WHO: Bart and Chuck WHERE: The Palm Court in the Plaza WHEN: Tuesday night, a days after the fundraiser WHAT: Father and son sit down for dinner
Bart frowned at the email on his blackberry, displeased by the contents. He fired back a response immediately, fingers flying expertly over the buttons. He continued to scroll through messages; only pausing to take a sip of the scotch the server had brought a few minutes before. One of the advantages of owning a hotel was staff who anticipated your every need and want before you did.
He checked the weather in Tokyo for the tenth time that day before finally relinquishing his hold on the blackberry. Setting it down on the table, he glanced impatiently at the seat across from him, as if expecting his son to have materialized. The seat remained empty and Bart's frown only deepened. He had stressed punctuality was key, and it was not as if Charles had any actual responsibilities to interfere with their dinner plans. He wasn’t the captain of a sports team like the Archibald boy, nor president of student organizations like Harold and Eleanor's daughter. There was no possible legitimate reason for his not being here at the appointed hour.