CHAPTER 11
Sister Bay, WI Saturday, June 19, 2021
AVERY SPENT THE EVENING AT CONNIE CLARKSON’S HOME DRINKING wine and catching up. Earlier in the day she toured the campus, visited the cabin where she used to stay each summer, walked the docks, and spoke with the students who were spending the summer. In the evening, she and Connie shared stories and life’s highlights since they had last seen each other the year before. Avery asked about the school. Enrollment was full and the waitlist was long. The school would survive. Connie would make it. Things were not the same today as they had once been, but Connie was managing. If the woman held a grudge about what had happened, she had never shown it.
It was, of course, Connie’s connection to the Montgomery children and the many summers they spent in Sister Bay that allowed Garth Montgomery to approach her with an investment opportunity. Connie was hesitant at first to become so intimately connected in business to the father of two of her former students, but eventually gave in to the smooth-talking financial wizard. There were too many benefits of investing with such a storied firm for Connie to decline. Garth Montgomery promised to work tirelessly for her and capture the returns that were so common at Montgomery Investment Services. The firm had strict rules about minimum investments, but Mr. Montgomery was willing to wave the rules for such a close family friend. Connie had socked away $2 million over the course of her life, and handed every penny over to Avery’s father. He promised to double it in five years.
The feds knocked on the front doors of Montgomery Investment Services a year later. Search warrants followed, as did freezing of accounts and seizure of assets. When the dust settled, along with every other client of Garth Montgomery, Connie Clarkson learned that her money was gone. Detailed accounting showed that it had been paid to long-term investors who were due outrageous returns the fund could not legitimately cover. Some of it was surely squandered on the lavish lifestyle of a billionaire who had robbed his way to the American Dream. Garth Montgomery had promised Connie everything and left her with nothing.
Their conversation eventually moved away from Garth Montgomery and settled on the death of Avery’s mother. Connie was Avery’s surrogate mother, so it was natural for Avery to pour out her heart to this woman. And then, as always, talk moved to Avery’s brother. Christopher had been, after all, Connie’s most cherished student over the years.
It was only later that night, after Avery was tucked quietly into Connie’s guest room, that her thoughts returned to her father. Despite the prosecution’s argument that Garth Montgomery was the very definition of a flight risk, he had disappeared after posting bail. The feds suspected he hadn’t gotten far, having surrendered his passport, and with all of his assets frozen. Mexico, likely, but South America couldn’t be ruled out. Although sightings had been reported as far as Europe and Australia. The only thing they knew for certain was that he had gotten far enough to stay hidden for the past three and a half years.
The feds had spoken to Avery multiple times over those years, and questioned her about her father’s whereabouts. She always told them the same thing: she had no idea where her father was hiding, had no interest in finding him, and was happy he was gone. It had always been the truth. Then the postcard arrived and changed everything.
*
On Sunday morning Avery and Connie took a sail aboard the Moorings 35.2 that was moored at Connie’s dock. Avery knew the boat, built by Beneteau, was sturdy, well designed, and expertly crafted. It didn’t stop her from meticulously inspecting every detail. By seven in the morning they were on an even heel with Connie at the helm. Even after losing her life’s savings, Connie Clarkson’s passion never faded. The woman lived to sail. Avery owned a thirty-five-foot Catalina that she docked in Santa Monica and sailed nearly every weekend. Despite this, she took instruction from her old mentor as if she hadn’t sailed in years. They made it to Washington Island before turning back. The spinnaker flapped wildly as they came about, and then filled again as they reached a close-hauled course on their new tack. As the boat dug into a fifteen-degree heel, they both sat back and enjoyed the ride. Over the last few years, Avery had seen pain and disappointment affect Connie in unmistakable ways. But today, as she sat at the helm of this particular sailboat, Avery saw the sparkle she remembered from her teenage years return to Connie’s eyes.
By afternoon Avery was back in her Range Rover and on the road again, eyes red rimmed and burning from her good-bye. Five hours later she fought traffic on the Dan Ryan Expressway as she battled through Chicago. It was dark by the time she made it across Indiana and into Ohio and started looking for a hotel. The first stop of her journey was behind her—the annual pilgrimage to Connie Clarkson’s home. Avery had another full day of driving before she would reach New York. There, she would chase the story of a 9/11 victim identified twenty years after the Twin Towers fell. But really, she would be chasing something else.