Surviving the Storm

by Heather Woodhaven

  He turned around. “I think I need to take stock of what else might be in here.”

  “Sure. You mind doing that while I heat up dinner?”

  “How do you propose heating it? The microwave will produce too much light.”

  “Right. Stove then.”

  He shook his head. “I’m coming with you. I’ll keep watch while you cook.”

  Aria frowned and almost refused him until she realized why. “The wall of windows,” she acknowledged with a nod. “Okay. Thanks.”

  They walked to the kitchen in silence and made short work of finding a pot. She emptied the two cans of beef vegetable soup and cranked the heat to high—the faster, the better. Soup had never smelled so good. While she waited for the stovetop to heat up, she investigated the rest of the cabinets until she found a drawer with pens and notepads. She placed one of each on the counter and wrote, “Due to life-threatening circumstances, we were forced to seek refuge in this house. We had to borrow some of your clothes but will return them immediately. In addition, we owe you two cans of soup from your emergency kit and...”

  Aria looked up. “Think we’ll drink the soda?”

  He squinted and bent over to read what she had written so far. Deep laughter bubbled out from him and she couldn’t help but smile along with him. “What? What’s so funny?”

  “You! I thought you were teasing about leaving a list. I would’ve just left some money. With the tsunami, I’m sure the owners would understand even if we didn’t have gunmen trying to kill us.”

  “Well, I wasn’t teasing, Mr. Do the Next Right Thing, and the moment we get word of help coming or the roads being clear, we’re not going to want to take the time to write a letter. Better now while I’m thinking of it.” She tapped the pen in rhythm against the notebook. “We should probably leave them money instead of replacing the soup.” She pursed her lips and debated what else to write. “I’m going to say we used the soda. We might need the caffeine later.”

  David shook his head with a grin. “How can you possibly be so thoughtful about the little things but miss the big things?”

  A surge of nausea caused Aria to grip the edge of the counter for a moment until it passed. She hoped it was triggered by her blood sugar and not David’s weighted words. Her cheeks burned with the heat. David had taken over stirring the pot of soup. She busied herself by finishing the note to the homeowners with the final words, “...and by the way, please consider installing a dead bolt on your back door for better security.”

  “Dinner is served,” David said. Aria dropped the pen and turned around to find the soup already in bowls.

  She accepted the steaming soup with two hands. “Where do you want to eat this?”

  He shrugged. “I think there might be a home office with no windows behind the stairway. It’s probably the safest option.”

  “An office? Do they have a computer?”

  “Maybe,” he replied with a shrug.

  She was itching to find out what was on the flash drive. She steadied the soup in one hand and grabbed her bag off the floor. “Lead the way.”

  They stepped around the staircase and into the hallway. The light coming in from the wall of windows enabled her to see his dark form in front of her. She’d never been so thankful for a full moon.

  “I need to close the door before I can flip on the light,” he said. “Go in front of me.”

  The smell of books and cedar complemented the salty beef broth aroma as the click behind her draped complete darkness over them. With the sound of a switch being flipped, bright light flooded the room. She shut her eyes, waited a moment, blinked a few times—until the stinging pain in her temples lessened—and looked around with a smile. The walls were made entirely of bookshelves—filled with ancient encyclopedias and other assortments of books. The floor was covered with white carpet so thick she was sure if she kicked off her shoes, walking on it would feel like a foot massage.

  “I love this room,” she said. In the corner sat two leather recliners, a round table positioned between them. In another time and another set of circumstances, she’d have wished to spend a week in this very room alone, devouring the books. For now, she’d just savor the short reprieve and some dinner. The key was to keep her mind off George, his murderers and the destruction the tsunami had caused.

  She set her bowl down on the table and dropped the bag. It was the first time she could look at her laptop in decent light. She pulled it out and groaned. The metal around the battery was bent back, almost as if the battery had exploded into the laptop.

  David slid it out of her hands. “So this battery is who I have to thank for taking a bullet for me.” He glanced at Aria.

  Aria shrugged. “I’m just glad the rumors about these batteries turned out to be true. If I had a newer model, the bullet would’ve gone right through. I can handle treating flesh wounds, but I don’t know what I would have done had you been shot.” It was true, but she was also surprised at the emotional reaction she was having about the possibility that David could’ve been shot and the fact her computer was ruined. She supposed since it was the last gift her father had given her, it meant more than a laptop should mean to a person. The mere thought reminded her of George and all the people stranded on the coast right now. She had no right to be shallow. She blinked away the sudden moisture. Since distraction wasn’t working, she needed to find out what was on the drive George had wanted her to access.

  She approached the desk in the middle of the room. The technology was ancient by current standards, but it seemed to be a working desktop tower connected to a monitor, mouse, keyboard and inkjet printer. “Please let it have a USB input.” The keyboard didn’t, but she kneeled down on the ground, looked on the back of the tower and found an unoccupied slot. “There’s hope,” she said, and returned to the chair to finish her dinner.

