She has taken away my whole life. I grip the red envelope in my hand and begin to rip it to pieces, but instead I crumple it into a ball. Her letter of betrayal I will keep. It will remind me never to trust a woman, ever. I fold Mia’s stupid note into a little square, shoving it into my pocket. I cannot believe she got the upper hand. I can’t believe I allowed this to happen, allowed her to win. It was a foolish mistake, and it won’t happen again.
Everything will be fine. I’m a survivor. I will simply pivot and start over. Nobody can keep Paul Strom down, not for long. Sure, she’s taken my boys but I can make more. There are plenty of women who want what I have, who would like to be Mrs. Strom. Not Gretchen, she’s poor, and certainly not good old porn-watching Caroline. Lois is married, and not rich. I believe I’ll set out for greener pastures. I don’t need Disneyland to find the happiest place on earth. No, I just need wealthy women, preferably young widows. Palm Beach, here I come.
I walk back into my closet and pack my favorite lightweight, warm weather suits and some bathing suits and shorts. I’m like the Phoenix, rising again. I change into a pink polo—perfect, right?—and some comfortable jeans and driving loafers. I’ll look the part of a successful businessman on holiday. I’m just a lonely man trying to recover after losing his entire family—wife, two sons and the in-laws—in a terrible plane crash last month. Private jets, you just never know. And no, their bodies haven’t been recovered yet. It’s tragic.
I check my reflection in the full-length mirror, and glance at my watch. Sunrise is in fifteen minutes. I need to get going before daybreak, before all hell breaks loose on our street, too. I grab my designer suitcase and make my way down the hall.
There is someone standing at the top of the stairs. What the heck? I shove my hand in my pocket, satisfied the pen is there. But still I’m on edge. I don’t have a long-range weapon. I rely on the power of surprise. And right now, there is nowhere for me to hide.
“Hands up where I can see them,” a male voice says as a flashlight blinds me. I see the end of a gun pointed at my chest. “Officer Clark, Grandville police. We received a call about a burglar, breaking and entering.”
“I’m the homeowner. I live here,” I say. Who the hell called the cops? Who knows I’m here? Mia does. I should have finished her off long ago. So much for being patient with her demise.
“I’ll need to see some identification. My partner, Officer Miles, will extract your wallet. Don’t move.”
As I stand in my almost empty home, my hands raised, my pockets violated, I know this will not be the end. I cannot let Mia win. I will not let Mia win. I should have finished her off, her and Buck. The officer pulls my ID out of my wallet and shines a flashlight on it.
“His address on the ID checks out. But what’s all this?” asks the second officer who is violently pulling the cash out of my back pocket. He’s taken Mia’s love note out of my front pocket, too. I hear the pen fall to the floor. The cop ignores it as I fight the urge to bend and pick it up, perhaps jab it into his thick sweaty neck. I examine Officer Miles’s face, scarred and pockmarked from bad acne episodes. Simply hideous. He could never have another life; his options are so limited in this world compared to mine. Maybe I should end his suffering.
“I asked you a question, sir,” pock-face Miles says.
“Ah, that is a love note, from my wife, Officer. It came sealed in a red envelope, the color of passion. It’s special,” I say. “It’s personal.”
He tosses Mia’s note to the ground. “I’m talking about this,” he says, waving the wad of money I borrowed from the inn in front of my perfectly smooth, masculine face. My five-o’clock shadow has become a small beard by now I’m sure. It has been a long day. He’s still staring at me, now examining the bills as if he’s never seen so much in one place. Poor fellow.
“It’s cash. Money. I know that you don’t make much, but that’s what it is,” I say. Really, the caliber of people they have protecting and serving us is ridiculous.
“You’re so funny, asshole,” says Ugly Face. He’s fortunate to work the night shift. He would scare small children in the daylight.
I shrug as the cop keeps my wallet and keeps his hands around the cash, stepping back from me. He’ll pocket my money, I know he will. It won’t even make the police report. The other cop has the gun trained on my heart, which I now realize is beating rather quickly.
“We had a report of a theft up at a place called Lakeside, at the hotel there. Someone robbed the cash drawer tonight. Know anything about that, Mr. Strom?” Officer Clark asks.
Oh, this is ridiculous. I am not going to be tripped up by a petty theft.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say. “Can I put my hands down?”
“Weren’t you just there, in Lakeside, sir?” the ugly guy asks. Why does he insist on calling me sir, like I’m an old man? Sure, he’s young but look at that face. I’d rather be me. “They relayed your license plate number. We know it was you, sir. That you were there. There’s a camera in the lobby.” Interesting. I didn’t see that. Those cameras are getting smaller every day. Looks as if Scott will be off the hook for this one, after all. Fine. Everything is beatable, escapable. You just need to use your brain, and mine is second to none.
“Put your hands behind your back, Mr. Strom. We’re taking you to the station,” Officer Clark says. What choice do I have? It’s two of them against me, and I’m unarmed. I know what you’re thinking. I handled Buck deftly, although I should have finished him off. Could I take these two? Most likely. But I’ll be released as soon as I post bail. Why make a fuss now? Better to go to the station, get these peons off my back, climb in my car and drive off into my future the next day. Heck, I’m already packed. I look longingly at my suitcase, a Rimowa dark gray, very stylish, and decide to comply.
They handcuff me and lead me out of my house. Thankfully it’s still dark. Thankfully my boys did not witness this embarrassment. I’ll never tell them about it either, when I see them again. And I will see them again.
As I slide into the back seat, Officer Clark pushes my head down, roughly.
“Hey,” I say. “Don’t make me file a brutality charge.”
“I’d zip it if I were you, Mr. Strom,” Officer Clark says before slamming the car door. He reappears in the driver’s seat, as Officer Miles slides into the passenger seat. I see now that there are two more squad cars parked on the street in front of my house.
“Hope you enjoyed your last day of freedom, scumbag,” Officer Miles says.
I will not go to prison for petty theft, no matter what Ugly Face wishes for. The prisons are not for people like me. They are for dumb druggies and inner-city people. Mia and Buck won’t tell them anything else, because they want me to just go away. And I will, at least for now. I know how badly I hurt good old Buck. Maybe Buck is dead. One can only hope.