by Akart, Bobby
“Now what?” asked Ryan.
“Okay, forty-six is a multi-digit number, so we’ll add four plus six to equal ten. Ten is our Megaball number.”
“Why don’t we add together eleven and twenty-two?”
“They’re master numbers.”
“I’m so confused.”
“Relax, Mr. Smart, I’ve got this,” said Blair with a smile. “One, four, eight, eleven, twenty-two, and the gold Megaball number is ten. I feel like a winner, how about you?”
Ryan laughed and gave his wife a high five. The two fed the cats on the way out to their garage and talked during the short drive to Publix about how they’d spend their winnings. Blair was first with her wish list.
“I’m a simple girl. You can just buy me baubles and bags. How about you? Do you still wanna build your dream beach house?”
Ryan thought for a moment. Florida had just experienced two years of back-to-back devastation at the hands of Hurricane Irma and then Michael. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to deal with the storms that might come their way someday.
“Actually, I was thinking the mountains.”
“Tennessee?”
Ryan shook his head and replied, “Nah, been there, done that. Twice. North Carolina, maybe. I love the Smokies, or even the foothills that would be within a couple of hours of the coast. Ever since I was a kid skiing around Banner Elk, I liked the concept of owning property in a secluded spot. You know, on a lake or maybe a river.”
“Sounds heavenly,” cooed Blair as they pulled into the Publix parking lot, which was teeming with shoppers, or lottery ticket buyers.
Ryan screeched on the brakes. “Watch out!”
Blair used the dashboard to brace herself as their truck screeched to a halt. A homeless man pushed a shopping cart between two cars into the middle of the parking lot without looking. Ryan had seen him at the last second.
Blair let out a sigh. “Jeez, Louise. We’ve got ya, buddy.”
“No kidding,” added Ryan as he found a parking spot and the two exited the vehicle.
Inside, the store was full, as fellow lottery winners worked their way around the customer service desk. A line of twenty people wrapped their way around the kiosk and into the floral department, waiting their turn to make a play for the Mega Millions jackpot.
Blair sighed. “Honey, we can skip it. It’s pie in the sky anyway.”
“No, I’ve got a feeling. You wait in line. I’ll hit the deli counter and pick up the bread. By the time I make the rounds, you’ll be near the front.”
“Sounds good.” Blair squeezed her husband’s hand, and Ryan was off to gather up their dinner. By the time he got back, she was the next in line.
He was slightly out of breath from his shopping. “Good, I’m glad I caught you before you got to the front. I have an idea.”
“What is it?”
“Let’s both play the same numbers.”
“Why? We’ll just split the winnings.”
“Exactly,” Ryan responded. “I’ll take a lump sum and deal with the tax hit. We’ll have plenty of money left over to build a new house or whatever. You take the cash payout over thirty years. That’ll give you a guaranteed income for life, pretty much.”
At the time, Blair was forty-five and Ryan was fifty-eight. They never spoke about it, but longevity generally favored women, and their thirteen-year age difference would leave Blair to support herself for many years after Ryan passed away. His logic was solid.
She shrugged. “Um, you’re the boss. Makes sense to me.”
“Wait, what was that?” he asked with a big grin.
“Makes sense to me,” she repeated.
“No, before that. You know, the boss part.”
“Shut up. It was a slip of the tongue in a moment of weakness. Give me a dollar. I might just keep my winnings for myself.”
Ryan pulled out a dollar, and the two of them approached Carlos the customer service agent. His robotic actions didn’t allow him to notice that both of the Smarts played the same numbers.
1 – 4 – 8 – 11 – 22 with a Megaball Number of 10.
As they exited the kiosk, Blair pulled Ryan in front of the lottery ticket dispensing machine. “Wait, I wanna take a snap for Instagram. Hold your ticket next to mine.”
They positioned their hands under the pink flamingo emblazoned below the Florida Lottery logo on the side of the machine. Blair took a couple of pictures and scrolled to her Instagram app.
“No, you can’t post it on the ’Gram,” Ryan admonished. “Then everybody and their brother will know we won. They’ll be on our doorstep in the morning with their paws out.”
“But—” began Blair before he interrupted her.
“No, here’s what we’ll do. When we win, we’ll tell no one. We’ll hire one of those attorneys in Tallahassee specializing in lottery trusts to hide the identities of the winners from the public. Then we’ll systematically call all of our friends and family.”
“But you said we can’t tell anyone,” interjected Blair.
“No, not to tell them about winning. Instead, we’re gonna ask, no, beg for a loan. We’ll make it something big, like five thousand dollars. They’re all gonna say no. Right? So when we win, if we do tell them and they come around looking for their slice of the pie, we can say ‘remember back when I needed the five grand?’ My answer’s the same. N-O, no.”
Blair shoved her ticket into her shorts pocket and escorted Ryan out of the store. “You’re so rude, husband.”
NEW YEAR’S EVE
Two years later …
Chapter One
Early Morning
New Year’s Eve
Ryan Smart awoke before dawn on New Year’s Eve. It didn’t matter that a four-day-long holiday weekend was upon them. There were still things to attend to, and he had a couple of appointments scheduled throughout the day.
