The Million Dollar Deception Page 3

  “What can I say that will make her forgive me?” Aaron said, his eyes still on his wife.

  “She’ll forgive you. Just tell her the truth.”

  “And what if she doesn’t accept that?”

  “Then you’ll have work to do,” Nate said. “I never meant for it to go this way.”

  “But it did,” Aaron said. “I should talk to my wife alone now.”

  “Wait.” Nate pulled a brown envelope padded with cash from his breast pocket and handed it to Aaron. “You take some time and let me know when you’re ready to come back to work, okay?”

  7

  Lewis stood over his daughter while she slept in the big hotel room bed.

  He felt awful for taking Layla away from what had been the girl’s home for the past eight months. It had been a good home. But Lewis had always felt that it was temporary. He had tried to make it permanent.

  Layla coughed a little in her sleep. Lewis pulled the blankets up over her shoulders.

  Layla had always been sickly, always had respiratory problems. As an infant, she would catch a cold or come down with a fever if the wind changed. It had been that way since her birth.

  It was because of Selena, Layla’s dead mother, a drug addict.

  She had quit her old habit when she found out that Lewis had gotten her pregnant, but Lewis still feared the lasting effects of the poison had taken their toll on his child.

  When Layla was an infant, Lewis and Selena often had to sacrifice paying a utility bill or buying food to afford the pink stuff prescribed to Layla by the overworked doctor at the free clinic.

  The medicine would work fairly quickly, but when they couldn’t afford the drug, they would have to nurse Layla back to health themselves, allowing her weak immune system to slowly fight off the illness. It was torture to watch his child suffer like that.

  Lewis always tried but never managed entirely to avoid laying blame on Selena. But it was his fault as well. If Lewis had had a decent job, he would have been able to take his child away from there. He could have put Selena in a real drug addiction program, and maybe she would never have done the heroin that killed her.

  He remembered the last time he went to visit Selena, pushed open the unlocked door of her project apartment to find the woman dead on her sofa. A needle was hanging from the vein in her arm. Worst of all, their child, Layla, was on her mother’s chest, bawling her eyes out, screaming. The child had witnessed it all, seen her own mother die.

  Lewis told himself he would never subject his daughter to a life like that again, no matter what he had to do.

  So now here he was, Lewis thought as he lowered himself to the bed, sitting beside his daughter, wondering if he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

  The truck that brought Lewis and his daughter to the hotel was the Land Rover Monica had bought him.

  The ring he had bought Monica was paid for with the card she had given him. It had his name on it and everything. And it was to her bank account, with over a million dollars in it. The woman had trusted him that much. And he had up and left her. What the fuck was wrong with him?

  Great going, Lewis, he thought to himself, standing and peering out of the hotel curtain.

  But he prayed it would work out.

  He had been put out of Selena’s place when she was tired of him, when he wasn’t making much money, and Selena didn’t have a damn pot to piss in.

  For the eight months that Lewis had been living with Monica, he had always felt he was just a moment away from being asked to leave.

  He wasn’t supposed to be with a woman like her.

  She had everything, and he had nothing. But he loved her, and even if she did not love him the same, he told himself, he would make it work. Not just for his sake, but for the sake of his daughter. He wanted her to have a good home, have a mother who cared about her and loved her.

  Monica was that woman. But Lewis always felt there would come a day when she realized he wasn’t enough.

  That was the reason for the proposal tonight—for the last two proposals. Yes, she had taken care of the both of them, gave Lewis money whenever he needed it, loved him, gave him exhausting, passionate sex to prove it. But there was never a guarantee it would last.

  He felt she didn’t think much of him, and he knew that was the reason why she pushed and pushed for him to go back to school. He figured she wouldn’t want to admit to her friends and colleagues that not only was she dating a man who didn’t have much of a job, but one that had no education as well.

  This was her way of shaping him, trying to improve him.

  Lewis told himself he would play along as long as she guaranteed they would be together, but now she had made her decision, and he had foolishly run out without a plan.

  He pulled his wallet from his pocket, parted the billfold to count the forty-six dollars he had there in small bills.

  He would have to do something. He just didn’t know what.

  8

  Hours later, Freddy was pacing the living room, the reloaded gun still in his fist.

  He looked out the window again, turned to his girlfriend. “This shit,” he said, waving the gun. “It’s been almost four hours since we called the police, and they still ain’t come.”

  “Would you please put that gun down?” Kia said, sitting on the sofa. Her short, straight black hair was undone, and the nightgown she still wore flowed over her thin, model-like body, protruding only slightly around her belly.

  Freddy walked over, opened a cabinet on the living room chest, set the gun inside, and closed the door again.

  “I’m so sick of this,” Freddy said angrily.

  “Just try to calm down,” Kia said, rubbing her belly, which had grown rounder with her two-month pregnancy.

  “I can’t calm down. Those fools had guns. What if they shot Moms or, God forbid, you? What if they killed our child?”

  “Don’t say that.”

