The Million Dollar Deception

by RM Johnson

  Tori was reluctant at first, said she did not want to get hurt again by him, but Nate wore her down. She warmed to the idea of being Mrs. Kenny, then fell in love with it, as she had fallen back in love with Nate.

  But Nate changed his mind and decided he wanted to stay with his wife. Then Nate not only dumped Tori, he also fired her.

  To Tori, the turn came from nowhere. One moment she was to marry a millionaire and have his children; the next, she was manless and jobless.

  Not a week later, scorned and determined, she had phoned Nate.

  “Meet me or your wife will know every sordid detail of this affair, down to the brand of wine we drink before sex.”

  He had no choice. Nate met Tori at the hotel she designated, discovered that his desire for her had never waned. She said she wanted him. He told her it would be the last time. She smiled as she disrobed. “I understand.”

  What happened that night was what Nate and everyone else in the conference room was looking at right now.

  “Turn it off!” Nate’s attorney said, rising from his chair.

  The tape was as damaging as Tori knew it would be.

  Monica’s offense, her infidelity, was negated by Nate’s, so the proceedings now carried on as though it was a normal divorce, entitling Monica to everything she normally would’ve had right to—half of all Nate’s assets.

  Nate knew Tori, and as he sat there, seething, learning of all the money he would lose because of the new “evidence” that had been introduced, he knew Tori wouldn’t have just given that to Monica free of charge. Tori had sold that tape to his wife, and that was only possible because she had planned the entire event.

  Nate had been tricked, double crossed, and that day he vowed that whatever happened, he would get his revenge on Ms. Tori Thomas.

  Now, as Nate sat in Tori’s house, in the office that she had made for her husband, he smiled and told himself the day had finally come.

  His hands were folded in his lap. He appeared calm, tranquil, the smooth brown skin of his face without worry, his dark, normally fiery eyes smoldering. Nate’s right leg was crossed casually over his left knee. The expensive Italian shoe on his right foot bobbed up and down as if he were grooving to a song he liked.

  “Hello, Tori,” he said, as though they had just spoken yesterday.

  “What are you doing here? Where is my husband?” Tori said, as though she knew Nate was involved.

  She had never been more right.

  “You thought I wouldn’t find you?” Nate said. “Do you know the money I lost because of you? How much did you make out of the sweet deal you brokered?”

  “Where is my husband?” Tori said again, frenzy in her voice.

  “You could’ve come to me. I would’ve given you as much. More. But you had to be conniving. You stole from me. You thought I would not find out?”

  “Where is my husband? Have you hurt him? Where is Glenn?”

  Nate chuckled. “You haven’t gotten this yet, have you? He’s not your husband, and his name is not Glenn. He’s an employee of mine, paid to come to California, find you, marry you, and get my money back.”

  “No,” Tori said, her back against the wall, her face dropping into her hands. “He loves me.”

  “He doesn’t love you.”

  “He does! You’re wrong. Bring him back.”

  “Tori, he doesn’t—” Nate said, standing.

  But Tori staggered across the room, threw herself at Nate, grabbing him by his lapels. “I don’t care about the money. Keep it. But that man loves me, and I love him. You promised you’d marry me, and you left me, fired me. I just wanted money for a new life. Didn’t I deserve at least that?”

  Nate did not want to admit it as he looked at Tori, her face wet with tears, but she might have been right.

  “I move away, find a man I love, and you come and take that away from me. No!” Tori said, beating at his chest now. “Bring him back! Please!”

  Nate grabbed her by the wrists, tried to steady her. When he knew she would not fall, Nate let her go. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, extended it to her. “Pull yourself together.”

  Tori took the cloth, dabbed at her eyes and nose. Her uncontrollable shaking lessened to a tremble.

  “I know you don’t believe me, but he loves me, Nate. Please bring him back to me.”

