The Heist

by Theresa Sederholt

  The Heist

  Copyright© 2020 by Theresa Sederholt

  ISBN: 978-1-7343894-1-8

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner, whatsoever, without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in the book review.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentions in this work of fiction: iPad, Charlotte Tilbury’s Pillow Talk lip gloss, Mary Queen of Heaven Church, Northwestern University, Boston University, Guinness Book of Records, Costco, Hotel Delmano, Bella Gioia, House Hunters, Uber, It Happened One Night, Goodfellas, Henry Hill, The Biltmore, Lexus, The Irishman, Vincent Gigante, Dudley Do Right, Powerball, Jeep Gladiator, Netflix, O’Malley’s Pub, John Marshall Law School, “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book contains strong language, violence, and explicit sexual scenes. It is not intended for anyone under the age of 18.

  Publisher: Theresa Sederholt©

  Author: Theresa Sederholt

  Cover designer/formatter: Stacey Blake, Champagne Book Design

  Editor: Jacquelyn Ayres

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Epilogue

  Other Books

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Amelia

  Today is the day I’ve been dreading for twenty years. It’s the day I head into court and finally declare my husband Peter dead. It really is a double-edged sword. Part of me wants to close the chapter and move on, the other part of me wants to know why Peter disappeared without a trace. Twenty years ago, he went out to the store to satisfy one of my many pregnancy cravings. He drove off into the night and never came back. I was seven months pregnant and no family of my own to fall back on, being a product of the foster care system from the time I was four. His parents died in a car accident the year before. Everything was solely on me. I called the police and filed a missing person’s report, but they didn’t take me seriously. They were of the school of thought that he didn’t want all the responsibility of raising a family. I knew that wasn’t the case, but they wouldn’t listen. So, every week for twenty years, I would go to the police department and check on his case. After he was missing for ten years, I was able to file a motion to declare him dead, but I had to wait another ten years to declare him legally dead. So basically, I put my life on hold for twenty years. I raised my daughter Emma alone. I had to work two jobs to support us: a clerical job for the Department of Motor Vehicles and cleaning office buildings at night. Pretty boring, but I did whatever I could to make a somewhat normal life for Emma. She’s in college now trying to find her own way. I’m grateful that Peter thought to take out a life insurance policy. At least the money from the policy will come in handy for her student loans.

  Emma wanted to come with me today, but I asked her not to. There is no reason for her to mourn the death of a man she didn’t know. I never hid the facts about her father’s disappearance from her. I’ve always believed in complete transparency with everything in life. I never wanted her to go out into the world with rose-colored glasses on. I take one more look in the mirror, swipe my lips with my Charlotte Tilbury’s Pillow Talk lip gloss, adjust my imaginary crown, and head out the door.

  I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe some sort of condolences or something. With the slam of a gavel and a stamp on a death certificate, Peter Mach is no more. The whole process took ten minutes. Twenty years of my life put on hold for ten minutes in the court house. As I make my way out to the street, I run into Peter’s friend, Mitch Stein. I haven’t seen him in so many years; what are the odds I would see him today—the day he’s declared legally dead?

  “Amelia, oh my God, you haven’t changed in years. You still look beautiful as ever.”

  “Twenty years, Mitch, to be exact. Thank you. You haven’t changed, either.” My foster mom always told me “If you can be anything, be kind.” Sometimes the years are not the kindest. He’s still a handsome man, but I guess I’m remembering him in his youth. “I officially had Peter declared legally dead today.” I don’t know why I felt the need to tell him that.

  “Wow, it was so long ago. How is Emma doing?” He moves from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at me. Can you say extremely uncomfortable?

  “Emma is great. She’s at Northwestern University. How’s your family?”

  “Becky and I got divorced and Brook is in her senior year at Boston University.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. About Becky, that is. Well, I’ve got to get going.” Very awkward.

  “Do you want to get together for a drink sometime?”

  Not really but I don’t want to be rude. “Sure.” I pull out my phone and we exchange numbers before I hightail it out of there. Now I just hope he doesn’t call me.

  Amelia

  As I sit on the subway staring at Peter’s death certificate, I realize I am a single woman now. For twenty years I had casual dates but, technically, I was still married. I was young and the guys my age were looking for a future, not a future put on hold. Anyway, I’ve been single for so long, I don’t think I want to get married. I can sell my house, but where would I go? I can’t follow my daughter. I mean, who knows where she will end up? Besides, I read someplace that following your children around the country is bad for them.

  The train comes to a stop and I begin the trek home. My phone chirps with a new text message. I retrieve it from my purse to discover that it’s Mitch.

  Mitch: It was so great to see you again. Would you like to get together for a drink tonight?

