After the Bighorn, Chapter Fourteen The Case advances while slaves serve.

 After The Bighorn, Chapter Fourteen

Patrick Masters’ Narrative.

It had been a productive day in our preparation for the patent trial in Frick Steel vs VanRijn Patent Aggregators. We had worked at the Frick Steel office throughout the morning, with Richard Thornton and Dana Winter setting an example of hard work without bickering. Their rivalry seemed to have settled down into one of co-operative competition which spurred the other two associates to do the same. J Augustus Frick IV, and young Zach Frick led the Frick Steel internal team and working together seemed to be the theme of the day. Zach Frick quelled a couple of mutinies by some of the older Frick Company lawyers who objected to the prominence given to the younger, energetic group. He seemed to have a particular trouble with Dana Winter, but she avoided trouble by not blowing up at him.
In the mid-afternoon, Augustus and Zach Frick and Richard Thornton and I met with the VanRjjn team at a neutral site. Their working together did not seem to be as harmonious as ours, which I was glad to see. I gathered that they did not share a common space and communication between the groups was poor. Vansittart and his younger associate seemed less on top of things than the local lawyer Barbara Quigley and her team. Quigley was accompanied by the male associate I had encountered in court on Monday. From her attitude, I gathered that his role was to listen and carry her briefcase. There was the same class divide with Vansittart and his minion.  J Augustus Frick was able to get Vansittart and Quigley snarling at each other; I gathered she thought he should do more preparation and review of materials; he thought she should work the local levers of power more to their advantage. We came away with some advantages gained, because the two principals on the other side could not coordinate.
After returning to the Art Deco Frick Building, we quickly briefed the rest of the team. Dana Winter suggested that Richard Thornton and I accompany her to the bar at the Marriot across the street for further briefing.
In the bar it was over air-conditioned. The clothes of the waitresses, designed to elicit tips were thin and somewhat skimpy. Service however was slow. I suggested that someone go and fetch our drinks from the bar. After a quick look around, Dana sighed and rose to do this service.
As Dana collected the tray of drinks from the bar, Zach observed that she looked quite natural in a serving role, “though she would have to lose that jacket. Her silk blouse would be enough to get her some good tips.”
Richard looked a little uncomfortable.
“She is a colleague, a respectable woman, a lady.”
“Don’t tell me you would not like to see her in a shorter skirt, without the jacket, in a nice thin piece of silk. You are a man after all; she is a desirable woman.”
Thornton looked uncomfortable but said nothing as Dana returned with our drinks. As she distributed our orders, she had to dip into a type of curtsey beside the table. She was very graceful. Even a professional woman knows how to be attractive and serve men. It is instinctual, I think.
We reviewed our progress, then Richard Thornton and Dana Winter left for dinner.
“But I will pay for myself, it is not a date,” she informed him. Thornton looked disappointed.
Zach drove Augustus Frick and me back to the Frick Mansion. He garaged the car, while Augustus and I went directly in throug the front door.
There were two kneeling kajirae inside the foyer; we gave them our briefcases.
“Let me show you the walled gardens before dinner, it is a quiet sheltered place within the grounds.”
I assented and we entered the gardens by a locked gate. Inside we encountered Chelsea Frick. She was calmer than I would have expected after Wyandotte Frick, the new head of the Family had deprived her of her handmaids. She seemed more docile than I thought she would be.
She greeted us with a smile and welcomed us to the garden.
“There is a group of the new slaves being exercised, Kailieka and Jade have charge of them. Mrs Crandall is here in the gardens too.”
The presence of Mrs Crandall, the new housekeeper brought in by Wyandotte Frick when he had replaced Chelsea’s murdered father, went a long way to explain Chelsea’s docile demeanor. Mrs Crandall tolerated no nonsense.
“If you will excuse me, I have to go and dress of dinner.”
Chelsea smiled and walked towards the house. The presence of Mrs Crandall explained Chelsea’s desire to be elsewhere, I thought.
We walked through the treed garden, Augustus Frick pointing out flowers and shrubs of interest.
“And that is the maze, full of little private spaces and nooks, very convenient that it is just off the ballroom.”
Walking further down the path, we came to a lawned space where the girls were being led in stretching and flexibility exercises. They seemed happy to be outdoors after nearly a week in the kennels in the cellar. There were four of them, of different sizes and shapes, all lovely. I recognized two, the one who had been whipped for refusing to remove her clothing, and the short mouthy one, the one who was half yappy mouth and half boob. Frick cleared his throat.
The girls all dropped to their knees. Frick spoke to Jade.
“Why are these girls outside?”
“Master, it is because they are ahead in the Gorean Language lessons. Because they were ahead, we put them to the post with the phalluses for some training?”
“How did they do in that training?”
“Reasonably well, for beginners, Master.”
“How did that one do?”, asked Frick, pointing to the tallest girl; she had 10 inscribed on her breast.
“Very well, Master, or at least adequately.”
He crooked his finger.
“Come, into the maze, demonstrate what you have learned.”
The girl, who wore a white collar, looked terrified, but rose and followed the distinguished lawyer.
I looked over the rest. I remembered Nineteen. She had been mouthy before she learned the imprudence of such behavior. Short, but full of hip and breast, she looked like an ancient fertility figure from the prehistoric middle east. I pointed at her.
“Heel the master to the maze, Nineteen, and be attentive to your lessons.”
Once we entered the maze, I put her before me, so I could watch her as we found a little nook, complete with a stone bench and small statue.
I sat on the bench, “pleasure me, Nineteen.”
She was adequate, growing more enthusiastic as she proceeded. I decided she need not be punished for her performance, although she would need improvement.
As I made to return to the house, I returned her to Jade.
“She was not bad, she needs more training.”
“Yes master.”

