The Perfect-Perfect Plan

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  So, the plan is to send Douglas to jail and get him out of the way. If that happens, she will have the house, the furniture, her jewelry, everything all to herself without splitting anything.

  Repeatedly I have told Carol, for her to access the trust in amounts beyond the terms of the Trust Agreement, she would need to petition the court and show exigent circumstances exist which result in a dramatic decrease in financial stability. With Douglas being the sole breadwinner in the family, Carol believes if Douglas is behind bars and can no longer support her, she can prevail upon a judge to make a full disbursement of all the mega-millions in her trust fund. I don’t think she would be successful in this pursuit. A judge might consent to a small partial distribution. But for Carol to claim she needs near a billion dollars to live on is ludicrous in most people’s minds. However, I have witnessed Carol spending more in one day than most people can earn in a lifetime.

  Probably Carol is worried she can’t get her hands on the entire trust too because she has tried over and over to woo me into simply opening the pocketbook and doling out the money. However, I have explained over and over that there are too many checks and balances within the banking system for me to get away with something like that. And I’m not stupid enough to believe Carol will stand by me in the event I am charged with misappropriating funds, which would surely be filed against me, even if Carol as the recipient was the same as the trust beneficiary. At the very least, I’d lose my job, which isn’t an appealing result. Nonetheless, I’m more than willing to let Carol seduce me sexually, over, and over and over, in her attempts to access the funds. But ultimately, I’m not falling for her promises of us living happily ever after together once she gets her hands on the money. My mirror tells me that I’m looking my fifty-three years in age. My hair is thinning and turning gray, and there’s a paunch around my belly. If she’s not happy with Douglas Vanover, who is a very distinguished looking man, I can’t imagine I’d fit the bill. So here I am, slinking out into the dark of night to follow Douglas Vanover.

  On previous attempts, I haven’t been able to catch up to his vehicle before he disappears into the vapor. Recently, Carol placed tracking devices on both their Lincoln and their Audi to help me. The first time I accessed the movement, I was only able to follow him to a storage unit. By the time I arrived, I couldn’t find him. After waiting in the shadows for hours, he finally returned. From a distance, I watched him store an old Toyota Corolla. Now I know whatever he is doing, he is using a decoy vehicle.

  Just a few days ago, Carol called and said he was heading out. This time I hauled butt straight to the storage unit. Sure enough, I watched from across the street, and he pulled out in the old Corolla. From a safe distance, I followed him into an apartment complex, where he pulled out a ladder and broke into someone’s residence. I reasoned he must be stealing money, jewelry and possibly guns as a means of adding cash to his bank account. However, that seemed menial, and pawnshops might be too risky. When I reported to Carol, she said when he came home, she asked him if he “fixed it” and he told her “almost” which to us meant the apartment was only a means to an end.

  Tonight, I am already driving to the storage unit when I pull up the “Find Me” app on my phone and access the GPS device placed on Douglas Vanover’s Audi Q3. Sure enough, it looks like he’s heading over to Westhaven Storage.

  Pulling into my well-hidden waiting spot behind a farmer’s market, I wait until he exits in the Corolla. After giving him a head start, I pull out and follow him from a safe distance so as not to draw attention to myself.

  We travel back across town to Mobility Bank. My heart thumps out of my chest. This is where I work as a trustee. Surely, he’s not planning on robbing the place. My God, alarms will penetrate the still of the night for miles. The police station is only a few blocks away, meaning cops will arrive within mere minutes. What the hell is he thinking?

  I circle the block until finding an inconspicuous place to watch from. I end up parked between two cars at Merv’s Muffler Repair Shop which is catawampus to the bank. Taking a pair of binoculars, I adjust them and peer across the street. With the aid of nearby streetlights, I can see that Douglas is still sitting in his car. Surely, he is reconsidering this maddening idea of breaking into the bank. But no, after a few long moments, he ejects himself from the driver’s seat and heads to the front door. His head looks like a spinning top, going round and round, looking to see if anyone is watching him.

  “I’m watching you.” I chuckle aloud.

  When he almost gets to the door, a car goes by. I laugh again when he trips all over himself getting over to the night-depository window, pretending like he’s filling out a deposit slip. Once the car passes, he performs a hoot-owl maneuver with his head, looking again for anyone who might be watching him.

  “I’m still watching you.” I chuckle again.

  This time, I can’t believe my eyes when he opens the front door with a key and crosses the lobby in bold strides. He disappears down the hallway and when I don’t hear any loud alarms, I assume he has the security code. My God, I can’t believe it. He has waltzed into the bank in the middle of the night. How in the heck did he get the key and the code?

  Then it registers.

  My boss, Hannah Williams, was recently run down in a crosswalk by a vehicle while she was bicycling. This has got to be the connection. It was most likely her apartment he broke into. And while she was in the hospital, he must’ve swiped her keys. I’m not sure how he got the security code, but he did.