  Aria took a tentative sip of the creamy soup from her spoon. “Not too hot, not too cold,” she murmured. The warmth spread from her throat immediately to her belly, and a sudden exhaustion made her shoulders sag and her eyes droop. “I’ve never felt so weary,” she muttered. “There’s a verse in Matthew that says, ‘For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’ I’ve got to say this doesn’t feel light.”

  David looked up, spoon in hand. He cocked his head and stared at her for a moment. “Galatians also says we should practice bearing one another’s burdens since that’s the law of Christ. I’m here, Aria. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

  She released an exasperated sigh. “See, there you go, being all logical again.”

  He grinned. “Simply trying to give you a little more balanced perspective.” David turned his gaze to the bowl and swirled his spoon around. “I was taught that if you studied the scriptures you’d find verses that didn’t contradict each other, but rather provided balance, so that you would grow in the Lord like a tree does, with anchors on all sides to help you grow straight and balanced.”

  She took another sip, avoiding the barley swimming around, and processed his words. “I actually like that sentiment.” They continued to eat in silence for a few minutes. Her bowl was empty in record time. She dropped the spoon into it and leaned back and sighed.

  “Feel better?” David asked, his eyes searching her.

  “Yes. The food helped a lot.” She yawned and stretched her arms. “But I’m desperate to figure out why they killed George. I want to be able to tell the authorities who they are the minute they reach us.”

  She approached the computer tower, pressed the power button and waited for several minutes. After what seemed like forever a screen prompt asked for a username/password combination. She groaned. “Why can’t it ever be simple?”

  “So no success, then?” David commented.

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard, accessing the DOS. The screen flipped to black as she typed in commands i
n the yellow, ancient-looking font.

  “What are you doing?” David asked incredulously. He left his chair and stood behind her, watching over her shoulder.

  “Trying something I learned in class.”

  “Since when are they teaching architects how to hack computers?” He took a seat on the desk, next to the monitor, so that he was facing her.

  “It’s ethical hacking, and they teach it to computer science majors,” she answered simply. “Which is what I’m going back to school for.”

  David slapped his hand on the desk and leaned forward, his eyes bulging. “You’re what?”

  “I’m a computer science major. I went back to school this year, switched tracks,” she replied. Why was he getting so worked up? He wasn’t the one with huge college loans.

  “Aria, the last I knew you were in your fifth year...your last year of college. You only had one more year of internship before you could get licensed as a full-fledged architect. What do you mean you switched majors?”

  She clenched her jaw. “I didn’t want to be part of that world after my dad passed, and my mom supported my decision one-hundred percent.”

  David’s jaw dropped and he leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “You gave it all up? You’ve got to be kidding me. Being an architect was your dream.”

  She lifted a finger and met his gaze head on, determined. “Correction. It was my dad’s dream for me.”

  Her argument didn’t faze David. “Of course. It was my dream for you, too. Because you loved it. Because you were good at it—amazing at it, quite frankly. And I would know, because I’ve worked with other architects. It’s all you talked about. It’s why we had such a...a...casual relationship, as you put it, for all those years. Aria, you were working your fingers to the bone to accomplish your dream, and so was I...mostly to keep up with you! How could you leave that all behind?” His mouth dropped, his eyebrows rose and he leaned back, seemingly struck with a new thought. “Did the school refuse to give you an extension when your dad died?”

  Her spine tingled. No one else had been that upset at her decision. She’d had a scholarship for most of her schooling up until the point she switched, but as her mom pointed out, most people graduated with at least some college debt and “better you know now than after you spend ten years in a career you hate.”

  Her mom had been relieved, in fact, that she wouldn’t be talking about construction sites and designs anymore. Mom wanted nothing to do with that life anymore, and Aria felt the same. Except now, she wondered...if she had stuck with it maybe she could’ve helped George and prevented everything that had just happened. She blinked back the emotion. “No...no, they offered me time to finish my classes, but it was my decision.”

  David raked his hand through his hair. “I...I’m speechless.”

  She pursed her lips together. What gave him the right to make her feel guilty about her decisions, anyway? “Well, apparently not speechless enough. Care to let me focus?”

  He raised his hands up in the air with a shake of his head. “Be my guest.”

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard for a few more minutes. Her effort was rewarded. “I can at least access the USB files, but that’s about it.”

  A pop-up box showed the list of files on the USB and her mouth dropped. What had George found?

  THIRTEEN

  David stared at the woman he thought he knew so well. How could she let go of all those years of schooling and her dream to be an architect? Because her father died? He knew she was passionate, and sometimes impulsive, but this didn’t make sense. He was certain it had something to do with the way her dad died, but she wasn’t telling him everything.

