Gillian bristled, Yeah, he’s kept his private life shielded by paying off all of his bimbo fuck buddies and scandals with his stable of lawyers. And he had the gall to call my life degenerate? What a hypocritical joke!

Amanda began to sob again, now sounding like a scared toddler, Gilly this last year was such a nightmare. As his cancer and treatments got worse, he nearly caused me a breakdown. If it weren’t for my therapy, I probably would have ended up in the loony bin again. I actually found myself wishing he would just die. And now I’m feeling so horribly guilty.

Come on Amanda, why would you expect him to treat you any differently now from the way he did when we were kids? The man has been a hater all of his life. The closer you were to him, the more it was bound to spill over on you. I knew that I had to get away at all costs in order to survive. Haven’t I been telling you for years to get out of there? Honestly, you should be drinking a toast to his death and not mourning or feeling any guilt about wishing him dead.

As Amanda had imagined, Father’s death would generate profound changes in her life, but these changes took the form of something she could have never anticipated. Henry Gilles was dead but he had a plan that was already in motion.

CHAPTER 2

IS YOUR MOTHER HOME?

The bubbles rose in a constant stream to the surface of the deep end of the pool. It was late at night and the combination of a full autumn moon and the crisscrossing of the pool lights created an eerie optical effect. A solitary figure sat cross legged at the pool’s bottom. He was clad, head to toe, in full scuba regalia, red in color. This was Henry’s escape from the outside world. He spent hours there in the deep end of his perfectly heated salt water pool. There he sat in solitude, a scheming genius, alone with his thoughts, calculating his next business venture or negotiation strategy. When Gilles was present at his estate, which wasn’t very often, he could inevitably be found floating in heated salt water perfection at the deep end of the pool. His narrowed field of vision did not extend far beyond his scuba mask. Certainly, the welfare of his twin daughters was seldom a subject for consideration on the floor of that pool. Instead, Henry would peer out, his squinty blue eyes transfixed on a message he had painted in iridescent day glow yellow on the far wall of the deep end. WIN.

Gilles was a titan of American business, a world-renowned industrialist and corporate raider who accumulated companies like Imelda Marcos accumulated shoes. At the height of his power, his vast holding company, Gilles International, controlled some sixty-five companies including immense real estate holdings, pharmaceutical companies, worldwide mining operations, sports teams, insurance companies and more. His net accumulated wealth had been estimated at various times to be 85 billion dollars, although no one could be sure, as the dollars ebbed and flowed with the gyrations of the markets, the quarterly profit and loss reports, and his constant stream of calculated moves and acquisitions.

At one point Henry’s businesses employed nearly 200,000 souls. Little did these people know, however, that their security hung on the capricious whims of a man totally devoid of human compassion and lacking any comprehension of, or appreciation for, the men and women who toiled to make his companies prosper. Gilles surrounded himself with an exclusive cadre of the best and brightest, well-paid advisors and confidants who served on his board of directors and jumped at his behest. His inner staff was a constant flow of those who respected him but also feared his tyrannical nature and 24/7 demands. For him, firing people was a blood sport, and as he conducted a significant part of his business dealings from his Windrose estate, Amanda and Gillian were witness to a parade of new faces that came and went with the tides of Henry’s mood.

Orphaned at birth, Henry Gilles had climbed the ladder of success to stellar heights through sheer grit and determination. The story of his rise to financial power was the stuff of American legend. As a youth, he was passed from one abusive foster home to the next, eventually running away at eighteen to join the Marines. Rejecting the concept of a regimented military life, he departed the Marines after one tour and returned to Phoenix where he set out to find his fortune. He had always had an interest in the building trade and it wasn’t long before he found work with a construction crew where he proved himself to be an intelligent and industrious hard worker who caught the eye of his superiors.

He was able to save enough money over several years to purchase an abandoned dilapidated apartment building on the rough side of town with the financial assistance of his boss as a partner. With tenacity and determination, Henry found a way to renovate the property and, as luck would have it, his extracurricular efforts were handsomely rewarded. The squalid neighborhood surrounding his building became unexpectedly desirable and the rest was the stuff of urban legend. Gilles Construction grew into Gilles Real Estate Holdings and Henry was on his way to earning his first million before the age of 22.

The Gilles family resided on the twenty sprawling waterfront acres of Windrose Way in the most desirable estate section of Greenwich, Connecticut. Windrose was adorned with pristine gardens and rolling great lawns groomed by a full-time staff of groundskeepers. The great house was a Georgian style mansion with over 20,000 square feet of living space, most of which, although perfectly decorated and maintained, lay abandoned, silently awaiting the arrival of guests who had curiously got the date and time wrong.

The twin Gilles sisters had adjacent rooms across the hall from the nanny of the day, as Father’s penchant for firing staff was not limited to those employed in his businesses.

Henry was paranoid and protective of his surroundings and he was fearful of anyone becoming too familiar or too comfortable at Windrose. As such, it was his practice to hire and dismiss a revolving door parade of attractive young nannies to look after the twins. Wide eyed and over-whelmed by his power and wealth, this procession of attractive women would, one-by-one be retained to watch over Amanda and Gillian. And while these young, nubile women watched over the twins, it was Henry’s practice to watch over the nannies, plotting to bed them, one-by-one in the pool house and then fire them in short order, with little regard for the total and continual disruption it brought to the lives of his daughters.

The Gilles sisters wanted for nothing when it came to the creature comforts in life, from expensive designer clothing and accessories, to private tutors and all the associated trappings that came from living on a billionaire’s estate. But what they had in material things could never compensate for their cold, unloving existence under the roof of Windrose Way where their lives were controlled at every turn by their father’s cruelty and oppression.