  For a while I ponder calling the cops and having him arrested while he is in the very act of robbing the bank. Still, surely, he must realize if the vault or any of the safety deposit boxes are tampered with, we’ll report the break-in and watch him on the videos. How does he expect to get in and get out without being ultimately found out? This makes no sense to me whatsoever.

  While I am still grasping at ideas, a car pulls up to the night-depository window. Suddenly Douglas appears and heads for the front door. Presumably, he heard the mechanical drawer making noises and came to make sure the door was locked. From my high-powered binoculars, I observe a shocked look on his face when he discovers that the night-depositor has spied him in the bank.

  “This should be interesting,” I mumble to myself.

  They carry on a conversation for a few minutes and then Douglas exits the bank, locks it, and goes around to the side where the car is idling. Some popcorn fart gets out and they go around back. The front of Douglas’s car is facing me, but they are standing behind the trunk of the vehicle, just out of my sight. Therefore, my hiding spot doesn’t give me the best angle to see what’s happening. While I am pondering moving my car, suddenly Douglas comes back around and gets in the depositor’s car and drives it to the rear of the bank. A few minutes later the car pulls out and he’s driving the old man’s car and the old man is nowhere in sight.

  Douglas drives down the street and turns to the right on West Seventh. I crank my car and head after him. While I am a respectable distance behind him, he surprises the heck out of me when he pulls to the side of the Trinity River Bridge and comes to a complete stop. It is not a parking zone and I have to swerve around to get past. While I must keep going, I watch him from my rearview mirror and see him hop out and run to the trunk. I whip into Montgomery Plaza and park by the railroad tracks. With my trusty binoculars, I watch him haul the old man to the edge of the bridge and toss him off.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mutter to myself. Douglas Vanover is much, much more dangerous than I ever expected.

  He leaves the car in place and jogs back toward the bank. I’m afraid to turn around and go back along the same route. If I pass him, he might get my license number and hunt me down and kill me. Instead, I take Foch Street over to Lancaster and head back to Mobility Bank from a few blocks away. My arrival only takes a few minutes, so I stash my car back at the muffler shop and wait for him to arrive. He finally comes dragging back several long minutes later, appearing to
be completely out of breath. Then, back in the bank he goes.

  While I sit here, I go back to wondering what he’s doing inside. Then it occurs to me that he must also have Hannah’s computer password. Undoubtedly, he is getting into the financial accounts and transferring someone’s money into an account for himself. Our bank has a program where you can printout the daily transactions. Since there will only be one at this late hour of the night, I believe I will wait until in the morning and look at which of the accounts he has just embezzled from. With the proof in my hand, it will be much easier to point a finger at him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Joe Avery, Trustee

  Carol’s phone call wakes me the next morning. “Well, what did you find out? Did you catch him doing anything illegal?” A giant note of hopefulness fills her voice, expecting doom is heading for her husband.

  “Nope, sorry. We’ll have to keep trying.” I feel a little shiver run up my spine. Not only have a lied, but I’m also considering something devious of my own.

  “What do you mean! He told me he fixed it really good this time. Do you have blinders on? Why didn’t you catch him doing something?”

  “Just as always, he gave me the slip.”

  “Good Lord Joe, if he did manage to fix it, there’s no telling how many more months it will be before he has to fix it again, especially if he fixed it really good this time. I was counting on you.” A sigh comes through the phone line. “You’re worthless Joe. I should’ve hired a private detective. Or even a monkey would have been able to keep up with him better than you.”

  “Well, sorry. Maybe you should’ve gone with the monkey.” I hate her, just like everyone else does and I’m tired of being used by her. Sex with her isn’t that great and once my plan comes through, it’ll be easy for me to get some sexy little tart to satisfy my every urge. “Look, I was out all night trying to find him. I’m going back to sleep. Don’t call me again.” Click. I hang up on her and imagine steam rolling out of her ears.

  My feet hit the floor in full force. Showering, shaving and dressing, I’m out the door in record time. When I pull into the bank parking lot, I’m the only car there. It aggravates me to no end that Melinda can’t get here ten or fifteen minutes early. But no, she’s gotta be right on time within five or six minutes. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel while I wait. “Come on, come on,” I urge her to get the lead out. “Finally,” I say under my breath when she hits the parking lot at five until opening hours.

  “You’re here early,” she says when she spots me climbing out of my car.

  “Bank opens in five minutes. Maybe you’re running late,” I accuse, meeting up with her in the parking lot.

  She harrumphs at me. “What’s the matter, Joe? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” She digs the entrance key out of her purse.

  “Nope, I’m all a tither to get to work.”

  “Well, let me get you inside.” She unlocks the door and disarms the security.

  I’m all out of small chitchat, so I head straight to my office.