Slave Juli’s narrative.

Off to Master Patrick’s office again. I do not know what Master Gerry Reiss will demand of me today. He has become less and less reluctant to look upon me as a slave and not the Juliet Chen he knew when I was a respectable Free Woman. Last night my Master, Patrick, sent me instructions from Pittsburgh as to how I should dress today. I am his; I dress as he instructs. I am wearing a yellow tube-top type thing, it leaves my midriff and shoulders exposed; of course it has no arms at all. The material is light, not silk, but something like it. It is gathered by elastics at the top and bottom and I surely jiggle when I walk.
I remember Master Woodrow Frick speaking of silk when we were on the Frick ranch, the Lazy F out in Montana.
“Silk is appropriate for a slave woman. It drapes her body nicely, clinging to her curves. It follows her movements; it does not catch on her body. It slides along her; it falls into a graceful pile when it slides off her. It is proper for dancers, for pleasure slaves. It is soft as she is soft, yielding as she is yielding. Women dressed in silk know that they are women, and they are designed to be soft and yielding. It is the proper clothing for slaves. Many free women in their delusions wear it, denying what it means. They are suitable for the collar.”
The rest of my outfit is comprised of a bright red wraparound skirt, short of course; and silver strapped sandals, the footbed is cork, rising to quite a high heel at the rear. High heels enhance a woman’s look, it tightens the bum and leg muscles. Of course, besides these advantages for men, it is hard or impossible to run in them. Of course, men put women in high heels. On Gor I am told, Free Women wear flat slippers. I bet some of them wear heels when they can get away with it!
In the lobby of Patrick’s building, I saw a group of women getting ready to go up the elevator. They did not seem to be dressed as lawyers but seemed respectable. I remember when I was a respectable woman. Now I am a slave. Would I change back now I have worn the collar for a time. I can honestly say I would not.
I wait until the guards at the security desk are not busy. I am a slave; I have to wait for free folk. As before, the female guard ignores more. However, the male guard does not. He leads me to the door to the stairs. I am not allowed to use the elevator. He follows me up the stairs. He is a few steps behind. He can look up my skirt as I climb. I am sure he enjoys the view.
When we emerge into the reception area of Patrick’s firm, the women whom I saw downstairs are waiting. Indignantly, Mrs Hernandez pointed to an alcove where extra stationery was kept. I knew what was expected. In the alcove, I knelt beneath the shelves out of sight until she had time to take me back to Patrick’s office, where I was to sort his mail.
It took some time for the reception area to clear. I could hear the gaggle of women in the area for some while. When it was quiet, Mrs Hernandez led me back to Patrick’s office. She knocked on the door, and Master Gerry Weiss bid her enter.
“It is Juli, Mister Weiss, come to sort the mail.” From her tone, she might as well have said, ‘that slut Juli”.
“Thank you, Mrs Hernandez. I will let you know when it is time to escort her out.”
He pointed to a spot on the floor.  “You will kneel there.”
So I was not to sort the mail immediately. He was enjoying see me kneel. I knelt in the middle of the floor. Master Gerry Weiss made a telephone call. I knelt and waited. He finished his call, walked over to the credenza, poured himself a cup of coffee, and regarded me.
“Straighten your back and put back your shoulders.” He regarded me for a moment, then went back to making phone calls. He did not offer me any coffee of course. The delicious smell filled my nostrils. It had been a while since I was given coffee. I knelt there.
There came a tap on the door. After a moment the door opened and Miss Jane Bennet, one of the lawyers, came in. When I was respectable and free and Patrick’s girlfriend, she sucked up to me. Recently she has treated me with disdain. She looked at me, confused. Master Gerry continued his call. Miss Jane Bennet just looked at me, barely dressed and with my collar clearly visible.
