The Art of the Hustle 2 (Complete)

Chapter Twelve

Lying on the floor of his penthouse apartment, Trevor had hit rock bottom. All the drugs and alcohol in the world could not take away the pain of losing someone. Trevor had felt depression before, but nothing on this level. The money, fame, fancy possessions, accomplishments... none of it mattered to him. He would happily give it all away to get back the one and only thing in the world that he truly loved. At times, he wondered if there was even a point to carry on living.

Trevor was unreachable. The battery on his phone had run out days prior, and he had stayed offline since the news of the accident. The few people who knew where he lived stopped coming by out of consideration. They didn't have any concerns of suicide from Trevor so they wanted to give him some space.

After being cooped up in his apartment for a few months, he realized that it was actually not good for his mental health for several reasons. Everywhere he looked displayed reminders of what he had lost. The torment and agony left him crippled and debilitated. He needed to get out.

As a recognizable figure of one of the world's most successful companies, it wouldn't be easy to lay low.

Hiding behind three-day's growth of facial hair and a pair of dark sunglasses, a hat, and a long overcoat, Trevor exited his posh Yaletown condo. He headed up Smithe Street to avoid large groups of people. Stumbling down the sidewalk like a zombie, Trevor tried his best to maintain his balance and not bump into things. He was still a bit drunk from the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed throughout the day.

The street was barren and poorly lit — perfect for attracting the wrong kinds of people. Following behind him were two young boys. One of them spotted the distinguishable Burberry pattern on the turned-up collar of his overcoat. It was an obvious sign that Trevor had money, which combined with his inebriated state made him an easy target for any opportunistic criminal.

"You alright, sir?" one of them called out. Trevor ignored them.

"You should be careful out here," the other boy said, now standing next to Trevor. "You're looking a little drunk. Are you sure you don't need any help?"

While one boy distracted Trevor, the other reached into Trevor's coat and grabbed his wallet. With the small leather cardholder in his hand, he pulled it out, and removed a shiny gold metal Unity Card.

"Holy, shit," the boy said, loud enough for his friend to hear. He was looking at a one-of-a-kind Unity Card with the name 'Trevor Morrison' embossed on it. "Do you know who this is?"

Even in his inebriated state, Trevor knew what was happening. He quickly turned around and grabbed one boy by the arm, causing him to drop the slim leather wallet. Trevor then shoved him into a parked car, setting off the alarm. This caused the boys to panic.

Without hesitation, the boy sprang back in retaliation and threw a looping left hook that landed cleanly. The impact knocked Trevor to the ground. As he attempted to get up, the boy's laid their boots to him. They kicked Trevor repeatedly and eventually fled the scene, leaving Trevor on the sidewalk battered and barely conscious.

Bleeding from him nose and lip, Trevor picked himself up and checked for damage. Aside from a few cuts and bruises, there didn't appear to be any broken bones. On the ground were his broken sunglasses and his wallet. He bent down and picked up his wallet and put it in his pocket. Checking his wrist, he noticed his watch was missing, but couldn't remember if he was wearing it when he left his house.

Feeling a little more sober after the altercation, Trevor continued on his way, walking North on Burrard, past Robson, Georgia, and then Hastings. He continued to Canada Place where he entered the Fairmont Pacific Rim — a place where he and Ashley would often go for lunch. As a result of his frequent visits, he had relationships with several of the executive and management staff there and figured they would respect his privacy.

He entered the hotel looking like a homeless man that had just been beaten up. Security was quick to confront him.

"Can I help you?" one of them asked.

"I need to speak to the manager on duty?" Trevor mumbled through a busted lip.

"What's this regarding?"

"It's none of your business," Trevor shot back.

"Are you a guest here?" the guard asked.

"No."

"Well then, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step outside."

"Look, I don't want to get into a thing with you, but I really need to speak with the manager on duty."

"Not unless you tell me what it's regarding."

"What's your name?" Trevor asked the guard.

"Tyson."

"Let me ask you a question, Tyson. Do you have a Unity Card?"

"Of course."

"Let me guess, you have a plastic black card?" Trevor said.

"Yeah."

Trevor reached into his pocket and pulled out his metallic gold card. He held it up for the man to read the name. "I have one too, only mine is a little different."

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry Mr. Morrison. I didn't recognize you. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything? I can call someone to look at your injuries."

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary. All I need is to speak with the manager on duty."

"Certainly, sir. Right away, sir. Please wait right here and I will go get the manager. Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, I think I've had enough to drink tonight."

"Very well then, I'll be right back with the manager."

The lobby of the Fairmont had a lounge area that was bustling with people, and Trevor wanted to remain discreet. He found a quiet corner and found a seat. Taking his handkerchief out of his pocket, he held it up to his lip.

A few minutes later a well-dressed man greeted Trevor with a pleasant smile. "Mr. Morrison," the man said. "How are you?"

"I've seen better days," Trevor said, standing to his feet, giving the manager a good look at his face. Immediately, the man's expression changed.

"Oh my gosh!" the manager said, shocked to see the face of a man who had hardly slept in days, had been drinking heavily for just as long, and who was bleeding in more places than one.

As the two spoke, Trevor looked around. Nobody was paying attention to him, which was what he wanted. He was in need of a place to lay low for an indeterminate amount of time and did not want to go to the front desk. The less people who knew about his stay there would be for the best.

After a short conversation, Trevor was escorted by the manager to the presidential suite.

"On behalf of myself and the entire staff here, the Fairmont welcomes you. I assure you, Mr. Morrison, we operate with the upmost discretion with our guests and respect their privacy. We hope you enjoy your stay with us."

"Thank you," Trevor said, shaking the man's hand.

The manager handed Trevor a business card. "If there is anything you need, please feel free to call me personally 24/7 and I will make the necessary arrangements to fulfill your request. Whatever you need, I will take care of it for you. You're in good hands."

"I appreciate that very much. Thank you."