Letter of Intent

During the tail end of the summer of 2016, SUPOW Inc. acquired a handful of third and fourth tier companies that owned dozens of smaller assets. One of those companies was Eric & Mandrel, which had unilaterally sold a controlling interest in itself. Eric and Mandrel were personal acquaintances, childhood friends, and currently my employers. They hired me some odd fifteen years ago to be the keeper of either our fourth or fifth most popular resort: The Concubine. When I say fourth or fifth, it is important to remember that to be popular in the public eye is far from the goal of The Concubine. We operated as a private sector. Nearly off the books when it came to brochures and websites. As one might guess, we are not a family friendly resort. The only one of its kind in the profit margins of E&M, The Concubine was considered to be one of the great treks into a highly profitable world of niche interests with the goal of expanding that interest from the niche to the norm. We rented rooms, just like any other hotel, but we offered something none of the others could.

Paying customers found that if they wished to purchase our Anonymity Package, they would only be signed under our personal ledger while the rest of their works would be fabricated by our shockingly astute creative staff. There were hundreds of potential IDs for clients to choose from, including very convincing State Identification Cards they could carry around with them if they pleased, but that was only the name portion of the sale. A person could be whoever they wanted to be. Visas were even modeled in the name of each identity in case the client wanted to deposit some of their funds to go out on the town, with a small transaction fee of course. We would even offer to make reservations for them at various venues. Our modest, yet well budgeted, costume shop would design the persona’s attire and as long as they agreed never to break character, they were allowed off of our premises. Discretion is our biggest concern. It was a game to them and a paycheck for us; naturally, indulgences would be accomodated. Breaking the rules of engagement, on the other hand, was a threat to our security.

I myself come from a background of theatrical acting and petty crime. Birds of a feather flock together in that regard, to a surprising measure I might add. As the goal was anonymity both on and off the premises, I had a few thespians on payroll whose role would be to keep an eye on our esteemed guests. Most would just listen utilizing the recording devices sewn into the collars of each of our coats and breast pockets, creating markers to review specific moments, others took the challenge a step further. Some approached the customers, got them talking, seeing how far they could take their persona and if they would eventually break. This game having formed its roots in the early days of our hotel, I can proudly say it was my most successful marketing tool to date. Nothing has even come close. Booting some of the wealthiest from our prospective client list created intrigue in the private world as well as added respect and trust to our list of accolades. If you wanted to stay at The Concubine, you were welcome. If you wanted to play our game, you had to play to win. A lure that attracted many higher profile individuals, even some mega star level Hollywood actors. They always walked away very impressed, if not a bit underwhelmed. I recall on one occasion Michael Dunn asking to speak with me specifically, he had referred to me as “the house manager,” wishing to compliment my efforts. He’d also mentioned he felt like it was just another day on set for him, which soured his mood a bit, but I assured him this game of ours wasn’t meant for professionals and that we were glad to have met his standards. Sally Donahue was fired that night, having asked Dunn for an autograph. Normally this would have been fine, he wasn’t in character yet, but she should have been. A lesson the staff has never forgotten.

Now, coming upon what very well may be the twilight of my career as the keeper of The Concubine, I can’t help but reminisce. Fifteen years of games, twenty-something as an acting coach, forty-seven years of friendship with two men that would just as quickly sell their stock as they would forget about me. Whether this was to be my last winter or not had yet to be determined, but at least there would always be a house to manage. There were offers before, competitors who became entranced by the idea of what we’d started, others who were more interested in information than entertainment. One such company now had controlling interest and thus owned the recordings our guests had legally signed over the rights to. Whether they knew it at the time or not. So I think it’s time to make one more stand; to take another bow at center stage, a marketing technique with less grandeur, but just as strong a message if not more so. Walking these corridors fills me with such pride the Greeks would weep, but I am proud. There is no question of that. With my sin I seek to show the world behind the world my true colors.

On the eve of a slow game-night during the last glimmers of twilight I entered our archive department, paper records as well as digital, and did what any self-respecting soon-to-be-unemployed house managing inn-keeper would do. I left the contracts in check, records of purchases should always remain intact, and deleted any recordings we’d squirreled away since the first day we opened our doors. Everything from mundane conversation to scandalous revelations to what some may consider federal criminal acts, all of it was now lost. The records SUPOW had paid millions of dollars to retrieve were now consigned to the void. The edge dividing gossip from truth. Confessions now resigned to the ever-shifting halls of memory... Soon there will be no place for me at The Concubine; although retirement has some appeal, if anyone would like to employee an old inn-keeper such as myself, remember: Confidentiality is my speciality.