When he finished his call, Master Gerry motioned her over. They began discussing the temporary data clerks that the Temporary Employment Service sent to work on my Master’s big case. Miss Bennet agreed that most of them were suitable and could be set to work cataloging exhibits immediately.
“And they know how to dress for an office too. Not like some.” She sniffed.
Master Gerry looked at her. “Juli belongs to Patrick, he can dress he as he wills.”
She did not say anything.
“Some women look well on their knees, do they not? Patrick believes so and I am coming around to his way of thinking.”
Miss Bennet did not say anything. I am sure that Patrick had sex with her when we were still courting and I was free. Some women do that to get ahead. I am sure that I am not the only woman that Patrick has bent over that desk, and that Miss Bennet was another. But she is free.
Miss Bennet looked at me. Although what I look like would be a juicy piece of gossip, I think she will keep it to herself until she sees a moment when it will be to her advantage to use it.
Master Gerry dismissed her and had me stand, with my hands behind my head.
“You look lovely today, Juli. Even lovelier without that top.”
I removed the top and he connected the chain to my collar, the other end to a concealed ring near the credenza. Patrick must have told him where it is. The chain hung down my body. Master Gerry moved it to the right and the left pressing it into my breasts, The feeling of the chain on my body, the weight hanging from my collar reminds me I am a slave, to be used as Masters wish.
Master Gerry had used the heavier of the chains Patrick keeps in the office. Master Gerry looped the chain around the outside of my breast, then underneath, raising it up. He did the same with the other. He let the chain fall, it made a soft clinking sound as it fell, a noise I now associate with excitement. He unwrapped the red skirt. His finger followed the chain down my body ending up in the hair near my sex.
“Patrick lets you retain your hair?”
“Master Patrick prefers it Master. Nicely trimmed of course.”
“If I owned you I would have you shaved, so you could hide nothing from your owner.”
“Yes, Master.”
“My wife, Myrna, used to show pedigreed dogs. On your hands and knees, Patrick tells me that slaves are regarded as beasts.”
“Yes Master.”
I was posed in a show dog position. The girls on the Lazy F are sometimes posed thusly. Master Weiss returned to his work, looking at me from time to time as he made notations on his legal pad. Finally, he took Master Patrick’s mail from the desk and put it in front of me to sort.
I commenced to putting the mail in order. One pile was personal, I would take that home with me; one pile was business, that would be handed to Mrs Hermandez; the third was the largest, junk mail.
Master Weiss looked up. “The junk mail can be placed in the shredding bin. Carry it in your mouth to the bin there, moving on your hands and knees.”
I am a slave. I obeyed, crawling, the chain clinking softly.
Master Weiss moved behind me. I held my breath. It had been over half a week since my master left, my slave fires were hot. He must have sensed that.
“You want to serve, Juli, don’t you. You are hot.”
“Yes Master, please master.”
Then with me still on my hands and knees, he put me to slave use. At first tentative, but then more insistently, almost savagely he took me. I believe he was shocked by the intensity of the slave orgasm, but he kept on until he was satisfied. I collapsed on the floor.
Master Weiss resumed his telephone calls while I knelt, a used slave, by his desk. The chain hung down my body and folded seductively over my left thigh. This was one of the things Tiffany the slave dancer had taught me when we were together in Montana.
Master Gerry Weiss had known me when I was Miss Juliet Chen and he was Gerry Weiss and Patrick’s friend. Now he had used me as a slave. How we had changed, how much had changed. I was likely the first slave he had known, what possibilities would it raise in his mind?
I put such things out of my mind. I was a slave, I did not need to consider such things. I had been used, used as a slave beast and I was content. I have come far since I was a respectable free woman.

