“Now Junior I really cannot believe what you have gotten yourself up to this time” said 88-year-old grandpa Felt from his historical Maine mansion porch.

"I know, I know, but you must know that I'm innocent," said Mr. Felt from his Mercades as his father started walking the short distance to his son’s open window.

"That's what they all say Junior" said grampa Felt who was surprisingly agile for his old age.

"You need me to help you get in here pops?" asked the driver.

"No" yelled pops headed for the empty passenger.

It was a captain's house, the oldest on the block overlooking a little town under expansion. A chain coffee and sub shop had been there for years but now everything else had come in too, and even some local establishments had survived. In addition, a bike and kayak rentals shop were right beside the scenic railroad tracks that were no longer in use; traveling beside them or under them on bridges along the river.

The Felts drove through a little town, by the library, theater, post office, and summer tourist stores. Brown leaves of fall blew across the street as cars parked on every spot besides it.

“I brought my secret weapon by the way” said grampa Felt proudly taking a handicap parking pass out of his pocket.

“No need for that, I have just the spot figured out back” said Mr. Felt as he hit his blinker and waited patiently for a car to pass.

The luxury electric pulled off the main street down a little side street, arriving outside the pier.

“How long till this meeting?” asked grandpa.

“In fifteen minutes, but I know you like eating here for some bizarre reason, and figured we would order” said the son.

They pulled in beside an overflowing dumpster as a seagull flew out. A sign painted on the bricks in plain spray paint signaled that this was the “Moorings cafe”. As they got out of the vehicle grandpa immediately noticed the pack of kitchen staff loitering outside the establishment and smoking all kinds of gizmos.

“Cough, cough. this spot stinks we could have had front row parking,” said the elder as he struggled out onto the pavement.

The two walked around the back exit from a distance avoiding the cloud of smoke making faces at the staff as they went back out the alley onto the sidewalk. Both men grumpily entered the main entrance with their good morning spirits dampened, and stink faces still plastered on.

“And what will you be having this morning George?” said the waiter a little later.

“I'll have the little piggie special” said grandpa Goerge Felt.

“Alright guys, I'll be right out with your tea,” said the waiter slouching off.

Back in the day the oldest Felt had been active in many successful political campaigns in the 1970’s. Using what clout that he had built up, and had not died out he called the other fathers of children also running important things and doing very important activities like his son used to participate in before his wife died and he had become a loser. The child of a father George had called happened to be one on the Pinkers board of directors. He had agreed to fly all the way to Maine in this small time diner and meet them to discuss everything that had happened.

“Goerge good to see you, good to see you, and your kid too, only a couple years younger than me huh” said a voice interrupting the breakfast.

Besides the table stood a buff man with a fierce mustache flanked by two thugs in pink shirts with large logos of a hogs with tusks sticking out.

“Take a seat?” chirped Mr. Felt

“Intimidated by all the muscle he brought ha ah aa!” laughed George as his son made way in the booth for two of the men to cram him in.

The man with the mustache lugged over a chair plopping it in front of the table.

“Thank you for coming all the way down here Ronnie '' said George examining a triangle-cut piece of bread stabbed in his fork.

“I came all the way down here, due to the respect I have for my elders” said Ronnie leaning in over his steroid bloated stomach.

“We’re wise, you know that and that makes you smart” said gramps grinning.

“Uhmm do you fellas want to order anything?” said the young Felt, interrupting.

“Nah think we might just take yours, if you don't want it?” said the closest thug, nodding to the “hogged harbor deluxe breakfast” parked in the next spot over from him at the table.

“Well I suppose I don’t like the food here anyway, but maybe it would be better if the pair of you ordered separate entrees that way you would have plenty to eat for such muscled figures' ' Mr. Felt stammered defending his food.

“Thanks,” said both the thugs, taking the plate of food for themselves. Two eggs, homefries, bacon, sausage, and ham were devoured on one plate by a pair of hyenas eating the little breakfast sausages with large fingers.

“Well I guess no food will go to waste now ha ha ha. You two should hang around him all day for the environment because he wastes so much you wouldn’t believe ha ha” laughed gramps.

“Anyway let’s get to talking about some business huh” said Ronnie pulling a few fingers out, and cracking them one by one.

“Alright business,” said the younger Felt.

“Alright well as you know I help run a private paramilitary and detective firm so obviously I know a lot of things" he lifted his eyebrows and smiled " We know about the testing you have done on your islands all over the world” said Ronnie.

"I don't control that part of Entercorp; it's somebody else, uh Matt Nantucker is running that whole operation" said the current CEO who had been placed on leave following the investigation.

"So you don't control Pinkers, L.O.O.G, or even fully your own company? What kinda business man are you?"

"The new school hands off CEO, the guy banking on the luck stream of not having to be a leader catch up to him, not adapting but hoping his employees do all the work they could do doing for themselves, you have to lead your business or you might as well start a co-op has my father used to say but hey at least no matter what happens you are guaranteed a golden parachute to bail out of the plane as it crashes violently into the alps " lectured the long ago retired business man at the table.

"Alright. Well you all are a supportive family" said Ronnie smiling.

"If anything we were too supportive growing up, when I was in my 60's I still had all kinds of women, this one has turned into an old widow with a bunch of cats" rambled grandpa Felt.

“I am currently under a massive investigation and court procedure from the federal government or has everyone forgotten that part!” yelled Mr. Felt.

“Quiet down Junior you will scare another kid” grumbled grandpa.

“We haven’t forgotten, why else would we be having this meeting? Ronnie asked, picking up a menu.

“Unless the food here is worth flying all the way down here just to try?”.

“It’s pretty average food,” answered the closest henchman.

Ronnie dropped the menu; instead he removed a shoulder bag, out of it a laptop and placed it on the empty front of the table. He briefly typed a 6-11 character phrase, clicked a few times, and then turned it around so that both Felts could see the screen.

“Huh, it's like subdivisions for corporations to buy up on the ocean” said grandpa.

“Yes dad that's exactly right, too bad I have been discriminated out of all of it by the FBI” said son leaning in on the table. “you know my dad has a nice house right down the street where we can talk about all this more privately without all these lawless heathens listing in on us”