At the Knoxville airport, I was met by a middle-age man holding a sign that read “Eleanor Wallace”. “I’m Ellie Wallace,” I informed him.
He seemed surprised. I guess in my red hoodie and blue jeans I didn’t look like an heiress.
Obviously he couldn’t drive me into Wallace City because it’s car-free. He drove to the outer edge and I rolled my luggage onto a trolley that took me to my hotel.
“Welcome to the Foothills Inn,” the front desk woman cheerfully greeted me. “Checking in?”
“Yes. The name is Wallace. Ellie Wallace.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh! Welcome to the Inn, Ms Wallace. We’re so sorry about the loss of your family.”
“Thank you,” I simply replied. I didn’t want to explain to everyone that I didn’t know my own relatives.
“We have you in the presidential suite. If there’s anything we can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.” She handed me a key card and seemed both excited and intimidated by my presence.
I blinked a couple of times and looked at the key card. “You don’t need my credit card or anything?” I asked.
“No ma’am. The Trust is paying for everything. The porter will take your bag and show you to your suite.”
It’s good to be a Wallace in Wallace Town, I thought as I followed the porter into the elevator. But I wasn’t sure I liked being called “ma’am”. I was only 22!
The porter showed me around my huge suite on the top floor of the 8-story hotel. I thanked him and remembered to tip before he left.
Mr Warner wanted me to come to his office as soon as I arrived, so I quickly changed clothes.
I stepped into my strappy black high-heels and fidgeted with my dress. The little black dress was the closest thing to “office wear” I owned. The design was simple and had a high neckline… but it was short. Way too damn short. Hence the “little” in “little black dress”.
I never had a reason to buy clothes to wear to an office, so my choices were the little black dress, jeans or leggings.
“At least it’s black,” I grumbled, trying to make the best of the situation.
My heels were too high too. Perfect for a night out, but wrong for the office.
I called Mom. After assuring her that the flight was uneventful, I complained, “My stupid dress is too short and my heels are too high. They’re going to be really impressed by the trashy girl who just inherited their company.” Tears formed in my eyes.
Mom calmly said, “You don’t have to impress anyone. Remember that you own Wallace Town now. Not the CEO or anyone else. You. Don’t take any shit from them.” She had a way with words.
I wiped my eyes. “Thanks, Mom. I have to go. Warner is expecting me.”
I put on my winter jacket and groaned. It wasn’t long enough to help with the short dress situation. In fact it highlighted my long, bare legs. Fuck.
I grabbed my black purse and left to meet the CEO of the Wallace Trust.
The hotel was only six blocks from the office, so I walked. It was a weekday afternoon, but the street was alive with people walking or riding bikes. The trolley went by. Trees planted along the street had dropped their leaves but I imagined they provided welcome shade in the summer.
The buildings along my route had stores, restaurants or offices on the ground floor. The upper stories looked like apartments or offices. The buildings ranged from three to eight stories tall.
I was surprised at how much of a difference it made not having cars and trucks on the street. It was quiet and the air was clean. People spread out and walked or biked wherever they wanted in the street.
I liked it.
The Wallace Trust offices were in an impressive brick building on a corner. I entered and saw a young man at the receptionist desk. He stared at my long, bare legs then slowly took in the rest of my body before reaching my eyes. “Good afternoon,” he greeted me. “How can I help you?”
“I’m Ellie Wallace.”
His face paled and he quickly stood. “Welcome, Ms Wallace! We’ve been expecting you.”
His reaction made me smirk. He’d be more careful about undressing me with his eyes the next time we met.
The flustered receptionist pressed a button on the phone and told someone, “Eleanor Wallace is here.”
A minute later, a plump older woman came out to greet me. “Hello, Ms Wallace,” she said. “I’m Crystal Abbott. I’ll be your assistant.”
I blinked and tried to digest that. “Why do I need an assistant?”
The pleasant woman smiled and replied, “To keep your schedule, filter your phone calls, and to generally help you figure out what we do here. It is a fairly big company, ma’am.”
Anxiety swelled in my head and my poor stomach grumbled. I managed to nod and say, “Sorry. I’m sure I’m lucky to have you.”
She guided me down a hallway to a bank of elevators. Safely inside the elevator, Crystal said, “We’re so sorry for your loss, Ms Wallace. We’re all in shock.”
“Thank you,” I replied. I hesitated before explaining, “It’s very sad. Tragic. But I didn’t know them. I never met them.”
“I’d heard rumors to that effect,” she admitted. “I’m sorry that you’re being dragged into this totally unprepared, Ms Wallace. I’ll help in any way I can.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Crystal. Please call me Ellie.”
Crystal took me to my new office. It was a big corner office with a sleek glass desk. Two guest chairs were in front of the desk but that was it for furniture. The bulk of the big room was empty space. The windows overlooked the town.
I didn’t want an office, but I didn’t tell Crystal that. She took my coat and I sat my purse on my new desk.
CEO Jack Warner’s office was right next to mine. His wasn’t as large as mine and was a lot more cluttered. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Ms Wallace,” he greeted me with a handshake. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”
Warner looked about sixty years old. He was a big, tall guy and combined with his deep voice it gave him an imposing presence.
He introduced me to the other man in the room. “This is Mark Thompson, our corporate lawyer.” I shook the lawyer’s hand and we all sat around Warner’s desk.
After a few pleasantries about my flight and the hotel, Warner got to the important stuff. “Ms Wallace, the Wallace Trust is basically a real estate holding company. It owns about 12, 000 apartments. They are 100 percent rented and there is a long waiting list. We also own 700 business properties in Wallace Town, and retain ownership of the streets. That’s why we can prevent vehicular traffic from entering the town.
“The single-family homes in town are owned by the residents, but they pay HOA fees for landscaping, street maintenance, parks and a variety of events and sports they can participate in.”
I interrupted, “How big is Wallace Town?”
“Roughly nine square miles,” Warner answered. “54, 000 residents.”
“That’s more people than I guessed.”