After The Bighorn Chapter Five: Battle is Joined by Tracker

 Battle is Joined

by Tracker.

(Originally published by Emma Of Gor, 29 August 2024, https://emmaofgor.blogspot.com/search/label/Tracker%27s%20Stories)

(Illustration, entry of the Mistress, courtesy of The Palatine, , https://palatine.bdsmlr.com/

Battle is joined

( reminder that these events take place in 2016, the early days of the new feminism)

The Frick building, the Marriot Downtown where my lawyers were to be housed and  headquartered and the Federal Courthouse form a triangle within a block of each other in downtown Pittsburgh.  There is a sort of park between the Marriot and the Courthouse, with a Plaza connecting to the Frick Building.  The Hilton, where VanRijn’s minions lurked, was across the street from the Marriot.

Wyandotte Frick proved competent enough at Administrative chores, though I was still unsure if enough strength lay hidden under his bland exterior. He assigned me Zach Frick, who is a lawyer, though exceedingly young.  He should be able to understand my requirements though.  We first toured the Marriot Downtown.  It was Wyandotte’s idea that my team of lawyers should work and live there while he wanted me to stay at the Frick Mansion where I could be close for consultations.  I was not at all adverse to the idea of staying where there were so many curvy distractions, hot in their collars.  

I wanted to observe the running of a headquarters of an acquisition operation just in case the chance to operate one for myself should occur.  I truly miss Juli, I treasure her so much.  I know she has much to learn; she is eager but needs instruction.  But still, semi-trained as she is, I would not trade her for any of the hot lovelies in the Frick Mansion.  I would like, though, to have that Chelsea Frick at my feet, begging for mercy, begging for love and use in a collar.

Last night she was permitted to eat again with the Family.  She is very manipulative and seems to be worming her way back into Wyandotte’s favor.  Not by flirting, but by pretending to be all properly chastened and submitting to male authority.  She did not stamp her pretty little foot once during her appearance last night.  In a mirror, when she thought she was not observed, I saw the mask drop, just for an instant. Part fury, part calculation, all needing a spanking.  When Wyandotte, Woodrow, Zach, and I joined the ladies following our after-dinner brandies she was all honey.  I don’t think that Mrs Wyandotte Frick, or Mrs Magruder were fooled.

Chelsea maneuvered to have me help her distribute the coffee, which she poured daintily.  It was in no way blatantly sexual, not at all the gracious servings ritual performed by the collared girls when I had first arrived.  She seemed to follow a Victorian ladies ritual; I don’t think I would have been fooled, even if I had not caught that glimpse of malice earlier in the mirror.

“Do you live in a house or an apartment in San Francisco,” Mr Masters.

“I have just purchased a house”, Miss Frick, “an old Victorian, built just following the Civil War by a banker.  It is, I think, about the same vintage as this house, built by your illustrious ancestors.”  After that thrust, reminding her that she did not own the house of her ancestors, the house in which she grew up, I went on to describe the glories of Drysdale House.

“It is French Second Empire in architecture, a grand main floor, bedrooms above, and more on an additional floor under the Mansard roof.  A lovely grand ballroom, with dining room.  Because it is on a slope, the level below walks out into the gardens.  There is a swimming pool on that level, and below that cellars with all the room, space, storerooms and accessories one could desire.”

She was rocked a bit by the veiled reference to her not being the Mistress of Frick House, but did not show it.  That was not part of her plan, whatever her plan was.

“You must have me out to visit some time, Mr Masters, I would truly be excited to visit you there.”