He quietly kissed Chubby and The Roo on the top of their heads, then made his way to Blair, where he nuzzled up against her neck and whispered, “I love you.” A slight smile came across her face and she mouthed the words back to him. At this hour, that was as much as he’d get from his wife of nearly twenty-five years.
She typically slept for a couple of hours past when he got up for the day. To balance things out, she always stayed up a few hours later at night. It was one of those compromises made in marriage that allowed a couple to have their alone time without having to take nights out with the girls or play in Friday night poker games with the guys.
Ryan made his way into the bathroom and closed the door behind him so as not to disturb the girls. He hopped on the scales, as he’d done every day since the summer of 2018. Earlier that year, he’d become concerned about his heart. Hypertension and the threat of Type-II diabetes had raised alarms that he’d kept hidden from the love of his life. His doctor started him on medications, but Ryan was encouraged to do his part.
He coupled a better diet with weight training and exercise at the local gym. By year’s end, he’d lost nearly fifty pounds and was in the best shape of his life. He vowed not to go back to his previously chubby self, a promise he made to himself, and for the benefit of Blair. It was selfish, he’d often thought to himself, to get so big in the first place.
Turning sixty hadn’t caused him to place one foot in the grave, as they say. He looked in the mirror and a young man looked back, at least in Ryan’s eyes. To be sure, the graying hair wasn’t what he liked to see, but hey, at least it was all still there.
His two-day beard came out gray, something he could deal with. What drove him nuts were all the squirrely hairs that emerged around his eyebrows, ears, and nose. Over the last several years, he’d become a proficient plucker, even watching YouTube videos to master the art.
Then Blair warned him that at some point, his eyebrows might stop growing, so he took to trimming them. He wasn’t sure if she was pulling his leg, as images of Larry Hagman, J.R. of Dallas fame, and his bushy brows would pop into his mind. He returned to pluckin
g anyway and was pleased to see the Hagman-brow theory was spot on. They sure enough came back, whenever and in whatever length they felt like.
Ryan got dressed and made his way to the kitchen. As he got older, he found himself adopting an established routine that included fixing an insulated cup with a mixture of iced decaffeinated coffee and Fairlife low-fat chocolate milk. He’d started avoiding the caffeine to fight the hypertension years ago, not that he needed the stimulant to get the juices flowing in the morning, so to speak. He was always full of energy when he woke up.
He poured a bowl of cereal and sliced up a banana for extra flavor. Ryan leaned against the counter as he turned on FoxNews to see if the world had gone to hell in a handbasket overnight. As he watched the news reports from New York City, where they were setting up security for the big New Year’s Eve festivities in Times Square, his mind wandered to the state of the nation.
Over the last two years, the country had become even more polarized as the presidential campaigns heated up. The president had brought America’s economy to life in his first two years in office. Every demographic saw record employment and wage numbers. He began his campaign on the premise that he’d made promises to the American people and he’d kept them.
But then the primary season began two years ago, and the rhetoric turned increasingly ugly. The president’s economic accomplishments immediately became a target for his political opponents. A constant barrage in the media began to take a toll on the American psyche. Despite stellar economic numbers to the contrary, politicians effectively began to convince the public that all was not as it seemed.
When the Federal Reserve surprisingly raised interest rates in October just before the election, the stock market came tumbling down. The sell-offs became so large that program trading kicked in, virtually erasing all of the profits investors had earned in the past four years. This was seen as the potential death blow to the president’s reelection efforts, but his popularity remained firm with his base, and he managed a win in November.
The protests in major cities had grown out of control after the election. The allegations of ballot tampering, foreign meddling, and cyber attacks on voting machines once again called the election results into question. Without any tangible proof that the president was reelected with the benefit of these alleged misdeeds, people took to the streets from coast to coast, expressing their anger by destroying businesses and others’ personal property.
The National Guard had been called in to contain riots in Seattle, Portland, and San Francisco. Angry mobs stormed government buildings in Chicago, Detroit, and New York, demanding recounts and justice. The situation became so bad that local municipalities declared early evening curfews to keep the mobs off the streets, to no avail. There simply weren’t enough members of law enforcement to quell the uprisings. It was an anger that hadn’t been seen since the Vietnam War, and now it was relentless.
Ryan watched as the reporting switched to the White House, where the president and his family were leaving for Florida to Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach, Florida. The camera panned out to the protective iron fencing that surrounded the White House grounds, separating the beautifully manicured lawn from the many thousands of protestors holding up signs and chanting, “Hell no, we won’t go.”
Ryan finished his cereal and chuckled. “Thank God for iron fences.” He rinsed his bowl out and placed it in the sink. After topping off his iced coffee drink, he headed for the front door. Before he left, he paused to look at the framed collage Blair had created two years ago. She’d displayed the photograph of their Mega Millions lottery tickets that she took. Underneath the image, the numbers 1 – 4 – 8 – 11 – 22 – 10 were written on the canvas with a black Sharpie.
She’d also included a newspaper clipping from the Orlando Sentinel. He read the headline and the accompanying byline aloud. “Two local winners in one-point-six billion Mega Millions payout. Anonymous winners purchased tickets back-to-back at local Publix.”