  What really gets my goat is when Peter first went missing, his friends were here all the time. Then after about three months, I never heard from them again. Now Mitch wants to go for drinks on the same day Peter was declared dead?

  Me: Wow, you didn’t waste any time. Obviously today isn’t a great day for me. Maybe another time.

  Mitch: Amelia, it’s just drinks.

  It doesn’t seem that he’s going to take “no” for an answer. I stare at my phone for what seems like forever but, in reality, it’s not. I quickly reply.

  Me: How about tomorrow?

  Mitch: Great. I’ll pick you up at eight.

  Me: See you then.

  I’m not going to put off the inevi
table; one drink and I’m done.

  I live in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn, New York. I had a car but when Peter left that night, he took it with him. It showed up six months later torched but Peter wasn’t in it. Just another mystery that surrounds his disappearance. I had no money to replace the car, so I quickly got used to taking the trains and walking wherever I needed to go. Besides, the expense of a vehicle in New York City is insane. I promised Emma I would call her when everything was over. I check my phone, and with the time difference, she should just be finishing her chemical engineering class.

  “Hey, Mom, how did everything go? Are you okay? I wish you would have let me come home like I wanted to.”

  “Slow down, Emma, I’m fine. The whole process took ten minutes. It’s done, and we need to look toward the future. How are you doing?”

  “Mom, trying to deflect the conversation back toward me is not going to make it go away. It’s okay to mourn him now that you finally got closure.”

  “Emma, it will take a lot more than the slap of the gavel and a rubber stamp to give me the closure I need. Look, let’s put that aside for now. What I wanted to talk to you about is the house. I was thinking of selling it. How do you feel about it?”

  “Where will you go?” I can hear the angst in her voice. Maybe it’s too soon for her to even think about this, but that’s all I’ve done for twenty years—think about how to move on.

  “I think I want to go someplace that’s more like the country . . . you know, not the concrete jungle that I’m in now. If you don’t want me to sell it, I won’t.” I know it’s her childhood home and even though she didn’t know her father, it’s a good memory that I’m proud I made for her.

  “It’s up to you mom, but don’t do anything until I get home this weekend. We can talk about it then.”

  “Okay, I’m going to call the insurance company tomorrow and get the ball rolling on the policy. At least you won’t have any loans when you graduate.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you Friday night. Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you, too. Stay safe, Emma.”

  We hang up, which brings me back to thinking about what to do next. Peter took out the life insurance policy when he found out I was pregnant. At the time, I thought it was a lot, but he said rule of thumb was seven to ten times your annual salary. Twenty years ago, two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars sounded like a fortune, but in today’s world—it’s not. At least Emma won’t be in debt; that’s the most important thing. We always want our children to do better than we did. Hope and wish that they can go further in the world . . . make a difference. I’m proud my Emma is on the right track.

  When I walk up to my house, my dog Rusty is sitting on the back of the couch with the blinds moved to the side. His face is plastered against the glass. He was a rescue and anyone that comes to my house is deathly afraid of him. He’s a big clown, but Pit bulls have a stigma. When I get inside, he rolls onto his back and does his butt wiggle. He greets me every day like this. He’s been my savior since Emma left for school.

  “Hello to you too, Rusty. Did you miss me, big guy?” He waits, knowing what’s coming next—the belly rub and then, most importantly, dinner. This is our daily routine. I wonder how he’s going to react to Mitch tomorrow. Rusty can be very protective until he deems you safe, and then the big baby comes out in him. The rescue said that comes from him being used as a bait dog. Just the thought sends shivers up my spine. “Come on, big guy. I’ve got something special for you tonight.” We head into the kitchen and I cook up a burger to add to his food tonight. After all, it’s not every day I officially become a widow.

  Mitch

  I get to Doug’s house to find him sitting on the porch, waiting for me. Our neighborhood is all duplex single-family homes. Each house has a one car garage. Some people turn their basement into a one-bedroom apartment. Usually they are not legal; too much paperwork and a lot of palms to grease to make it legal. There is a long flight of steps up to a porch, which is where Doug and I usually have a morning coffee or a beer. We have backyards but we basically use them for gardening. Sitting on the front porch together lets us keep an eye on the neighbor’s comings and goings. Peter’s neighborhood is very similar except his house is the end unit, so he is only attached on one side. We’ve been neighbors for twenty years. It was Doug, Peter, and me. We were the three musketeers. Doug was the oldest by one year, so he always took control of everything. Twenty years. Twenty frigging years we’ve been waiting. Peter was supposed to come to my house that night before he went to the store for Amelia. The next day we were finally going to meet with the top jewel fence in the world. It took us a year and Peter jumping through a lot of hoops to even get the appointment. Peter was supposed to come to Doug’s house that night with the jewels. We’d been sitting on them for three years, rotating the location. Each of us held on to them for a year. We were nearing the end of Peter’s stint. We trusted each other with our lives, so why not trust each other with the jewels? But then Peter vanished without a trace. The crazy part of this whole thing is that no one even believed there was a heist. There was even a movie made about it. Of course, they got it all wrong. I mean, after all, there weren’t any witnesses, so most of the story was made up. Even the Guinness Book of Records removed the heist from their book, stating there was no proof that it ever happened. Only the three musketeers—Peter , Doug, and I—knew the truth, but now we don’t even have the jewels to prove it! I slowly climb the steps, still lost in the past. When I get to the top, Doug is in his usual spot: sitting in a beat-up folding chair with his feet propped up on an old milk crate.