  “I can believe you, because I loved you before. The fact of the matter is he has no feelings for you. You were a job, an assignment, nothing more. I came because I wanted to see your face when you found out that what you stole from me, I’ve now gotten back,” Nate said, beginning to feel sorry for the woman. “If you know what’s best, you’ll get over him. Understand?”

  Tori dabbed at her eyes again with the handkerchief, then gave it back. “Yes, I understand,” Tori said, her voice a whisper. “I’ll be right back.”

  Nate watched her step out of the room. He shook his head, turning his back, leaning his hands on the edge of the desk.

  Surprisingly, Nate wasn’t as satisfied as he thought he would have been after pulling off this caper. Oh well, the money had been retrieved and was resting securely back in his account. That counted for something.

  Behind him, he heard Tori step back into the room.

  “Nate.”

  He turned and was mildly surprised to see her pointing a gun at him. His heart did not thump in his chest, nor did his palms coat with sweat, because he knew Tori. He knew she could not kill a man, or even shoot a man for that matter, especially not him. And even if she did have it in her, he was confident in his ability to convince her to lower the gun without incident.

  “You’re not going to do that, Tori. So put it down.”

  “You are a hateful man.” The gun trembled in her hand.

  “Tori, put it down.” He took a step forward.

  “I thought I loved you then, but I realize I never could have. Not you.”

  “Just put it down.” Another step. “Killing me would solve nothing. You’d still have to live with your pain.”

  By the look in her eyes, Nate could see something click in Tori’s head.

  “You’re right,” she said, quickly turning the gun, pressing the tip of the barrel to her temple.

  Nate threw himself over the few short steps between them, lunged at her. He was too late.

  Nate heard the deafening blast. Saw the flash of orange fire spurt from the gun’s barrel, and saw the fine red mist of blood spray from the side of Tori’s head. She went limp, the gun dropped from her hand, and Nate caught her in his arms before her body fell to the floor.

  4

  Monica sat on her best friend Tabatha’s sofa, wearing house shoes and a trench coat over her nightgown. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose pink from crying.

  Tabatha, who was tall and thin and never regarded as much more than cute by men, walked in from the kitchen, her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, carrying two cups of tea. She set one down in front of her friend, beside the box of Kleenex she had gotten Monica a moment ago.

  “There’s a little something in there to help you calm down,” Tabatha said, sitting right next to her. “Now what happened?”

  “He proposed like I told you he was going to.”

  “And you told him no, right?”

  “I told him I’m not ready, which I’m not.”

  “And…”

  “And then he started grabbing shit out of the closet and just left.”

  “Aww, baby,” Tabatha said, giving Monica a hug. “Where is the little girl?”

  “He took her with him.”

  “You’re better off.”

  “I don’t feel that way.”

  “You know it was never supposed to go this far anyway.”

  Monica knew that. She remembered the night her divorce from her husband had been finalized.

  She had shed tears, cried painfully at the thought of never being with Nate again.

  Tabatha had come over to comfort her. She had held Monica in h
er arms. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be all right,” Tabatha said that night.

  “I should never have gone through with it,” Monica cried. “I should have stayed with him.”

  “As messed up as it sounds, he didn’t want you anymore, Monica.”

  “But I loved him,” Monica said, smearing tears across her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I still do. I always will. I need to call him.” She tried to pull away from Tabatha.

  Tabatha held tight to Monica’s arm. “No. After what he did, you needed to go. You run back to him, he’ll know he can treat you any old way he wants. If you two are meant to be together again, he’ll come to you.”

  “And what if he doesn’t? I don’t want to be alone. After almost four years I don’t know how to be alone,” Monica cried, lowering her head onto Tabatha’s chest.

  Tabatha smoothed her hand over Monica’s hair. “You’ll find someone else.”

  “There is nobody else.”

  “Then stay with Lewis, the man your husband hired to seduce you.”

  Monica lifted her head, leaning away from Tabatha, giving her a questioning stare.

