The Million Dollar Deception

by RM Johnson

  Monica nodded her head, smiling gratefully. “I truly appreciate that. Sometimes it’s hard making people understand what you go through as the big boss, so I might just do that.”

  Monica stood. Nate did not.

  She extended a hand to him. “Well, this will be the last time I’ll be seeing you here, okay?”

  Nate took her hand. “Okay.”

  Monica did not let go, but looked over her shoulder at Nathaniel playing, then turned back to Nate. “I just want to say—your son…you’re different…better. I’m proud of you.”

  “I could make you prouder if you gave me a chance,” Nate flirted.

  “Oh, I bet you’d love to try.”

  “Of course I would.”

  Monica paused, thoughtfully. “No. Like I said, this is what it is. Okay, Nate?”

  “Okay.”

  Monica let go of his hand, turned and walked away. She only looked back at Nathaniel twice.

  43

  Three days later, Abbey Kurt pulled her Audi sedan over to the curb in front of the small rehabbed house.

  She eyed the FOR SALE sign on the neatly cut front lawn.

  Three days ago, Mr. Kenny had slowly walked into her office with the assistance of a man he had introduced as his brother, Tim. Mr. Kenny’s face was bruised, and by the way he walked, he appeared to be in a significant amount of pain. Abbey quickly stepped from around her desk to help Nate into a chair.

  “I need to intensify this,” Nate told Abbey once he was settled. “The man Monica is involved with—”

  “Lewis Waters,” Abbey said. “His name came up in my research. I’ve already done some quick checking on him.”

  “Deepen that. As deep as you can go. And not just with him, with whoever he knows, immediate family, distant relatives, past employers, friends—you name it. Whoever he knows, I want to know better. I want every available avenue open to get to this man.”

  Abbey started her work moments after Nate and his brother left and did not stop until three days later.

  She did extensive work on the Internet, went down to city hall for records, visited grammar schools and high schools. She made phone calls, walked the streets of the neighborhoods where Lewis had lived, talking to people, gathering information on the man.

  Abbey found out that he had been born on the West Side of Chicago to a single mother. The father had been in and out of the house, and when Lewis was five years old, the father had left, never to return.

  Lewis’s mother lived on welfare while working odd jobs at grocery stores, a pawn shop, and a number of bars. Lewis was an only child and had a rough upbringing. He was in and out of school, barely graduating from both elementary and high school.

  He had been arrested for a number of petty crimes—drug possession, vagrancy, destruction of public property—all before he was eighteen years old.

  Lewis was either kicked out or left his mother’s house soon after that, and he bounced around from place to place for the next few years, working only when he needed to, staying with whatever friends or girlfriends would have him.

  Abbey could not find specific information regarding exactly where those places were. But checking the Department of Motor Vehicles Web site, Abbey found that Lewis had registered his license to an Ida B. Wells Homes housing address some three years ago.

  She dug up information on a Selena Wells, to whom the apartment was registered. There was a baby born, Layla Waters, a few months later at Cook County Hospital.

  Two nights ago, Abbey had leaned back from eight straight hours in front of her computer screen, pulled her glasses off, and rubbed her eyes.

  Her phone rang. She glanced at her desk clock. It read 10:01 P.M.

  “This is Abbey Kurt,” she said, softly.

  “How’s it coming?” It was Nate, checking her progress.

  “Very well, Mr. Kenny. So far, I’ve turned up a lot of useful information. But I’m sure there’s much more. I just stumbled upon a friend of Lewis Waters. His name is Freddy Ford.”

  “Good,” Nate said. “Follow up on that, and let me know what you uncover.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The following morning, Abbey stood before Nate in his office. He was looking through a manila file she had compiled.

  “And that’s a photo of the friend I was telling you about last night, Freddy Ford. The two have been friends since second grade. They both struggled in school, both had minor criminal records, and currently, they both work for a real-estate management company Mr. Ford’s uncle owns.”

  “Does this Freddy Ford have a father?”

  “He did, but when Freddy was eight years old, his father died in an accident at home. I dug deeper to find out just what that accident was, and it turns out that this Freddy Ford killed his own father. After asking around his neighborhood, I was told it was because the man was abusing Ford’s mother. You’re looking at the death certificate right now,” Abbey said. “From that point on, after the father’s death, his mother struggled with paying bills, for household necessities, so on and so forth.”

  Nate looked up. “Did you find out where this Ford lives?”

  “Yes, sir. The address and a photo of the house are right there,” Abbey said, leaning over and sifting through the paperwork for Nate. “I checked the status of the house, and there were outstanding taxes that had not been paid in more than two years. One month ago, a real-estate investor, his name is in the file, took ownership of those delinquent taxes.”

  Nate pulled the page with the investor’s name and information. He smiled, saying, “It seems their grace period for paying these taxes has already ended.”

  “That’s correct,” Abbey said.

  “Is there any indication as to why they didn’t pay?”

  “Freddy’s mother has been out of work for two years, I believe. She has been drawing disability for that period. I don’t have the exact figure, but I’m certain it’s not substantial enough to pay the taxes. Honestly, I don’t believe they are even aware the taxes have been bought from under them.”