“And I would be happy of your visit.  I hope I can accommodate you as you deserve; as is fitting for one of your qualities.”

She went on, “Of course here at Frick Mansion, we have some land and can keep horses, with stabling and forges for horseshoes, and for branding beasts.  And cages to keep dogs and other animals.”

I was not fooled by her smiling allusions.  She wanted her slaves back.  Fliss and the other handmaiden that had been repossessed as the property of the Mansion.  I could not remember the other girl’s name.

I smiled blandly as she politely and, in all deference, poured me more coffee, then offered some to the other ladies and the men of the House, Wyandotte, Woodrow and Zach.  She was gracious enough, but a little stiff in her pampered freedom, not at all like the supple grace of Angela, the collared slave.  With only a little experience of slaves though, I could, I thought, discern the raw materials, the potentialities of the Chelsea Frick.  Or maybe it was from my imagination, born of desire? 

“We still have at Drysdale House the old stables, mostly converted to parking now, that were there in the old days.  The forge is still there though, I suppose we would have the capacity to mark such beasts as we might find necessary or desirable.  And the old kennels are still there in the basement.  There are rumours of the former owners’ involvement in the shanghaiing of sailors and other cargos in the old days of the Barbary Coast.”

Sadly, even if Miss Chelsea Frick did visit San Francisco, out of deference to her family, she would be unlikely to occupy a kennel next to my darling Juli.

We chatted after that, she trying to find out my financial circumstances, me deflecting with interesting cases and instances in patent law, which sadly, so many people do not find fascinating at all.

Janey’s Narrative.

I am so scared.  Ever since I was grabbed at the exit area of the Festival I have been disoriented and frightened.  

I keep going back over my last hours before being grabbed.

After the last night of the Festival, I went back to my tent to sleep. My plan for the morning was to grab one of the shuttle buses to the nearest town, and then take the commuter train back to Ann Arbor.  I go to the University of Michigan there and was fortunate to find an intern’s job in the Art Department for the summer, although I declined the extra money that would come with being a Life Model.  I have standards.

I didn’t want to travel by car with the friends I came to the Festival with, because it was a mixed company of men and women without a chaperone.  A single woman has to be so careful about her reputation these days.  Not that that bothers me, I approve of the New Feminism that is starting to make headway in advanced circles like Universities and Colleges.  I expect it will soon start to spread into wider Society.  I am proud to be innocent of congress with men and believe my innocence and demureness attracts men to protect me.

My tent was in the Women’s Protected Area of the Festival. This innovation provides a safe place for women to camp.  The portable sections of crossing wire keep us safe, even though they seem to have been borrowed from a cattle handling ranch.  Soon, I expect, as our New Feminist Movement Spreads I expect that there will be companies dedicated to making fences for keeping women safe.  Perhaps the Frick Company Lazy F Ranch division that made these Livestock fences will branch out?

Just before going to sleep, I got a text from Amanda Sloan, telling me that she had secured me a ticket on the first Woman’s Safe Shuttle to leave in the morning.  This shuttle would get me back to Ann Arbor earlier than any other method.  I was very touched.  Amanda and I had been tussling for two years over the leadership of our New Feminist Chapter.  Rivals in a way.  I had helpfully pointed out to her that sometimes her pursuit of Jimmy Klein had been a little too blatant, her skirts a little too short.  She had not responded well at the time to my kind suggestions, or to losing the leadership of the group to me, but I was very touched by her gesture.

I set my phone alarm to wake me at 6:00 Am and blissfully awoke to “It’s a great day to be Pure.” by the Veiled Ladies.  I quickly washed, packed and got ready to leave for the Exit Area.  I contrasted the order and neatness inside our area (I nearly said cage, how silly), and the disorder outside. Things were so much better when arranged the New Feminist Way.  The Safe Watching areas at the Festival where so much nicer than the free for all areas of those caged outside.  We were protected from the men leering at women from outside the enclosure, safe inside our steel wired walls.  Some silly women said they felt caged in, but they were just not used to being protected.  Of course, some women were not modestly dressed, wearing short shorts and skimpy bikini tops to encourage the beastly men outside.  One or two even pulled up their shirts!  I wrote in the suggestion box that a dress code would be appropriate next year.