  “Hurry up, hurry up,” I begrudge my slow computer. When it pops up, I go immediately into Carol Vanover’s trust account and expect it to be fully wiped out. “What?” I ask in complete bewilderment. I thought for certain Douglas was here cleaning out Carol’s mega-millions. It’s all there. Not one dime has been touched. I quickly check to see if he’s robbed his own kids’ accounts, but everything is still there too. “Aha,” I yell almost too loudly when I see that Carol’s fifty million dollars has up and disappeared … except for one dime. “I knew it,” I mutter under my breath. When I trace the transfer, I’m shocked to find that Douglas backdated it to Friday night and sent it to an account in the Caymans under Carol’s name. I scratch my head at that one. There’s no way he sent Carol’s money to Carol, especially money she already had access to. Then it dawns on me. It must be a pay-on-death account. Then it really dawns on me, he’s going to kill her.

  My plan is going to work out even better than I anticipated. I flip the screen back to Carol’s trust fund and transfer all of it, right at one billion, into the same account in the Caymans.

  I need the video showing he came into the bank. And I especially need the video of him killing that old man. I can’t log into the bank’s security camera system because Mr. Witherspoon and Hannah are the only ones with that code. However, with old man Witherspoon preoccupied with his dying wife, he can’t keep up with anything anymore. He used to be sharp as a tack … but not so much lately. And it just so happens that I know about three months ago, he and Hannah formed a habit of writing the code down on the back of his desk calendar. I caught him looking at it once, but kept my mouth shut.

  I sneak out into the hall and look down toward the tellers. They are busy loading the drawers and getting everything set up to begin the day. Removing a credit card from my wallet, I slip it alongside the frame of Mr. Witherspoon’s door and pop the lock. Yep, real security here at this bank, I think to myself.

  Striding over to his desk, I flip the calendar and read “AccessVideo,” written in Hannah’s penmanship.

  Just as quickly I lock the door and scurry back to my office. Punching in the access code, I bring up the security footage. After making a copy of him entering the bank for the first time, I switch to the exterior cameras and get some good clips from the back lens where he tasers the old man, strangles him and then loads him into the old man’s car and drives off. Then, I get a splice of him coming back in the bank. Lastly, I get a snippet of him leaving.

  When I go to make a secondary copy, being unfamiliar with the program, I realize, too late, that when I used the little scissors at the bottom, instead of clipping the videos to my flash drive, I have inadvertently deleted the bank’s footage. “Shit,” I mumble to myself. Oh well, it would’ve been recorded over in a few days anyway. And since no one is the wiser to Douglas Vanover, other than Carol and me, it should be fine. Besides, I can make a copy of the flash drive anyway.

  When I pull the thumb device, I give it a little kiss and slip it into the upper pocket of my starch-pressed, white dress shirt. Then I give Douglas Vanover a phone call.

  A big smile spreads across my face. It’s going to be a good day.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Douglas

  After only a few hours of sleep, I drag myself out of bed. I have a new client coming in this afternoon and since I played hooky from work yesterday, I need to get my rear in gear. After an almost cold shower – I can’t take it too cold, but I need to wake up – I feel more alert and hopefully ready for the day. Dressing for success I slip into a dark gray Armani suit and a lavender shirt, then add a coordinating paisley tie of gray and lavender. When I inspect myself in the mirror, I see a damn handsome man who looks damn sharp.

  Working my way down the stairs and into the kitchen, I see Sophia and Angela at the kitchen table. “How’s my girl?” I ask. The question goes to Sophia, but my eyes land on Angela. Angela blushes and says nothing.

  Sophia’s face brightens. “Daddy, did you come to eat breakfast with me?”

  “I surely did,” I answer, sliding into a chair next to her booster seat. “What are we having?”

  “Pancakes with smiley faces made out of chocolate chips.”

  “Yummy. That sounds delicious.” I turn around to Millie. “I’ll have the same.” I turn back to Angela. “Where’s Henry?”

  “Kindergarten,” she tells me. I hate myself right now. My boy is in school and I had no idea. These are things I should know. “If he has a school something, will you please apprise me? I’d like to attend.”

  From behind me, Millie drops a spatula and I turn around to see her stunned face.

  Angela smiles and my heart flutters. “Yes, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  My pancake breakfast with my beautiful, curly-blonde-haired daughter and the lovely nanny are barely completed when my phone rings. Caller ID alerts me that it is Mobility Bank. My heart jumps out of my chest and saliva
threatens to drown me. “I’ll take this in my study,” I tell Angela. “See you later sweetheart,” I tell Sophia and she grins at me.

  I answer the call on the way down the hall. “This is Douglas Vanover.” Right now, I am as panicked as it gets. The morning after you have broken into a bank is not the time you want to hear from anyone at the facility, especially not one who holds the strings to Carol’s purse.

  “Ahhh, Mr. Vanover. This is Joe Avery, the trustee on your wife’s trust. How are you this fine morning?”

  I don’t like the way he said “ahhh.” I am breaking into a sweat by the time I reach the door to my study. “I’m fine,” I respond cordially. “And yourself?” I ask politely, not really giving a rat’s ass.

  “Really, really, really good,” he emphasizes in an exaggerated tone.

  This can’t be good. My legs are giving way by the time I reach my chair and fall into it. “How wonderful for you,” I muster. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” I am trying with great difficulty to keep my voice calm and strong, but I already know this can’t be a call to find out how I’m doing.