  “Good work, Abbey. I want you to continue digging this stuff up. I’m going to try to contact the investor who holds the taxes on the Ford house and see if I can work something out. I’ll call you and let you know what the next move is.”

  Abbey sat up straight in the Audi. She powered down the window when she saw a man wearing a blue work shirt and jeans step out of the house.

  Abbey took off her glasses. “Excuse me,” she called to the man she recognized as Freddy Ford. “May I speak with you please?”

  Freddy walked across the lawn, smiling as he came closer to the car.

  “Do you know who’s selling this house?”

  Freddy leaned an elbow on the roof of Abbey’s Audi. “I am. Why, you want to buy it?” he joked.

  “No, but my employer does. If it’s still for sale, I know he would be interested in the property.”

  “Yeah, it’s still for sale.”

  “May I have your card?”

  Freddy patted himself down and pulled out a single dog-eared business card, a dirty thumbprint on the face. He handed it to Abbey. “You can reach me at that number. It’s my cell.”

  “Mr. Ford,” Abbey said, reading the card as though she did not already know his name. She extended a hand out the window. “I’ll contact you later today to give you the address where I would like for you to meet my employer and discuss the sale of the house. Does that work for you?”

  “Oh yeah,” Freddy said, smiling and nodding. “That works just fine.”

  44

  Monica sat at one end of the dinner table, Lewis across from her, Layla in her high chair at the side of the table.

  Monica sat there listening to whatever Lewis was talking to his daughter about, while they ate the cheeseburgers Lewis had made them all for dinner.

  She sat silently, feeling content, overjoyed actually, a simple smile on her face.

  “Okay,” Lewis said, setting down his greasy half-eaten cheeseb
urger. “You been smiling all night and haven’t said a word. What’s up?”

  “You really want to know?” Monica said, feeling as though she was going to burst if she didn’t tell him.

  “Of course, baby.”

  “I got my quarterlies back today, and you won’t believe it. We sold sixteen percent more clothing and merchandise than we did last quarter. Our spa services are up even higher—twenty-one percent. Do you believe that? This surpassed even the annual goals that my accountant and I had set, which is just insane,” Monica said, excited. “You know what? Nothing tells it better than the actual report,” she said, getting up from her chair and leaving a less than enthused Lewis and his daughter at the table.

  Monica returned and leaned in beside Lewis, shoving a number of computer pages in front of him, lined with column upon column of numbers and percentages.

  “See, last quarter, the margin we set was attainable, but we still didn’t meet it. But this one, here,” Monica said, pointing. “Wow! I don’t know what happened—but we made it and even passed it. This opens the doors for who knows what. Maybe I can do some radio ads, maybe even TV. And with the extra money, I can probably expand the stores even more, build an addition, look at the property next door. Or maybe even open another location. You know what I mean?”

  “No, Monica,” Lewis said, handing back the pages. “You’re at work all day, and sometimes well into the evenings. You talk about your business all the time, now you saying that we got to hear about it even when we’re eating.”

  “I just thought that you’d want to know about the report.”

  “Baby, I’m glad you met your gains, or margins, or whatever, but to tell you the truth, I could not understand a word you were saying. Layla, could you?” Lewis asked the child.

  The little girl hunched her shoulders and shook her head.

  “See,” Lewis said. “Nobody knows what you’re talking about but you. So can you put the papers away for right now so we can finish eating, and then maybe we can talk more about your work another time?”

  “Yeah,” Monica said, disappointed. “I can do that.”

  45

  The next morning, Freddy stood before Nate Kenny, wearing a shirt and tie. He had Kia tie it for him this morning, after he showered.

  “What’s the special occasion?” Kia asked while she, Freddy, and his mother ate breakfast.

  “I’m going to meet the man who wants to buy that rehab today,” Freddy said, smiling. “I’m telling you all, this is going to be it. This is going to be the beginning.”

  Kia pushed back her chair, came over, and wrapped her arms around Freddy’s neck. “I’m so happy for you, baby. You sure this man wants to buy it?”

  “The woman I spoke to yesterday said her boss definitely wanted it. She called me last night and told me to meet them this morning. I’m gonna go myself, make sure it’s the real thing, and then I’ll tell my uncle. After that, it’s on, baby.”

  Freddy’s mother smiled silently from across the table. She had been feeling good enough to climb the stairs, but not to start her new job, yet.

  “Moms, what you thinking?” Freddy asked.

  “That I’m just so proud of my boy. I always knew you’d make a success of yourself.”

  But now, standing in Nate’s office, hearing what the man just told him, Freddy knew his mother would have lost what little pride she’d had in Freddy.

  “Did you hear what I said, Freddy? Someone purchased the unpaid taxes on your house. Did you know they had not been paid?”

  “No,” Freddy said, his voice soft, his head lowered, his fists clenched at his sides.

  “You should have,” Nate said from behind his office desk. “I’m sure your mother received countless notices. Do you believe she ignored them, thought everything would be just fine if she paid them no mind?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Freddy, let me assure you. Everything is not just fine.” Nate rose from his chair, walked around his desk, past Abbey, who was standing off to the side, back straight like a soldier.