As I approached the departure gate, I saw about 15 or 20 women already gathered. I joined them under the watchful eyes of three large burly men.  I was glad of their protection, but happy they kept their distance.  Just as I walked up, one stood up on a green and white picnic table and started speaking.  He had to start a few times before he could get all the women to be quiet and listen.  It was a bit funny to see him go red in the face waiting for the women to let him talk.

“Ladies, ladies, please.  The bus is a little delayed, but there will be a free breakfast while you wait.  In that grove behind those trees, the Nutri-Girl people are having a free tasting of one of their new flavors.  Please move there in an orderly way.”

Rudely, some of the ladies, laughed and shouted at him.  Many were not really dressed as ladies should be, nor behaving as they should towards a helpful, protective man.

I felt that in my position as Leader of the Ann Arbor New Feminists, a position I meant to keep from Amanda Sloan, I should set I good example.  

“Thank you, sir, for your consideration.  This way Ladies, to the free breakfast”

Sometimes a cheerful disposition and Innocent Manner are not appreciated, especially in the morning.  Some of the Ladies, especially a blonde who was not only dressed inappropriately, but in a way I can only describe as Modern Slut, told me to stuff it and stuff the Nutri-Girl.  Others joined her.  However, armored in my knowledge of my virtuous state, I led the way.  Some others followed saying, “free food is a good hangover cure.”

In the grove, nicely hidden from the views of curious gawkers, thus suitable for a group of Ladies to eat, was a small booth reading Nutri-Girl and a delicious smell.  There were wooden bowls ready to be filled, spoons and blessedly, hot coffee.

I asked the women serving, what flavor was being tried.  

“It is a variation on our Apple and Cinnamon flavor.  This is Apple, Cinnamon, and Tassa.”

I tried to look like I knew all about Tassa, but really it is hard to keep up with all the new foods, the Quinoas and bubble teas and such.  An immodestly dressed woman behind me, with lovely long black curly hair didn’t try to hide her ignorance, “What is Tassa?”

The older women putting Nutri-girl into the bowls laughed, “Why bless you honey, you will never forget your first taste of Tassa.  Or rather, you won’t taste it, but you will remember its effects.  It is odorless and tasteless, it is macrobiotic, and organic, and it promotes deep healthful sleep.”

Well, I love my Nutri-girl in the morning, so easy to prepare and so healthful.  And I had been having dreams lately that kept me up.  Dreams of strong men taking away Amanda Sloan as a slut and putting me in undisputed charge of our New Feminist Chapter.  Strong men putting her at their feet.  So I eagerly took a full bowl of the Nutri-girl.

I took my bowl and coffee a little distance from the rest of the group.  Some were too immodestly dressed and behaved for my liking and I kept my distance so it would not be thought I was with them or like them.

After three spoonful’s, I stopped eating.  Something about the taste was off.  One of the special things about me, besides my purity, was that I am a supertaster.  We are a small minority of the population who can taste minute amounts of flavors that others do not notice. We know the exact amount of pepper in a dish; we can detect the smallest dash of a spice.  Something was a little off.  I emptied the bowl of Nutri-girl out, but secretly and behind a bush.  I did not want to hurt the feelings of the Nutri-girl people or the nice Lady who so kindly served me the food.  A Lady is always considerate, even when pointing out the faults of others.

I must have dozed off a little.  I woke with a start when two men grabbed me.  A hood was pulled over my head, a smelly leather hood.  As it was being laced behind my head, an attached leather gag forced its way into my mouth.  I could feel it had interior pads over my ears and eyes.

I should not have wandered away from the group.  But what a shock these men will get.  Inside of one of the slutty girls, they got one of the few modest women in the grove!  The joke will be on them, as I am a certified Innocent, my wholesomeness will shine through and they will be prompted to led my go with apologies, as men do when they make a mistake with a virtuous woman.  I will let them beg for my forgiveness, maybe on their knees.  If and when they grovel enough, I will graciously grant them pardon.  I am a Lady, and a certified Innocent.

Then I was grabbed, my wrists were tied behind me..  I was too tired and ill to fight; I just went limp.

Now I think I am in the back of truck being taken who knows where to what I am sure is a terrible fate.  My Grandmother was right about men, they are such beasts.

