Christy had cried herself to sleep that night as Anthony reflected on the last several months. She lay wrapped in his arms as sleep escaped him. He pulled her closer and stared at their bedroom ceiling. Like he'd told Veronique that day in the Everglades, the authorities would assume she'd skipped town. And they had. No one had come knocking at his door to ask about Dr. Veronique Dubois.
Anthony had no luck at all in establishing Ben Diamond's true identity. Van Chapman was considered a flight risk and having been denied bail, sat in the county jail awaiting trial. Anthony had men on the inside who had gotten to Van. Even with their attempts at intimidation, interrogation with torture, and offering drugs in exchange for information, Van hadn't been able to tell them any more about the elusive Ben Diamond than Anthony had already known. He had a physical description and a false name. It was the same information Veronique had provided.
Anthony's other regret was that he hadn't been able to mete out any retaliation to Van for what he tried to have done to Christy. The county jail wasn't the proper place to execute what Anthony had planned for the man, and unfortunately, Van Chapman dropped dead of a heart attack while sitting on the toilet in his jail cell. An autopsy had proven that no foul play had been involved. He deserved so much worse, Anthony thought as he caressed Christy's arm softly.
Alexander had been spending at least one weekend a month away, and since he never shared what he was doing, Anthony never asked. Alexander only told Anthony he was out of town, never mentioning where he was going. People were entitled to their secrets. Besides, Anthony only required loyalty, not a travel itinerary.
He let out a sigh when he thought about how he'd finally shared his biggest secret with Christy. He wasn't sure how she was going to react when he told her that he'd been working with her grandmother, Bobbi, to steal from the dealership. And she was even more surprised when she discovered that it was her grandmother who'd approached Anthony, and not the other way around. It was right after Van's death that they found themselves alone at Camp Sawgrass.
"I can't believe it," she told him as she swiped her hand through her short hair. She swung around to look at Anthony. Christy had just stocked the camp infirmary with medicine, feminine products and even baby supplies. She invited the regulars to take whatever they needed for themselves or their children.
"It's true," Anthony responded as he approached her. He started to tuck her hair behind her ear when she pulled away and walked toward the door. She spun around and stood with her hands on her hips.
"My grandmother, who owned the most successful car conglomerate in South Florida, came to you and asked you to steal from her?" She sounded incredulous. "Why? Why would she do that? It doesn't make sense!" She waved her right hand in the air and, shaking her head in disbelief, slapped her hand against her thigh.
He gave her a slow smile. "There was more to your grandmother than you could've guessed, Christy. I thought she was trying to trick me or set me up, so I asked her the same thing. 'What's in it for you, Bobbi?’"
"What did she say?" Christy asked in bewilderment.
"She gave me two answers. The first was because she was a risk taker and a bit of a thrill seeker. She did it because she enjoyed getting away with it. Her second reason was along the same lines. She thought it would be fun to test her son-in-law. She wanted to see if Van would ever be involved enough in the business to figure it out. And what did she have to lose if he didn't realize it? Nothing. Except some disappointment for him not giving her dealerships the attention he should."
"And if he did realize it?" Christy asked.
"I don’t know.” He shrugged. “She was smart enough to pin it on him. He'd have been her scapegoat."
Christy just stared, her jaw slack. Shaking her head, she asked, "How? How and what are you doing?"
He pulled out a chair and swung it around. Straddling it backward he leaned his huge arms across the top of it and told her everything. How Bobbi had personally selected two contacts at the dealerships for him to work with. One headed up accounting, and the other was in charge of receiving the cars from the factory. It was almost too simple.
"Not every car arrives from the factory in pristine condition. At least not what you would expect for the exotic and expensive cars that are sold by your dealerships. Even if they have one nick, they get sent to the shop for repair before hitting the display floor. There have been instances where the huge trucks that haul these cars get in accidents, and when that happens, the cars aren't repaired, they're sent to scrap yards who are willing to pay a decent amount just to get their hands on spare parts."
Christy nodded and absentmindedly walked toward the cot. She sat down and waited for him to continue.
"Without making it too complicated, let's just say that a couple of cars a month are damaged beyond repair while on route to the dealership and sent for scrap. They're picked up and hauled across the Alley where I pass them off to a guy in Grizz's crew named Axel. He assigns fake VIN numbers and erases any traceable evidence of where they came from. He makes sure they get sent to the Port of Miami where they're shipped all over the world. They bring a fortune and there's a waiting list a mile long for desirable autos."
"But…but...doesn't somebody see that there isn't a damaged car being sent to a scrap yard?" she asked.
"Nobody is looking," he told her. "After a car is deemed junk, a fake receipt is created from a legitimate scrap yard—which I happen to own under a ghost business—and provided to the insurance company. The dealership gets an insurance payout, and the cars sell to foreign owners for considerably more than what they sell for in the U.S. After expenses, I split the profits with Bobbi, and since she's been gone, I've been keeping her share."
"Isn't anybody at the insurance company suspicious?" she asked.
His woman was a smart one, and he immediately knew when she answered her own question. Nodding her head and smiling, she said, "Just like the accountant at the dealerships, you have an insider at the insurance companies."
"You're not mad?" he asked. He stood up from the chair and approached the cot where she sat perched on the end.
"I guess I might be if I wasn't so darn impressed," she admitted.
He looked down at her and smiled. Her expression changed from one of admiration to concern.
"What?" he asked.
"It...it’s probably nothing," she told him.
"What’s probably nothing?"
"Well, I don't need to tell you that I was rarely around my parents, and when I was I could barely stand to endure their presence for more than thirty seconds, but I did hear them talking once. It might be nothing, but I should tell you."