It was the first time Weston had been invited behind the solid wood doors of Granpappy's study; that heavy barrier that separated the Covanger boys from the men. It wasn't age that opened those doors, he had older relatives that'd never been past them, if they were striving to - they smoked outside - hoping their wives would accomplish in the Kitchen what they couldn't on their own.

Weston sniffed his glass of bourbon, sat his cigar down in the crystal bowl - felt the silk of his smoking jacket against his neck, a reminder of the wealth, the opulence as obvious as the smoke in the room.

Of course when they were done the jackets would come off, just the man remained, the source of that wealth.

Covangers.

And if you could also peel away the man as easy as the jacket, if you could look beneath his skin to seek his secrets of success, you'd see a code. The words of Grandpappy, a list of edicts they lived by. And there was one rule - one word - held above all the rest.

Family.

"Fast thinking, Weston." His Uncle, Mayor Covanger praised him again as an aside, sharing his summary of the events, what else he'd learned - to give Weston a nod, a toast - and Weston raised the glass to his lips to disguise the grin that pulled, a toast in return to his uncle's ability to take the information and use it.

"They are working to uncover the cause - we don't have a total number of fountains but there seems to be thousands. There hasn't been any damages or deaths, though a few remain still in the 'bubbles' that haven't become structures yet. Until they can figure out why they can't be photographed, they're trying x-ray and other measures to determine..."

That Weston was still dazed from the events - the President. The President. Had apparently received a briefing of the events he outlined, that his family had been able to take his unique position, brought on by this unpredictable and unprecedented event - it'd opened doors for them, for him, gave them names, departments, connections for the most important matter gripping the world.

Inside information - the forefront.

If only Hickory hadn't failed...just plain water at theirs, strange. But no hallucinations from those who'd drank...

'They see emergency. We see opportunity.'

"Currently there is an 'investigate, but wait and see' mindset amongst leadership, they are cautious of the overall religious undertones, the majority believe its technology based but already the Vatican is using it to reclaim lost relevance. There's an injunction on the media until answers are found to discourage fear mongering, though most are choosing not to broadcast anything until these 'Fonts' are studied. Tests reveal that it's just water, with no explanation for the reported hallucinogenic experiences or physical properties."

Water - Was it really? He'd left school almost immediately after Hickory ran off, headed straight here where the rest of the family was already meeting and working to understand what was going on - not realizing what dinner would hold -

His family had rewarded him. Bourbon. Tobacco. His pick of steer from the family stocks, a parcel for him and his herd, a hundred head, and two trusted hands, Covanger Men. to run it - his stomach was full from steak and his ears still buzzing from all the praise. And all that was just window dressing...

Once more Weston felt the desire to feel his cheek because his true reward? He still couldn't believe it...

"Martial law will freeze prices," His father said, his legal advice - "We'll want to use our reserves to pursue the military contracts with the Guard activated, the civilian sector is going to be nothing but problems, we should get ahead of it now or the margins will be crushed between."

Food and oil. That was Covanger Coin. And his family members lounged and shared their various expertise and opinion, their seats and positions only seemed to be random, seemed to be causal - if you weren't paying attention. But if he wasn't paying attention he wouldn't be in here now -

A Grand Uncle added, and more voices shared their purpose, their plans:

"Rents will probably be locked any day as well, we'll raise them now, nobody will be moving with the uncertainty - cut whatever fat we can, then put another incentive up for our people so we can expand our operations and lock in the labor rate."

"This is our chance for mineral rights, we'll have the Redskins over a barrel," A cousin said, "They've over leveraged themselves with that casino, they'll be panicking and nobody will be gambling for months."

"Tell me what you think, Weston." Grandfather said and every voice in the room was snuffed out, all the attention turned as that scoped gaze sighted him in. The bourbon rippled in Weston's hand as he felt all the wet joy experienced suddenly desert his mouth, every eye turned, some sharp and dangerous, others mocking and hopeful, his father's hard and expectant -

"I don't know, Sir." Weston said quickly.

Grandfather didn't say anything but Weston could feel the rattle, the venomous rebuke as though he'd stepped in the entirely wrong place and realized - quick, quick, Not know - what do I think? Not business - he wouldn't ask me, he knows I'm not experienced yet - I think, I think - this shit is fucking crazy! We're possibly talking about Angels or Aliens or Something, here - and nobodies saying anything - nobodies addressing the elephant in the room.

"But...I think we need to know exactly what happened to Cory Schaffer." Weston said with a cracking voice, and like the moisture in his mouth, the very air of the room seemed to be sucked out by the spring of Grandfather's chair as he slowly leaned back, staring at the ceiling, that iron groan -

"Yes." Grandfather nodded - and Weston saw his father raise his glass quickly to his mouth, to cover a smile?

"Yes." Grandfather said again, the springs now relaxing as he leaned forward and allowed the room to breath, soft murmuring, echoed assent -

"Go drink, Weston." His Grandfather said followed by the sound of glass shattering on the stone floor, his father reaching for an expletive instead of a towel.

Grandfather didn't mean bourbon.

"Yes, Sir." Weston nodded, standing up he took in the rooms expressions, from smug to his father's disguised fury. Weston raised up his glass of bourbon and knocked it back, turning to the wall he finally allowed his face to flash a perplexed expression - the voices rumbled behind him as he unbuttoned his smoking jacket.

Crunching glass, his father's hands on his shoulder, the smallest squeeze - as the jacket was slipped off and he walked out the thick double doors without looking back.

They thudded behind him.

Not locked. Because once opened...

From the Kitchen he could hear laughter, the sound of wine glasses clinking on granite, the light jazz where the women were having their own caucus, though one far more nuanced, far more complicated - Dangerous? Because if the men handled the business?

Weston saw his reflection in the window on his way out the door, his most valuable reward, right there on his cheek, blood red - he'd been careful not to touch it less it smudge, his ticket to enter the big leagues...and a reminder.

Weston needed a wife. If he was going to go anywhere in this family, he needed a good one. And if he wanted to be more than a Covanger? If he wanted to be the Covanger?

Weston needed the best...he needed May.

She was brilliant - sophisticated, subtle and talented to the point her beauty was almost an afterthought. The entire town knew her, loved her - the entire congregation worshipped to her music. Weston felt he needed May before the event. Knew she wanted to wear his ring - knew she was worthy of his name -

Covanger -

The problem was - to 'Go drink' meant so much more...