by Reed Sprague
“Okay, I see; you want this building for some kind of a charity, don’t you?”
“Yes. Please, Mr. Rodriguez, you have to help me. I have no idea how to put this all together, but you do. You’ve done this kind of thing many times. Please help me.”
“Mrs. Warwick, do you have a husband?”
“That’s a question straight out of the 1920's, Mr. Rodriguez.
“Yes, I do have a husband. He’s on assignment out of the country.”
“Sorry. Listen, I can try to line up a business partner for you, a person who will invest money with you, but he’ll expect a return.”
“A return of what?”
“He’ll expect a return on his money. Mrs. Warwick, do you understand that we have to come up with an additional four hundred fifty thousand dollars, plus other costs, on top of the three hundred fifty thousand dollars you have to put down? You also have to pay me my ten percent commission. And, if you want me to broker the financing as well, you will have to pay me a lending brokerage fee of twelve thousand dollars. There are closing costs, repairs to the units, miscellaneous costs, painting. And what about furnishings? I assume that you want the girls to be able to move into furnished apartments.”
Eddy’s head was swimming. She had gone from visions of fifteen Palm Beach mini mansions to fifteen black holes to dump money in. Eddy moved on, not understanding much of what Rodriguez said to her, but still determined to secure the apartments for her clients and others in need.
“What if a person who has lots of money wants to help me? Wouldn’t that work as well, Mr. Rodriguez?” Eddy asked, with as much contagious excitement as she could pour into her statement.
“Few people have money today, Mrs. Warwick. Those with money to give are laying low these days, hoping to go unnoticed by the masses who need so much. It doesn’t do the wealthy any good to be known by the government, either. Are you aware that the government raised the income tax rate to seventy percent for those in the uppermost income brackets? The girls you’re planning to help will have a tough road ahead of them.”
Eddy did not understand the complexities of such a deal, but she did know how to break things down to simple bites so that the deal could be consumed and digested by all who would get involved. She began with Rodriguez.
“Mr. Rodriguez, would you reduce your commissions?”
“To what?”
“To zero?” Eddy grimaced as she asked, shrinking down slightly in her seat.
“Zero?!” Rodriguez exclaimed. You just named my income for the past four years. I have no income from which to make up such generosity.”
Rodriguez was no longer pretending that Eddy was the customer. “People just don’t do that, Mrs. Warwick. They don’t. I have nothing—no money, no income. My assets are all gone. You’re looking at a man who pays for food and utilities on credit. I can’t be involved in such an irresponsible deal. I’m sorry, Mrs. Warwick, I would like to help you, but I just can’t.”
The ride back to Eddy’s apartment lacked the normal chatter one would expect when a talkative sales person is in the presence of a potential buyer. Eddy decided that she would take advantage of the time to pitch her idea.
“Mr. Rodriguez, what are pregnant teenage girls — who are alone in this world, broke and without medical services — supposed to do? Should they just be relegated to the streets because we don’t have government, church or charity money to help them?”
“I honestly don’t know, Mrs. Warwick. I just don’t know. All I know is that I’ve given up myself. I’m sixty–six, I have no money, no future, and even less hope that things will get better in this country. I’m just waiting for a new governmental system to come into place. Our country has failed. We’ve lost. The U.S. is sort of like one of its many failed financial institutions—waiting to be taken over by a stronger competitor. That’s what we’re doing here in America now, Mrs. Warwick, we’re waiting for a leveraged buyout, a hostile takeover. I just hope things are better under the new system of government.”
“So when you look to the future, you see no hope for America?”
“When I look to the future, Mrs. Warwick, I see no America at all.”
“I’m ashamed for you.”
“Ashamed for me or of me, Mrs. Warwick?”