  “Doug, were you afraid I wasn’t coming back, either?”

  He rolls his eyes, downs what’s left of his beer, and pulls another one out of the cooler he keeps on the porch. “Asshole, I needed a break from that hag I’m married to. You’re lucky, your wife left; mine just won’t go away. Even now that my daughter is out of the house. What happened today?”

  “Amelia officially became a widow today, and she agreed to go out for drinks with me tomorrow night. I’m going to push her to sell the house. And since I’m Peter’s best friend, I will list it for her at a discounted rate. I mean, after all, she’s a widow and needs every penny now.”

  “Wow, you really know how to spin the shit around. It does help that you’re one of the top producing realtors in Brooklyn. Do you really think the jewels are in the house?”

  “We looked everywhere we could think of. Peter’s car was torched, and there was no body in it, so that was useless. Who knows, maybe it’s in plain sight.”

  “So, what is your plan?”

  “I’m going to convince her to let me list the house. I’m going to offer to do some of the changes and updating that needs to be done. I’ll put her up in a hotel while I tear that place apart. Once we get the jewels, we will be on easy street.” He crosses his arms and rests them on his ever-growing man-gut. He keeps up like this, he won’t live to spend his portion.

  “There’s one big problem in your plan.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Peter. Do you really think he would have left Amelia seven months pregnant of his own free will? Come on, man. Why don’t you be realistic?”

  “There’s a lot of what ifs, but we have to start some place. No, I don’t think he would have willingly walked away. I think he was grabbed that night and who ever took him, killed him trying to get the jewels. I know Peter, he would never give up the location of the jewels.”

  “If that’s the case, then why has no one bothered Amelia? I’m sorry, Mitch, I know you don’t want to believe it—hell, all these years, I refused to believe it—but now, twenty years later, I’m starting to think Peter skipped with the jewels.”

  I take a few minutes to contemplate what he is saying. “Maybe they didn’t know about her. He was supposed to be headed here with the jewels. Maybe he was on his way to pick them up. Or maybe you’re right; maybe he had them with him and just skipped out of town, you know
, skipped out on all the responsibilities of his life. Maybe he finally got that boat he was always dreaming about. It wouldn’t take much to go down to Mill Basin, get on a boat, drive away and never look back. Hell, what do I know, do I look like a professional crook or a killer? Doug, we were three drunk college kids on spring break in Cannes. I know I’m grasping at straws, but what else did we have to look forward to?”

  “Yeah, three kids who pulled off the greatest heist in history. The sad part is, we never saw a dime of it. The funny part is our kids are the same age we were at the time. Could you imagine them pulling off what we did?”

  I can’t help but laugh at the thought. “We are the three musketeers, each with a daughter. How ironic, but It’s not like we could pass on the family business to them. Could you imagine trying to teach them to rob houses in broad daylight. One piece here and one piece there, all going unnoticed? When enough is accumulated, go out and sell it. It was the perfect way to build up our little war chest so we could get to France. I know our kids are clueless but in today’s world, it’s a whole different animal. Everyone is so worried about being politically correct. They could never do what we did, they wouldn’t have the balls.”

  “Balls? You know we had to have big ones to rob that place with machine guns filled with blanks. It helped that we had a few too many to drink at the time Peter came up with the plan.”

  “It’s funny; whenever I think back to that trip, I always seem to remember a few more things, you know . . . little things. Sometimes it makes me wonder if any of it was real.” He gets a somber look on his face.

  “Mitch, when I think back, I remember Peter plying us with a lot of Tequila, and let’s not forget the women that seemed to come out of the woodwork.”

  “Oh yeah, I almost forgot about the women. He hatched the plan that night. I still can’t believe we never got caught. I mean, we walked into that hotel jewelry store in broad daylight with guns blazing. We took everything in sight and walked right out the front door.”