  The soup wasn’t settling in his stomach well anymore. He blew out a breath of frustration, but she was tapping the mouse in rapid-fire motions, clearly shutting down any further conversation on the matter. That was fine, he’d wait...for now. He felt more freedom to ask questions now that she said she wanted to be friends. David was only half teasing when he said he made a good friend. He was determined to be the best friend she’d ever had, and the way he saw it, a stellar friend had a responsibility to point out when his friend was making a bad decision. True, he could’ve been more tactful, but given the circumstances, he thought he was due some grace.

  Aria pressed a series of keys and all the files popped open, resembling a game of solitaire. “David, look. What do you make of these?”

  “Besides a jumble of boxes?” He slipped off the desk and lowered himself down to his knees to examine the screen better. There were several different documents open on the screen. Some were scanned letters to George, but others seemed to be invoices and contracts.

  “Look at this contract,” she said, tapping the screen. “If I’m reading it right, it takes away all control or input George would have had in the entire remodel process.”

  David put his finger on the screen. “In exchange for this company paying for all the expenses. It’s some investment sort of thing.” They both silently studied the document.

  “So they are in charge of getting investors and remodeling the place in exchange for ten percent of the invested funds. The investors in turn receive a certain amount of days of lodging in the new and improved resort.” Aria leaned back in the chair. “Is that what you get from reading this?”

  David shrugged. “You have more experience with contracts like this than I do.”

  “So when George suspected they were using subpar materials and fired the foreman and brought you in...”

  “He was violating the contract,” David concluded.

  She stared at the ceiling, her eyes sweeping from left to right.

  David leaned over her and clicked on the mouse. “Let’s not make judgments without reading this more fully.” He popped up a saved email.

  Mr. Swanson,

  I am the owner of a resort in Tallahassee, Florida. Recently, I saw your resort advertised as an investment venture. I hope this email turns out to be needless but my conscience wouldn’t rest until I passed on what happened to me.

  A group of men sold me a service and advertised for investors—the advertisement is remarkably similar to the one I am seeing for your resort. In my case, these men handed me a check at the end of the remodel, stating they’d achieved significant savings in the remodel. Later I found this check was given to me in hopes of keeping me quiet when everything started to fall apart—in more ways than one. You see, while they left town with the remainder of the profits, investors started to show up telling me they were sold condo shares. This was never to be the intention. The resort is not set up this way. We also discovered they used subpar materials and engineering that wasn’t up to code.

  Since then, I’ve found other similar resorts in the same mess. Each time the group of men have different names, different companies. They have a very impressive reputation—as they had people in town that could vouch for them. I also called every number on their reference list. All lies, a group part of their network. Those phones were all disconnected after the men left town. The FBI told me this is a scam they’re starting to see more frequently.

  If this sounds similar to what you were sold, I encourage you to visit these “testimonials” in person, or find the phone numbers of the owners on your own. Don’t use their reference sheet.

  Again, I hope this is not your case.

  They read the letter in silence.

  “George would’ve only violated a contract if he thought the contract was illegal. I heard him yell at those men that he wouldn’t allow them to bamboozle people. What people?”

  David shrugged. “The investors?”

  She straightened and slapped the keyboard. “If we had any signals on our phone I could access the internet and find out more about this company, but the fact that he got shot shortly after this email—”

 
He leaned over and examined some of the other opened documents. “I’ve heard about scams like this. They show investors condos and convince them to invest in remodels. Then they do shoddy work, take most of the money—not just ten percent—and move on. If this email is right, then the supposed savings money they give owners might be in hopes of framing the owners.” He sighed. “The last scam I heard about they traced to Russian mafia. Was George in financial trouble?”

  “No, no, I don’t think so. When I first came to visit him after my dad...” She cleared her throat. “Well, George had just gotten remarried and I overheard his wife basically begging him to take her on a cruise. She said he could afford it. She was tired of seeing him dump his money into the center.” Aria’s eyes widened. “I don’t see George getting himself into this kind of agreement unless...unless he was convinced by someone he trusted.” Her gaze flew up to meet him, her mouth open. “Like his wife!”

  “You really think his wife is behind this?”

  “No! I mean...it’s just I keep forgetting about her. But after reading this, if they killed George, won’t they go after her as well? She probably knows too much, don’t you think?”

  He sighed. “How would I know? Check your phone again.”

  She tapped the screen of the phone with an intensity that wasn’t necessary for use. “Nothing. It only beeps. Busy, busy, busy. These things are worthless in an emergency.”

  “If the tsunami hit the entire coast, there are probably millions of people trying to check on loved ones and others trying to coordinate rescue and recovery. The phone companies don’t have the infrastructure for that kind of surge of activity.”

  “I know.” She shook her head, her curls bouncing in different directions. “I’m just anxious to know what’s going on in the world. I really want to find out if the highway is clear. Maybe we should make a run to get help if it’s not covered in ocean water.” She shook the phone in her fist. “Especially since we can’t reach help to come to us.”