  “I know he isn’t the man he said he was, but you said you liked him. I know it’s not right. But it’ll be something to do, someone to be with until Nate finally comes to his senses.”

  Monica sniffed, her crying finally stopping. “Do you think that I should?”

  “At least you won’t be alone.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to last, and it didn’t,” Tabatha said now, bringing Monica out of her thoughts. “At least now you won’t have to be the one who breaks it off.”

  “I don’t know if I still want to break it off.”

  “The man has nothing. He’s twenty-seven years old, he works part-time. He has no money, no common sense, and no education. The only reason he’s trying to get one now is because you’re paying for it.”

  “Alright, Tabatha.”

  “I’m just saying,” Tabatha said, springing from the sofa. “The nerve of his ass, trying to demand that you marry him when he ain’t got shit!”

  Monica dried the last of her tears with a Kleenex. “This is the third time he asked. Maybe I should just…I’m raising his child…he bought me a ring.”

  “Was it real?”

  “It looked real.”

  “Then he bought it with that bank card I told you not to give his ass. Monica, there are plenty of other men out there. Men who are worth a damn. Hell, if you don’t want any of them, there’s always your ex-husband.”

  “I’ve gotten over that fantasy. It’s been a year, and I haven’t heard a thing from him.”

  “Yeah, well a year ago you were saying how you would never stop loving him.”

  “Like I said, I’ve gotten over that.”

  “And if he were to contact you, would you—”

  “Lewis is the man in my life now. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that before you accept it,” Monica said with the slightest bit of attitude. “All he’s done is treat me with respect and love me unconditionally. I know the plan wasn’t to stay with him, but maybe I should change the plan.”

  “That would be the biggest mistake you could ever make. He is not the man for you.”

  “Thanks for your opinion, but I think that’s my decision to make.”

  5

  In the pitch-black basement, Freddy’s eyes were open wide.

  He listened intently.

  His girlfriend Kia stirred beside him.

  “What are you—,” she tried to say.

  He spun, covered her mouth with one hand, showed her the gun he was holding in the other.

  “Somebody’s upstairs,” he whispered. “Stay here.”

  Freddy eased out of bed and cautiously climbed the stairs from his basement apartment.

  At the door leading to the first floor, he held the gun high beside his head, listening. It could’ve been his mother moving about, but those weren’t her familiar, slow sounds. As he pressed his ear to the door, he knew there were at least two people shuffling about. Then he heard men’s voices whispering.

  Freddy’s heart pounded in his chest. His hands coated over with sweat. He grabbed tightly to the gun, slowly twisted the door’s knob with the other hand. He swallowed hard, then swung the door open. He saw shadows, heard a glass break, a chair skid across the kitchen floor. He saw the silhouette of a man dart through the room. Freddy leveled his gun on the figure, pulled the trigger, squeezed off three shots. Fire blew from the gun.

  “Motherfucker!” someone yelled.

  A shot was sent back at Freddy. He heard something whiz past his head. The wood of the door frame splintered beside him as a bullet tore through it.

  A kitchen window shattered as the man dived out of it.

  Freddy ran through the dark hallway, the gun pointed in front of him, into the living room, where he heard another man.

  He saw a form speed past him, cloaked in shadows.

  Freddy fired a single shot. The man cried out, turned, fired back at Freddy.

  Freddy dived behind the living room sofa.

  He heard the front door swing open, the intruder scurrying through it.

  Freddy raised his head, fired two more rounds through the door. The room went silent, and Freddy stood slowly, his face covered with sweat. He hurried to the door, looked out. A dark-colored older Chevrolet roared to life, then raced away.

  Freddy heard a noise behind him. He whirled around, leveled the gun again.

  “Freddy, no!”

  He pulled the trigger. The gun clicked on an empty chamber. Freddy gasped. He’d almost shot the girl standing there in the doorway.

  “Are you okay?” his girlfriend said, shaking, crying. She stumbled toward him.