Zach Frick and I crossed over to the Frick Corporation Building after settling matters at the Marriot Downtown.  It was a strong masonry building, but seemed also light and airy and beautiful.  Zach, almost reading my mind said, “Goreans respect strength but revere beauty.  The building went up in 1912, it was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, he did the annex too, in 1937.  The annex has our consumer products division now, well, the shipping and testing, the manufacturing we do in one of our factories.  We still manufacture here in the States.”

“Really, not offshore?”

“Home manufacturing keeps pesky customs officials out of our business, and it is convenient to have access to a supply of Factory Girls.  They come and go. Girls come, and Girls go.”

The offices of the Frick Legal Department were on the third floor.  The patents department was pushed up against an engineering section that shared the floor.  Beyond the engineers, mostly men, there was a portal to the annex, a sign said Product Batch Testing and Quality Control.

“The engineers would like to move to a blank space on the Fifth Floor, they find the lawyers boring and the girls in testing flighty and distracting.  They are very very serious men, obsessed with tensile strength and breaking points and the qualities of specialty steels.  We manufacture those in the US too.  The Chinese can make them too, but we have some secrets we want to keep secret, so we don’t manufacture there.  Besides, if we did they would keep the best stuff for themselves and we would get the rest.”

I looked around at the engineers’ section; it seemed like something out of an early 60s NASA photo.  All those serious men with very short hair, and wearing white short-sleeved shirts and ties.  The computers sitting on the wooden desks seemed the only modern things in front of me.  There didn’t seem to be any women in the department at all.  Not surprising, I guessed, with the way the Fricks ran their business.  The hard-working  men barely looked up as Zach led me to the Frick legal department.

Zach and I approached the Frick Corporation Legal Department, I noticed the carpet was thicker, the paneling on the walls became real wood.  

“Some of the original furnishings here, the distinctive Frank Lloyd Wright touches and decorations.  Wyandotte wanted to restore the building, but Willard Frick was not interested.  What he wanted to get done, got done, what did not interest him, did not get done.  He didn’t delegate well.”

Zach’s voice had dropped a little.  Even in death, Willard dominated the Fricks.

We stopped outside a door that read J. Augustus Frick IV, esq.  Zach knocked and entered.  A puckish man, cheerful looking, bald on top, white hair around the sides and back, came out from behind a huge desk.

“Patrick Masters?  A great honor, a great honor, sir.  So pleased to meet you.”  We sat down around a mahogany table, round and intricately carved.

“It doesn’t go with the FLW stuff, but I like it, I like it.”  The little man in the old fashioned but immaculate three piece suit could have come out of a play by Agatha Christie by way of Charles Dickens. He opened a file and took out his papers.

“Now, let’s get ready to tear these bastards a new one.”

In the next hour, I learned that Augie Frick had a keen legal mind. He wanted to go for the jugular against the Vincent VanRijn Patent Aggregators Corp.  

“Unfortunately we have been starved of resources here.  Cousin Willard believed in going hard and violently at any problem.  We only did basic work here, no defensive patent aggregation.  Not enough lawyers and not enough smart lawyers.  I hope Wyandotte will give us what we need here in the future. We will see what he is made of in the next few months.”

He went on, “One of the main problems is documentation, some of our most important patents don’t have a lot of work product behind them, to outsiders it might look as though they dropped into our hands from a clear blue sky.”

He looked at me to make sure I understood.  I nodded. I continued, “so the most important alloys and processes will be the hardest to defend?  Will I like a good challenge.”

“I want to have two teams of my people, one working here with your people, and one in San Francisco, sifting information and discovery and putting together exhibits.”

Zach Frick and J Augustus Frick IV, esq, nodded.  “Can we move the engineers to another location so my people can move there and be in direct contact with the in house legal staff.?”

The two Fricks looked at each other. Evidently it might be a problem.

J Augustus Frick looked at Zach, “talk to Wyandotte tonight.”

Apparently previously every thing of any consequence had gone through Willard the Strong.  Now it was up to Wyandotte to either step up or delegate.  I wondered if he could do either.

But now it was time for Court.  A short appearance for formality’s sake.