As a rule, the girls took their meals in the formal dining room with their nanny and members of the house staff who would pass along Henry’s directives. On the rare and somber times when he did join them for a family meal, the time was constantly interrupted by an unending barrage of business calls. Gilles would bark marching orders into his phone while he ate, particles of food spraying from his mouth like bullets as he fired off heated, staccato commands. The girls would sit in nervous silence during

Henry’s tirades, knowing one of his lectures was inevitable. After eating, Henry would lean back, raise and sip from his heavy Baccarat glass of bourbon, light his cigar and then focus his squinty glare upon them from across the table. The pungent blue cigar smoke would swirl over the table and envelope them as they sat impassively. There was no escape, once he started in on them.

Girls, the world is mostly composed of losers who wander the planet living aimless, pathetic lives in total confusion. There is no equality -- plain and simple. You either learn to win or spend your lives lost among the hordes without power or direction. You’ve got to focus your sights on winning. At all costs. And a habit of winning starts in school, both in the classroom and on the athletic fields. Understood?

The sisters would nod in unified agreement, hoping the pontification was over.

As twelve-year-old pre-pubescent girls dressed in identical jumpers and coiffed the same, they sat at the ancient, priceless dining table as the lecture continued, working its way to a conclusion they had heard so many times before.

You girls are unfortunately burdened with a handicap that we must work to overcome at all costs. Your mother’s lack luster DNA has watered down your potential. If I could magically erase it, I would, but that’s not possible, so I’ll do the next best thing. I will train and groom you to succeed and carry on my legacy. 

But what of the twins’ mother? She had become but a fading memory to Gillian and Amanda, having been out of their lives for years. They had absolutely no idea of her whereabouts. Amanda could recall isolated memories of Mother’s beautiful long face, hazel green eyes and paper-thin lips over a perfectly crafted cosmetic smile. Gillian could recall the scent of her French perfume, her long blonde hair styled to perfection and her perfectly manicured, red-lacquered fingernails. Sadly, the sisters could also remember the near nightly heated arguments between their parents, especially Amanda, as her bedroom was adjacent to the stairway which led to the kitchen where many of the battles took place. Gillian’s room was at the opposite end of the up-stairs hallway so she always managed to sleep through the heated exchanges, while Amanda was forced to lay awake listening to the raised voices and screaming. The alcohol-laced disputes happened with increasing frequency until the night they ended abruptly.

The events of that night were forever etched on Amanda’s sensitive five-year-old brain; she would carry the memories and psychological trauma they generated to adulthood. She had awakened to an especially heated argument and crept out of bed, making her way to the landing of the service stairway. There she witnessed a pitched, violent battle between adults, for which her tender ears were ill prepared. She could recall the shouting, followed by the horrible crashing of dishes.

It lasted for what seemed an eternity and was then followed by a strange and eerie silence. Soon Amanda heard the sounds of distant sirens coming ever closer over the course of several minutes, until they were ear-splitting, as the police entered the estate. Amanda ran across the hall to a guest room that faced the front drive. From its window she saw four police cars arriving with blinding red lights flashing. Then she heard pounding at the front door and saw the police with pistols drawn.

The twins’ mother had attacked Henry that night and in a fit of rage had pounded him over the head with a bottle of Jack Daniels. An ambulance soon arrived and Amanda saw her father on a stretcher being loaded aboard, his head wrapped in a bloody dressing. Her mother emerged from the house; those well-manicured hands bound behind her back. It was dreamlike for Amanda seeing her mother dressed in her elegant Chanel™ black dress with shiny knee-high boots and perfectly matched Prada bag as she was placed into the back seat of the police cruiser with its flashing red lights still ablaze. An officer removed the cigarette hanging from the corner of her mother’s mouth and pitched it to the driveway, its glowing red ember tip striking the pavement and sparking. As she was deposited in the police cruiser, the twins’ mother cried out, Fuck you, Henry. Turning to another officer she requested a trip back into the house to get her laptop. A rotund female officer escorting her to the cruiser turned to her, Where you’re going sweetie you ain’t gonna be watching Netflix.

Amanda’s tiny hands on the window created smeary palm prints on the pane as she burst into tears. Please don’t go Mommy, please, I won’t do it again, I’m sorry. Just the night before, Mother had screamed at her for wetting the bed... again. It had taken years of therapy for Amanda to understand the emotional toll that night’s events exacted upon her.

The girls’ nanny told them Mother had gone away on a long trip, as was her practice towards the end of the marriage. But Amanda knew better. It was all her fault; she had driven Mother away. Henry told the girls that Mother was unhappy and although she loved them very much, she needed to become happy again before she could return to Windrose Way. Mother never became happy again.

Following a lengthy order of protection and multiple court appearances, a lucrative financial arrangement was struck. Henry dropped all charges and Mother dropped out of sight. Gilles never married again, instead following a path of misogyny.

CHAPTER 3

SUPER GILLIAN

After the abrupt departure of the twins’ mother, Henry became more consumed with his business affairs. As his wealth expanded and his international reputation as an aggressive financier grew, the girls saw less and less of him. Although he controlled and micromanaged every aspect of their lives, he did so only at arm’s length and without affection or warmth.

Daily memos were sent to caregivers who followed his instructions about chores and schedules; Amanda and Gillian quickly began to feel as though they were an obligation he had to meet and nothing more than a slot on his daily calendar. Perhaps it was because of his hectic business life or maybe because the twins reminded him so much of her, but as time passed Henry had