  Freddy walked over to Kia, knelt in front of her, took her hand. “You’re not staying here anymore. You grabbing your things and you got to go.”

  “Where? Where am I going to live? You know my father won’t take me back.”

  “You can get your place in the dorms back. You just got a year left in law school. You can deal with it for that long.”

  “I’m not going back there carrying this child.”

  “I’m taking a chance on you getting hurt, living in this house. I won’t let that happen.”

  “And what about you and your mother?” Kia said. “If you two can live here, then I’m staying.”

  Freddy stood up, looked toward the door. There was still no sign of the police. “Then we all should leave. Find somewhere else to live.”

  Just then, Freddy’s mother stepped into the living room. She wore a new, cheaply made polyester skirt suit. It fit snug around her shoulders and arms and hips. Her graying hair had been set in curlers, and she wore her better pair of “seeing glasses,” the ones that weren’t all scratched up. “I have to leave. I can’t be late for this interview.”

  “You ain’t going to the interview,” Freddy said, standing, walking over to his mother. “Those fools could still be out there.”

  “And that’s supposed to do what, Fred? I need to get this job, and I’m not going to let some thugs stop me from getting it.” She stepped around Freddy, walked over to Kia, placing a hand on her belly. “Good-bye, child. And wish me luck, Kia.”

  “Good luck, Mrs. Ford.”

  “Moms,” Freddy said.

  His mother walked past him to the closet, taking out her jacket. “I’ll be home no later than six.”

  “Moms, I said you shouldn’t go,” Freddy advised again.

  “Freddy, just let her do what she has to do,” Kia urged him, standing beside Freddy now, softly taking his hand.

  Freddy’s mother opened the front door, still ignoring her son. “I’ll cook dinner when I get home.”

  “Moms!” Freddy yelled angrily. “I said you ain’t goi
ng nowhere!”

  His mother froze at the door. Freddy’s voice seemed to echo through the old house, then disappeared, leaving a deafening silence.

  The old woman turned from the door, leveling narrowed eyes onto her son. “What did you say to me?”

  Freddy swallowed hard. “It’s dangerous out there, and I got a job. You don’t need to be—”

  “You got a job, that’s right, Freddy,” his mother said, closing the door and taking two steps toward him. “And you don’t make enough money to support us. We are a partial payment away from getting every utility in this house cut off, and can barely afford to put food on the table every day. I want this job, but more importantly, I need this job.”

  “But Moms—”

  “No, baby,” his mother said, standing just in front of him now. “I live here, too, so I should contribute. I know you still thinking because of what happened that you should fill your father’s shoes, take on all of his responsibilities. But that comes in time. Till then we gonna make the best of this old house in this awful neighborhood, ’cause it’s all we got. Okay?”

  Freddy lowered his head. His mother reached out, placed her fingers under his chin, lifted his face. “Okay, son?”

  “Yeah,” Freddy said.

  “Good. But let me tell you one more thing. You ever raise your voice like that to me again…”

  “I know, Moms. I’m sorry.”

  Freddy’s mother smiled, leaned in, kissed his cheek, then walked back to the front door.

  “I hope you get the job, Moms. But you won’t have to keep it for long, ’cause I’m gonna get us out of here,” Freddy said.

  His mother looked back at her son and his pregnant girlfriend and smiled. “I know, Fred. I know.”

  9

  In the parking lot at Chicago O’Hare Airport, Nate placed his garment bag into the trunk of his black 2007 Mercedes S600. After paying the parking attendant and driving out of the lot, he assessed the results of his operation with Tori Thomas.

  He had not expected the bloodshed, but he had gotten back what he had set out to get, and that was all that mattered to him.

  After his ride home, Nate pulled into the driveway of the six-bedroom brick mansion where he had now been living for a year. After his divorce from Monica, he couldn’t take walking through the rooms of the penthouse they had shared for the four years of their marriage. Too many memories, too many reminders of what could have been.

  It had to go.

  Every now and then, Nate missed that place, as he still missed his wife on occasion.

  He told himself to squelch those feelings, replace them with hateful ones. Nate had loved his wife, knew he wanted to be with her from the first day he met her in the clothing store where she worked. He asked her out that day. Six months later, they married.

  It was all based on the assumption that she would give him children. A family was what Nate had wanted all his life.

  But she made him wait three years, telling him she wanted to build a firmer foundation. Against his will, he waited for her okay for them to conceive, always trying to convince her to get pregnant sooner.

  After the three years, she had allowed them to start trying. But it was too late. At the age of thirty-one years old, his wife had gone through early menopause. She would no longer be able to conceive children.

  Nate thought that maybe it was something that he could have accepted, just as if she had come down with cancer or some other disease that would have stopped her from giving him a family.

  But when he learned from her doctor that this ran in her family, that her mother and her sister had gone through the same thing, and Monica knew it could happen to her, Nate knew he could not just let that pass.

  The doctor confirmed for Nate that if his wife just would have allowed them to get pregnant when they first got married, Nate would have had a child or two by the time she had gone through menopause.

