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Miami
Annie and Myra strolled around the luxury cars in the Aston Martin showroom. Admittedly, they were works of art. The well-groomed salesman passionately described the features on the iconic DBS model, the same one Fielder had set his hopes on. Annie cooed. “Yummy. I’d also like to take a peek at the Vantage model.”
“I see the Countess likes sleek and fast.”
“My reputation precedes me.” Annie gave a devilish smile. Little did he know how much she loved to speed. Myra gave her an elbow tap. Annie almost felt guilty wasting the salesman’s time. If she ever wanted to buy herself a present, an Aston Martin would be hovering at the top of her list. It was too bad she was on a mission. She would have loved the opportunity to open up that baby on the Florida Turnpike.
The decibel level of the voices coming from the showroom manager’s office was increasing. “I don’t understand.” Malcolm Fielder was cautiously haughty. He didn’t want to appear overconfident, nor did he want to appear weak. “There has to be some mistake.”
The manager turned his computer monitor around so Fielder could read the disappointing news from the financial department. The subject line on the email read: Fielder: Bank Account Closed. Application Denied.
The body of the email explained the details of the check number, amount, and status of his account—closed. Those words again. Fielder pulled out his cell and called the bank. He was told the manager was unavailable. He hadn’t disconnected the call for more than a few seconds before his phone rang. It was the contractor who’d purchased the materials for the Riverwood Elementary School. Fielder could not fathom what the man was screaming about. Cabbage? Rotting in a trailer? “I’m sorry, but you must be confused. We did not ship you cabbage, or any other kind of produce.” He was about to hang up on the raging lunatic when the call was interrupted by call waiting. It was his assistant in New York.
“Mr. Fielder . . . M-M-M . . .” she gasped.
“Victoria, calm down. Let me get rid of this ridiculous other caller. Hold on.” Fielder was losing his patience. He returned to the other person, who insisted he had pallets of putrid vegetables on his premises.
The man was livid. “The bill of lading says concrete blocks. My nose says rancid. You better get someone on this pronto or I’ll have a lawsuit slapped on your company quicker than you can say bok choy.” He hung up.
Fielder had a stupefied look on his face. Has the world gone mad?
Annie slid closer to the office. “Oh, tell me about this one,” she said to the salesman. It was the model closest to the office door where the men were. She could see their scheme was in play. She felt a rush of adrenaline and saw that Myra’s face was also a bit flushed.
Fielder returned to his hysterical assistant. “Alright, Victoria, what seems to be the problem?”
The color rushed from his face as Victoria breathlessly explained that agents from the U.S. Marshals Service were on the premises with a search warrant and were removing all the electronic devices. “What on earth are you talking about?” The woman must be having a meltdown, he thought. Then the showroom manager cleared his throat, reminding Fielder there was other business that needed his attention. “Victoria, I will have to call you back. Take it easy.” He gave a little shudder and turned to the man waiting semi-patiently beside him. “Sorry. Where were we?”
“The bank. Your account.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” He scrolled through his contact list and redialed the bank’s number. Again, the manager was unavailable. “Just give me a few minutes to figure this out,” Fielder said and he walked into the main showroom to give himself a bit of privacy. He looked around and thought he was out of earshot. But Annie and Myra both had earrings with pin-sized short-range listening devices that allowed them to eavesdrop on conversations within fifty feet. They could barely contain their excitement when Fielder repeatedly told the person on the other end of the phone that it was imperative he speak to the manager now. His body language spoke volumes. He shook his head.
Fielder’s phone rang again. It was an Ohio area code. Probably that crazy produce guy, he thought. He didn’t answer it. Instead he decided it was time to check in with Walsh to see if there was any merit in the contractor’s accusations. Walsh’s phone went directly to voice mail. Fielder bounced the issue over to him. “Deal with it,” was how he ended the message. As he walked toward the office his phone rang yet again. He thought he might scream. All he wanted to do was drive his car out of the lot. This call was from his condominium’s association, informing him the building had been visited by the U.S. Marshals Service and they’d placed a padlock on Fielder’s door. His world was turning into a major nightmare. Maybe that was it. He was having a nightmare. He took a detour into the men’s room and splashed water on his face. As he stared into the mirror, he wondered how he was going to unravel this mess. Where to begin? Get to New York. Then he remembered his credit card had been canceled. That should have been his first clue something wasn’t right. His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was the caterer. His check had been declined.
When he exited the men’s room Annie and Myra were in his path. Annie stopped him. “Excuse me. Aren’t you Malcolm Fielder?”
Now what? he thought to himself. “Yes, I am.” He could barely choke out the words.
“I thought I recognized you. You’re Andrea Watson’s son. I mean Andrea Fielder. Your mother and I have been on a few charity committees together. I believe you and I met at one of them.” Annie paused. “I’m Annie de Silva.”
“Countess de Silva,” Myra said proudly of her friend. “I’m Myra Rutledge.”
Annie jerked a finger at Myra. “And she is the Candy Queen.”
For a moment Malcolm thought he had started breathing normally again. “Nice to see you.”
Annie jumped in immediately. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you are having some paperwork issues?”
Fielder let out a big sigh. “Yes. I don’t know what is going on, but I need to get to New York immediately and my credit card isn’t working either. I apologize. That is information you do not need to hear. I didn’t mean to burden you with my problems.”
Annie placed her hand on his arm. “Nonsense. I am going to be flying to New York this afternoon. You are welcome to join us. My Gulfstream is at the Miami Executive Airport.”
“If it’s not an inconvenience, I would greatly appreciate hitching a ride.” Malcolm could not believe his luck.
“Of course. There’s plenty of room.” The hair on the back of Annie’s neck was doing an excited happy dance.
“What time were you planning on leaving?” he asked, not that he had any place to go. The first order of business was to clear up this banking mess. Then he could deal with the condo mess, the car mess, and the yacht mess. He simply had to keep his wits about him.
“Actually, we were going there from here. We had a little time to waste so I thought I’d spend it here.” She flinched, hoping the salesman hadn’t heard her. She truly felt guilty. Time was precious and she had wasted his. If she could tell him why, perhaps he wouldn’t have minded, but that was a nonstarter. She mollified herself knowing they had only spent about fifteen minutes of his time.