  “The gentleman who bought the taxes does that for a living. I called him, and he was more than happy to sell them to me. There is always a grace period given in order for the owner of the property to try to scrape up the money to save his or her home. But since your mother has been out of work, we both know that she wasn’t able to do that.”

  Freddy looked up angrily at Nate for speaking so harshly about his mother.

  “That period has expired, and just days ago, I bought your house,” Nate said, smiling. He reached back onto his desk. “Here is the deed.” Nate handed it to Freddy.

  All Freddy saw was his address, and he handed it back to the man. He felt himself becoming even angrier.

  “What the fuck do you want with me?”

  “Temper, temper, Mr. Freddy Ford,” Nate said, pacing in front of him. “Do you know how I got these scars and bruises on my face?”

  “No. How would I?”

  “I was jumped, in broad daylight, in the driveway of my own home. I was jumped and beaten, while my almost-three-year-old son sat in the back seat of my car and had to watch it.”

  Freddy’s eyes widened the slightest bit at the mention of this news.

  “That’s right, you didn’t know that, did you?” Nate stopped in front of Freddy, looked him in the eyes. “I know you were the other man that was there, and I appreciate you not contributing to the beating I was given. And because I am grateful, I will allow you not only to serve my needs, but to benefit from that service.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You are Lewis Waters’ best friend. By now you should know exactly who I am, and what’s been going on between he and I for more than a year. He had made the mistake in thinking that he no longer has to worry about me, that my wife is his and he will never lose her. Freddy, I don’t have to tell you how wrong he is. I’m going to take back my wife,” Nate said, walking behind him. “And then take away everything else of importance to him.” Nate rested a hand on Freddy’s shoulder. “And you’re going to help me.”

  “Fuck you,” Freddy said, turning and starting toward the door.

  “Mr. Ford!” Freddy heard the woman call his name as he reached for the doorknob.

  Freddy turned.

  “Mr. Kenny is not finished. It would behoove you to stay for your own sake, and the sake of your family.”

  Freddy stepped back to the place where he’d been standing.

  “Freddy, let me make this simple for you,” Nate said. “You help me out, do what I tell you, and I will sign over your house to you. Meaning you will no longer have to pay the back taxes. You will own the home, free and clear. But, if you don’t do exactly what I say, or if you try to warn your friend of what’s going on, mention a single word of this to him, I will put you, your little pregnant girlfriend, and your mother out on the street. Then I’ll have that heap of a house condemned and bulldozed, as it should’ve been years ago. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Freddy Ford?” Nate said, standing over his shoulder, his voice no higher than a whisper.

  Through painfully clenched teeth, Freddy said, “I need time to think about this.”

  “You have a day. Now get out of my office.”

  46

  After work, Freddy and Lewis sat in Freddy’s car parked on a street in Lewis’s old neighborhood, sipping Coronas.

  Freddy was melancholy, picking at the label of his beer, taking the occasional sip. “You ever think about your old man?”

  Lewis pulled the bottle down from his lips, shifted toward Freddy in his seat. “Me? Shit, my old man left when I was like five. Hadn’t thought about him since.”

  Freddy tore off a corner of his beer label. “Sometimes I still have dreams about mine, about him laying there, his face all pushed in, covered in blood.”

  Lewis stared at Freddy but did not speak a word.

  “Sometimes, I can’t get it out of my head.”

  “Just don’t think about
it.”

  “It ain’t as bad as it used to be,” Freddy said. “Remember before they found out what really happened and sent me away, when you walked into the bathroom at school and found me crying? I thought you’d think I was crazy or a punk when I told you that I’d been doing that every day for the past week.”

  “Naw. You were going through something. That was your father. Regardless of how foul he was for beating your moms like that, I knew you was still sorry he was gone.”

  “And I appreciated that.” Freddy took another drink from his beer. “Remember after they let me come back home, my moms would have to damn near kick you out of my crib every night, because you’d be there until like midnight?”

  Lewis smiled a little. “I was afraid you’d do something stupid like try and hang yourself, or jump out the window or something. You were my best friend. I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

  “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know if I would’ve gotten through that. I owe you, man,” Freddy said.

  “That’s what friends are for, right?” Lewis said.

  “That’s right. Drink to that.”

  The two men tapped the butts of their beer bottles together and took a drink.

  “But look at us now,” Lewis said. “I got a beautiful little girl, and I’m about to marry a millionaire. And you just got your real-estate license, about to have a baby with the finest future lawyer at UIC. And we ain’t gonna even talk about the real-estate business we gonna open once we sell this first rehab. Sky is the limit, baby. That ain’t too bad for two poverty-stricken kids, growing up without fathers.”

  “Yeah,” Freddy said, trying to mask his sadness. “Not bad at all.”

  47

  When Freddy got home, he went straight upstairs to see his mother. He was angry, wanted to yell at her about the situation with the house, demand why she didn’t tell him about the tax notices. They could’ve gotten the money from somewhere, asked for an extension, something! But upon walking in his mother’s bedroom door, seeing her laid up in bed, nodding off to sleep, Freddy knew he could not bring himself to scold her.