Chapter 11: Montana, We Have a Problem!

Mark and Katrina formulate a plan to locate their children, but little do they know that their rivals are planning to do the same thing.

Hitsville was a small town located in Montana, which shared quite a few similarities to the neighboring town of Kicksburg, including a similar size and population, and a complete lack of chain establishments. However, the district it occupied had always been red ever since the town was founded, compared to Kicksburg's permanently blue district. And the richest family within the town was not the Simmons clan, but rather the Seymour clan, who also just so happened to own the second largest business empire in America, just behind Mark's.

It wouldn't be unreasonable to assume that this town was the home of Mike Seymour, Mark's self-proclaimed rival, who had been dedicating his entire life since high school to trying to best him at various things. At the moment, Mike was still in yesterday's suit, frantically pacing around the foyer of Seymour Manor at the crack of dawn. His smartphone was held up to his ear as he paced, for he was listening to any ringing on the other end. But as had been the case with the past twenty or so attempts, his efforts bore no fruit.

"Goddamn it!" Mike grumbled, finally hanging up. "I've called each of their cell-phones more times than I can count, and not one of them answered. How irresponsible!"

"Honey, what's going on down here?" a feminine voice with a light German accent called from upstairs.

In came Mike's wife, Katherine, who wore nothing but a tan chemise that barely covered her, with her platinum-blonde hair worn down, showing off how deceptively long it was. Her husband's constant fretting seemed to have roused her from her slumber by the looks of it.

"Oh, uh, just trying to contact the kids," Mike groaned. "I know they weren't planned, but that doesn't mean I don't care about 'em. I didn't spend all my hard-inherited cash on them for nothing."

"I'm worried too, but honestly, look at the time. Why don't we go get some sleep and keep trying tomorrow?" Katherine rolled her eyes. "Or better yet, why don't we take a different approach?"

"Okay, but what other approaches are there other than trying to call them?" Mike asked.

"Well we are rich. Maybe you know someone in Florence who might have seen them? Florence is a pretty compact city," Katherine suggested.

"Good idea, but oddly enough, Italy is the one European country in which I don't own any property," Mike replied. "If only there was a way to just magically locate where our children are."

"Hmmm, maybe we're looking at this the wrong way." Katherine suddenly had an epiphany. "Maybe we shouldn't focus on the children, but instead let's focus on something else that left. Like our private jet for instance."

"Huh, I think you might be onto something..." Mike thought aloud.

---

Meanwhile, at Simmons Manor over in Kicksburg, Mark and Katrina were in a similar situation. Unlike their rivals, they hadn't even thought about getting ready for bed that night. At this point, they had gone all of two months without any sort of contact with their children, and they were both beyond worried as to what became of them. Mark, still clad in that day's red dress shirt and black khakis, sat tensely on the couch in the dark living room, staring blankly into the glowing ash that remained in the fireplace.

At the same time, his wife busied herself pacing through the hallways as she spoke into her smartphone. Unlike Katherine, she knew plenty of folks both within and outside of her family who lived over in Florence, which easily gave her the advantage in this situation. She eventually reemerged into the living room, sporting a beet red tube-top that stopped right at her navel, complete with a sweetheart neckline and detached, shoulder-less sleeves of a slightly darker shade. Her look was complete with a pleated fuchsia mini-skirt and black fishnet stockings.

"Oh, hey Roxanne. What's up? ...Aw man, I'm really sorry to hear that! ...Uh-huh? Yes? ...Ooh, I'm afraid I can't help ya' there. See, Xavier P. Cedric... y'know, the guy who invented a cure for Parkinson's and saved Michael J. Fox's life? Well he also invented a cure for ovarian cancer, which I took because I came down with it several years back. Thing is, though, it reduces fertility as a permanent side-effect, and so now I probably can't have children either. So I'm afraid you'll have to ask someone else to be your surrogate. Sorry," Katrina spoke into her phone.

"That discussion doesn't sound too relevant to the matter at hand!" Mark called out in an uncharacteristic moment of impatience.

"Yeah... uh, I'd better call ya' back another time. Family emergency and all that. Good luck." Katrina hung up, slumping down next to her husband. "Anyway, bad news, dearie. Mom and Dad still ain't seen the kids."

"Well then don't give up! There has to be someone you haven't asked yet!" Mark replied. "I don't even want to think about resting until we at least learn where they are, or what happened to them!"

"Now that you mention it, there is one person I ain't called all summer." Katrina realized.

"Well then what are we waiting for?" Mark asked, watching his wife dial yet another number.

Over in Italy was a cobblestone balcony that overlooked a beach on the Mediterranean Sea. On said balcony was a woman who looked strikingly similar to Katrina, albeit with straighter, more feathered out hair, and skin that quite literally paled in comparison. She was also slightly taller and thinner with a slightly smaller bust and a complete lack of tattoos or piercings. Dressed in a black crocheted bikini and a pair of reflective sunglasses, the woman lounged on a beach chair as she soaked up the morning rays, a bottle of limoncello resting in an ice-filled bucket beside her.

She took a deep breath, inhaling some of the fresh coastal air, before a showtune-esque ringtone abruptly sounded from her smartphone. The woman sat up and raised her shades up to her forehead, revealing deep violet eyes, before perking an eyebrow at the name that popped up on screen. Wordlessly, she switched to a courteous expression and put the phone to her ear.

"Yes?" the woman asked in an overtly sweet tone, her Brooklyn accent thrice as thick as Katrina's.

"Er... hey Priscilla," Katrina answered. "What is you up to?"

"Oh, nothing much, little sis. Just enjoying myself in Naples, and hopefully darkening my complexion to match yours," Priscilla replied, lowering her sunglasses and laying back.

"We didn't send the twins to Naples. We sent 'em to Florence," Katrina replied, growing slightly impatient.

"Yeah, and I went to Florence too. But lo and behold, those little rascals weren't there," Priscilla explained. "I stayed at our parents' place for a while, waiting for them to show up, until I eventually got bored and came down here to have a vacation of my own."

"Gee, way to be worried about the safety and whereabouts of your own niece and nephew. Seriously, it's times like these when I wonder how we's related!" Katrina rolled her eyes as she hung up. "Well that went nowhere! So Mark, what do we do now? ...Mark?"

Ignoring his wife's inquiries, Mark busied himself dialing a number into his own smartphone before putting it up to his own ear.

"Hello, One Percent Airways? Yes, this is Mark Simmons. Uh, one of my private jets flew out back in early June, and I'm unable to contact my children, who were on that flight. Is there by any chance a way to locate where the plane is, so we'll know where to find them?" he requested.

"No problem, Mr. Simmons. We've got homing beacons for the planes of all the one-percenters who use our facilities. I'll just activate the beacon for your plane, and I'll send you the coordinates. We'll set out as soon as you're ready," a middle-aged man behind a control panel replied, before a second office phone rang. "Er, hold on. I'm getting another call."

---

Down on Isla del Exilio, both wealthy pairs of twins were sound asleep within their own makeshift huts. They were completely unaware of the small crimson lights on top of the roofs that were only noticeable when they were blinking, accompanied by some very faint buzzing that failed to wake them up.

And it just so happened that they were blinking right at that very moment.