  “Go back downstairs!” Freddy ordered her.

  “But—,” Kia said.

  “Go back downstairs. I got to check on Moms,” he said, running to the stairs, taking them two at a time, the empty gun still in his fist.

  If something had happened to his mother, he thought, he would not be able to forgive himself. Never. Freddy ran down the hall to the last room, stopped at the door. Pressing the side of his face to the door, he said softly, “Moms?”

  “Fred?”

  Freddy forced open the door, prepared to give his life. The door slammed against the back wall. He rushed in, the gun raised, but did not see his mother in her bed.

  “Moms!” Freddy yelled.

  “Down here.”

  Freddy followed the faint voice, saw his mother cowering on the floor beside her bed.

  He set the gun on her dresser, rushed around the bed, helped his heavy, sixty-five-year-old mother from the floor. He hugged her tight, thankful she had not been hurt. Fearful tears ran down her sagging, copper-colored cheeks. “Was it another break-in?”

  “Yeah,” Freddy said, desperately trying to control the rage he felt filling his body. “It was another break-in.”

  6

  Nate was meeting with Aaron Hunter, a.k.a. Glenn Billups, in the California office of one of his associates. Aaron was six feet tall, broad shouldered, and neatly groomed. He was ex-military and carried that demeanor about even after working for Nate for the last two years.

  As Nate sat up in the executive chair behind the desk, Aaron Hunter stood straight, arms stiffly at his sides.

  “Let me ask you again, Aaron,” Nate said. “Did you have feelings for Ms. Thomas?”

  Aaron looked straight ahead at the space a foot above Nate’s head.

  “You gave me the assignment, Mr. Kenny, and I did it. I believe that was all that was required of me.”

  “That’s correct, but—”

  “You said I was successful. I was, wasn’t I?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then with all due respect, sir, why must I be questioned about my emotional position regarding—”

  Nate quickly stood from his chair. “Because I want to know.” His voice was not loud, but it was firm. T
here was silence in the room. Nate took his seat again.

  “She said you loved her. Is she telling the truth?”

  Aaron Hunter continued staring ahead, making no comment.

  “Well, she loved you. As you probably would have assumed, she was pretty distraught at what happened. She pulled a gun on me, threatened to kill me.”

  “I see she was not successful,” Aaron said, glancing at Nate, then looking away.

  “No, she wasn’t. But then she turned the gun on herself.”

  Aaron turned to Nate again, fear on his face. “Is she all right?”

  “Tell me what I want to know. There will be no repercussions. Just—”

  Aaron quickly stepped to Nate’s desk, threw his hands on it, leaned over. “The woman is still my wife.”

  “And you are still my employee. Now tell me. Tell me, and I’ll take you to her.”

  Aaron looked up, resentment on his face. “Yes, I love her, Mr. Kenny. And I didn’t want to leave her, but I kept my agreement with you.”

  The man who stood before Nate and Aaron wore pale blue hospital scrubs and a white lab coat. His name was Dr. Frist.

  “This is Mrs. Billups’s husband, Aaron,” Nate said, as the three men stood just outside the door of Tori’s hospital room.

  “Well,” the balding doctor said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “She missed. The bullet did tear into her skull, chipping some of the occipital region away, but the wound was largely superficial.”

  “Will she be okay?” Aaron asked.

  “She’ll be fine,” Dr. Frist said, smiling a little. “She’s recovering from surgery, but she should be awake by now. You can talk to her if you like, but only for a moment.”

  “Thank you,” Aaron said.

  “Thanks again,” Nate said, shaking the doctor’s hand, then following behind Aaron toward Tori’s hospital room door.

  Aaron stood at the door’s entrance, staring in.

  Tori lay under white sheets, bandages wrapped countless times around her head. Her eyes were closed, tubes seeming to run from every part of her body to bedside machines that beeped, blinked, and charted her vital signs.