The Story of Ms. Renfield (On Hold)

Chapter Two: 122-year-old Business

Present day, Seattle...

Outside of a historical red brick two story building, nestled in the posh downtown area that had first been built with lumber from the neighboring woods, the name plate read 'Law Office of Renfield. Establish in 1902' in the polished brass plaque. Inside was an open reception area with large windows to allow natural light to pour through. Exposed rough wooded beams to pay homage to the past of the city played against the cool whiteness of the walls. A comfortable sitting area that hosted fresh, hot coffee, goodies from the local bakery, and reading material about the city surrounding them is a touch that was maintained for their clients.

In the top floor of the building was a catacomb of offices of the lawyers and paralegals that made the 122-year-old business run smoothly. One of the larger offices that had a street view, the name plate adoring the door read 'Jordan E. Renfield'.

Inside the office, the scent of expresso filled the air in the mid-morning. A woman of 35 years of age sat at the antique mahogany desk that had served her father and his father before him well in their years of employment with their family business. Her wealth of collar bone length, dark earthly brown curls had been twisted and held up with a hair stick in the shape of a cat. Her complexion was on the pale peachy side since she had lived in the Rain City all her life and her father's family had come from London at the beginning of the last century.

Jordan was reading over the latest business venture that their oldest client, the Drake Foundation had purchase. Her full, pink lips were thin with anger as she read about the failing nightclub that they had already started to pour money into. Taking off her cat eye rim, black frame glasses, she pinched the bridge of her slender nose as she reached with her other to make a call on her office phone.

"Hey, shit for brains. Call me back. I told you not to buy that fucking money pit!" She snarled into the receiver to the voicemail box of the eccentric Vlad Drake, the owner of the Drake Foundation. Usually, one would not speak to their more valuable client that way, but Jordan had known him since she was 16 years old, and she was a Renfield. She knew.

The intercom on her desk squawked to life with the voice of Louis Person asking for her to come to their office. Sighing, Jordan stood up to her five-foot five frame, slipping her plum purple, low heel shoes back on her feet. Forgoing her business jacket since she was just going down the hall, she made her way in her matching to her shoes, pencil skirt and fresh turned cream colored blouse that fitted her curvy frame well.

"Thanks for coming in. We have a potential client who asked for you personally." Louis handed her a folder with the basic information about the client. "This came from their office today.

"Holmwood Steward Corp?" Jordan questioned, scanning the paperwork with her currently grass green eyes. Eyes that changed shades depending on her mood. "From London, England." She read more. There was a tingly of uncertainly playing on the back of her neck about it. Holmwood and Steward were names she heard and learned about while growing up in the Renfield household.

"Yes, it is a company that was founded by the late Lord Arthur Holmwood and Dr. John Steward in the early 1900s. Blood testing and genetic sequencing from what I read about them. They want to establish a branch here in Seattle. Finally crossing the pond, they claimed." Louis shared. "It was the mention of your last name that made them intrigue to do business with us." The older man in the tan business suit smiled at Jordan.

"I bet." Jordan huffed while looking over the paperwork. "What they required is great. I will have to pass a few of my smaller clients to others for a time." Jordan voiced her concerned.

"Already in the process. And I will be taking over for the Drake Foundation." Louis stated.

Jordan jerked her head up from the paperwork. She closed the folder and dropped it on the desk of her co-worker. "Louis, you can't take over the Drake Foundation." Jordan plainly said. "According to the original contract that the written in 1902 between the founder of the Drake Foundation and William Renfield, someone from the bloodline of my family must be the person handling their ventures. No one else or the contract will be null and void." It was a fail-safe devised between the two parties. A way to ensure the family secret stays in the family.