Ryan put on his jacket and wrapped a wool scarf around his neck. Then he smiled and said, “Thank you,” as he walked out into the icy cold North Carolina morning.
Chapter Two
Morning
New Year’s Eve
North Carolina
Ryan climbed into his new Ranger Crew XP 1000 NorthStar four-wheeler and fired the motor. The enclosed cab with climate control was a feature not found on any other off-road utility vehicle. Heck, at the twenty-eight-thousand-dollar price tag, he could’ve purchased a new midsized sport utility vehicle. But then, that wouldn’t befit the Ranger’s purpose.
With the heat beginning to warm his feet and the morning sun revealing a smattering of snowflakes falling from the sky, Ryan took off for the barn and his morning meeting with his guys.
It was understood by the regulars who lived on the property that every day was a workday, to an extent. To be sure, if somebody got hurt or had a matter to attend to off-property, they could certainly take the time they needed. However, they were expected back as soon as possible because they all shared a common mindset. You just never knew when a catastrophe might strike.
Ryan drove along the gravel road that led away from the main house toward the always-locked front gate. On the few occasions when guests arrived, they had access to a telephone that rang in the main house first and then in his destination, the large barn that had been erected in the center of the property, designated HB-1.
When he arrived at the barn that contained a large foreman’s office, his two main guys, his right arm and left arm, stood outside with mugs of hot coffee in their hands, allowing the steam to float into the air as they spoke.
Ryan’s number one, who’d been there since he and Blair had purchased the property almost two years ago, was a hulk of a man. Standing six feet four, his tall frame was perfectly proportioned with his chiseled physique. Genetics favored him early in life, but working in the lumber industry following his stint in the military had hardened him into head-to-toe muscle.
Known as Alpha, he was part of the crew who had assembled the post and beam barn that was the first modern structure added by the Smarts after they purchased the property. The company he worked for, Vermont Frames, had assembled the timber frame structure in Vermont, then dissembled it before shipping it on a flatbed trailer to the Smarts in North Carolina.
Alpha was the head of the assembly crew, and during the construction of the barn, he and Ryan quickly became friends. His actual name was Roger, last name unknown, but that didn’t matter to Ryan. He hadn’t called him anything other than his nickname, Alpha, since the beginning.
A former combat soldier in the United States Army, Alpha had proudly served his country during multiple tours in the Middle East. He’d trained with the Special Forces Operational Detachment at Fort Bragg and always enjoyed his time in North Carolina. When Ryan made him an offer to stay that included a home and an opportunity to be a part of something special, Alpha didn’t hesitate to accept.
“Good morning, fellas,” Ryan greeted cheerfully as he exited the Ranger. “Snow might be coming.”
“They got a foot in Vermont overnight,” said Alpha in his deep, baritone voice. “I don’t miss it at all.”
“Same here,” said the older man who stood next to Alpha. “The damp cold gets into your bones.”
“Echo, for a farmer, you sure do squall a lot about the weather,” quipped Ryan as he slapped the older man on the back. He pointed toward the barn door and suggested they go inside.
As he did, Echo, born Justin Echols, responded, “Here’s the thing. When you’re farmin’, you hope for sunny blue skies and mild weather.”
“God doesn’t make perfect weather,” joked Ryan.
The former tobacco farmer continued in his crusty voice. “True, but he doesn’t have to make it so doggone inhospitable sometimes. I remember in the winter of oh-nine, the dadgum jet stream dipped down so low that the temperatures around Boone and Banner Elk never got above freezin’.”
Ech
o, the title bestowed upon him by Ryan when he was brought on board to manage the property’s farming and livestock operation, had had a burgeoning tobacco farm until America’s penchant for smoking waned and the Federal Tobacco Quota Program was phased out years ago.
He and his wife had tried to hold onto their business, but eventually the larger corporate farms that exceeded a hundred acres squeezed out the little guys like the Echols. The maxim that the only thing more lucrative than an acre of tobacco was another acre of tobacco held true. Eventually, the larger agribusiness companies like Cargill and the Koch brothers moved in and purchased up farms that were barely making ends meet.
Ryan had met Echo at a nearby farmers’ co-op one day, and the two struck up a casual conversation. He invited the now-retired couple to the house for dinner, and they immediately hit it off. Throughout the evening, Blair and Ryan learned more about the valuable skills the Echols could offer and immediately convinced them to join the team.
Ryan recalled how he’d brought Alpha and Echo on board as the three men settled into the chairs around a hand-built wooden table in the center of the foreman’s office. Over the past two years, the three of them, along with Blair, had expanded upon the Smarts’ dream for the property.
They’d constructed numerous small homes and outbuildings with the aid of outside construction workers brought down from Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine during the winter months. Over time, families were accepted into their community. Others purchased property, and still more built small homes that would be just large enough to suit their needs.
The Smarts also brought new life to the dozens of original structures that dotted the landscape of the two-hundred-acre property stretching along the meandering Henry River in Central North Carolina. These abandoned older structures had fallen into disrepair until Hollywood came knocking.