  After hearing those words, and knowing how much he wanted a family, Nate decided he had a decision to make. Stay with his wife and never have children, or divorce her, get with someone else, start over, and have the family he always wanted.

  He decided to divorce his wife. But there was the slight issue of his sixty million dollars.

  Divorcing her would entitle Monica to half. Nate told himself he would not pay that woman thirty million dollars for making him wait three years not to have a family.

  He spoke with his attorney. Then Nate was reminded of the prenuptial agreement stating that if Monica was ever to commit adultery, she would be entitled to nothing. This was the out Nate needed. The only problem would be getting his wife to cheat on him.

  Nate devised a plan and found a young, good-looking man named Lewis Waters, down on his luck, without a job, without money. He set this man up in one of the town houses Nate owned. He gave the man a five-thousand-dollar clothing allowance and five thousand dollars a week as compensation. Nate gave him a new identity as a young, successful real-estate developer. Gave the man a bank account, business cards, and most important, all the information he would need to get Nate’s wife in bed.

  The plan worked as Nate hoped it would, but afterwards Nate realized that he still loved his wife, that he had made a mistake in ever devising such a plan.

  But it was too late. Monica had found out all about the scheme. And even after Nate begged her not to divorce him, she did anyway, and with Tori’s help, she took him for fifteen million dollars of his money. Nate figured he should’ve felt lucky, considering she only took fifteen, when she was entitled to twice that.

  Nate jumped out of his car, retrieved his bag from the trunk, and walked into his house. He stepped across shining hardwood floors, under the towering ceiling, and through rooms with antique furniture set against dark wood walls.

  “Mrs. Weatherly,” Nate called out to the woman he had hired a year ago to take care of the house and whatever else he required. Nate laid his garment bag over one of the ten chairs that sat around the formal dining-room table, then stepped into the kitchen, loosening his tie.

  On the refrigerator door, there was a note.

  Dear Mr. Kenny, Gone for groceries. Will be back soon.

  Mrs. Weatherly.

  A cold-cut sandwich, sliced carrots, and baked chips sat on a plate under Saran wrap on the kitchen counter. Nate took off his suit jacket and rested it on one of the kitchen chair backs. He grabbed the plate, unwrapped it, sat down, and took a bite of one of the halves.

  He stared, glassy eyed, at the far kitchen wall as he chewed. After Tori had gone on the run, it had taken a year to find her, get close to her, win her trust, and finally get his money back. Since his ex-wife lived here in Chicago (and probably felt that he had forgotten all about her), Nate figured it wouldn’t take half as long to deceive her in some similar fashion and take the money she had stolen from him back. All he had to do was decide how.

  10

  Monica sat at the dining room table, still in her pajamas, a blanket around her. It was the room she, Lewis, and Layla had spent the least amount of time in, the only room she felt she could tolerate at that moment.

  Despite what Tabatha had told her, Monica had rung Lewis’s cell phone half a dozen times. He did not answer, nor did he respond to her messages.

  She thought back to the day her divorce papers had come in the mail. That was the day Tabatha had mentioned getting back together with Lewis. Monica had never thought of that possibility until then.

  The next day while driving, she had thought about him. He wasn’t the wealthy, educated real-estate developer that Nate had disguised him as, but Monica had enjoyed the time they had spent together. And the times they made love were mind-blowing.

  Most important, Monica thought as she turned her car in the direction of his last known address, he was willing to accept her as she was, had even made her an offer.

  On that day when Monica came to his house to end things with him, Lewis said, “You can’t have children, and my daughter needs a mothe
r,” the little girl in his arms. “We could be a family.”

  Monica was insulted, asking herself how he could use his daughter just to get with her, insulted that he actually thought she would consider his offer just because she couldn’t have children of her own. But it did stop her for a moment, did get her thinking of the possibilities. It was an opportunity for her to be the mother she had always wanted to be.

  She had turned him down that day but had gone back to him not two weeks later, and as she had hoped, he was there, waiting for her.

  Since then, Lewis had loved Monica the way she needed to be loved.

  No, he wasn’t the kind of man she was used to dating. There were conversations that Monica just could not have with him, because he did not care much about politics, art, or business. There were times, while lying beside Lewis in bed, or while out at the park, playing with Layla, when she became depressed, knowing one day their differences might cause them to separate. She would look at Lewis and tell herself this was not the man she should spend the rest of her life with.

  She scolded herself for those thoughts. Was she being too hard on him? No, he was not perfect. He had no money, education, or drive to do much more than he was doing. But he was home when she came in at night. He kept her company, made her laugh, held her when she needed to be held, and made love to her whenever she even thought she needed it.

  And now, at the dining room table, as she pushed the blanket off her shoulders, stood, and headed upstairs to shower, she knew she did not want to let that man get away.

  11

  Lewis pushed the last of his books into his bag while the other students, kids in their late teens, filed out of the classroom.

  He hadn’t wanted to come today, hadn’t wanted to just drop Layla off at day care, considering what was going on, but he had already missed more classes than he should have. Another one, and the teacher could fail him.