“America will bounce back, Mr. Rodriguez. Things have been tough, but we will bounce back. I need your help. Please help me. Please believe that if you do what’s right, things will turn for the better. If it’s all so hopeless, as you believe, what do you have to lose by helping me? You even seem to believe that things are so bad that a few dollars in your pocket are not going to help you. Your commissions won’t help you in a country that’s doomed. Just think about it, Mr. Rodriguez. That’s all I ask. I can’t make this deal work without you.”
Rodriguez stopped outside Eddy’s apartment. Eddy opened the door, removed the twins from the booster seats in the back of Rodriguez’s car, and proceeded to the door of her apartment. Rodriguez assisted her with the twins and booster seats. She unlocked the apartment door and led the twins inside. She walked inside, turned to say goodby to Rodriguez and began to close the door. Rodriguez said something. She didn’t hear him because he had turned toward the street and walked away from her as he mumbled. She suspected that he said something that he didn’t want her to hear. Good salesmen are good communicators, so if Rodriguez wanted her to hear him, he would have faced her squarely and spoken directly to her.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rodriguez, I was tending to the twins. I didn’t hear what you said to me.”
He continued toward his car, and did not respond.
“Mr. Rodriguez,” she called out to him, “I didn’t hear what you said to me.”
Rodriguez turned back to face her. “I said that I know of a very wealthy woman who has a heart for helping people.” He turned back toward his car.
“Will you call her for me?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Will you agree to drop your commissions?”
“Now you’re pushing it.”
Rodriguez turned back toward Eddy once again, just as he opened his car door, and spoke loudly to her, “She’s disgusted with large charities, churches and governments. She’s vowed never again to give a dime to any of them. I think she’ll help you. I’ll be in touch.”
Eddy fed and bathed the twins, read to them, prayed with them, and put them to bed. She could not contain her excitement. Regardless of the exact words Rodriguez used to communicate to Eddy, Eddy heard him say that the apartment building deal was going to become a reality. She went to her small utility closet, off the kitchen, reached up to the top shelf and removed the sign that would hang on the wall, outside of her new apartment building, “Emily’s Angels.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
23 SEPTEMBER 2025
Their plane landed in Houston at four thirty in the morning. River, al Qatari and al Ilstad were exhausted from their mission in Medina. They were taken to USFIA headquarters, allowed to shower, eat, and sleep for six hours before being awakened by a rude junior agent who was serving his internship with all the enthusiasm of a kitten that senselessly bounced off the walls and ceiling, trying to impress his mother with his hyperactivity.
“Your meeting with Mr. Albert is scheduled for two o’clock this afternoon,” the junior agent said. “Mr. Albert’s in a good mood today. You’ll have a good meeting,” he reported dutifully. “Your lunch will be ready in about an hour. You’ll eat in the cafeteria.”
“Things seemed to have worked out in Medina. We can move on to our next priority now: Tyler Peterson. I will get right into the discussion and plans. We are on a very tight schedule, and we’ve got to get going. I need your report from the Medina operation in seven days. It has to be thorough. Don’t leave anything out,” Albert said, his words running together, pressing into each other, forming one long sentence as he tried to avoid giving River two compliments in the same paragraph.
River, as usual, couldn’t keep his mouth shu
t. “Thanks for the pat on the back for our work in Medina, Mr. Albert,” River snapped.
Realizing once again that his apparent destiny was to cover for River again and again, al Qatari jumped in. “Sir, we appreciate your affirmation of our work in Medina. It is truly an honor to serve here under your leadership. We will complete our report and get it to you before your deadline.”
“River, I’m going to be honest with you about the investigation,” Albert said.
“What investigation?” River asked.
“The investigation of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not going well,” Albert reported.
“There’s nothing to it. They have nothing,” River replied.
“I know that. That’s what I meant. It’s not going well for them. It took us five minutes to figure out that Hernandez set you up. He’s corrupt to the bone. Worse than I thought. Dumber than I thought, too.”
“What about Peterson?” River asked.
“Big trouble there. You were right. As I told you before, your warnings were warranted. He’s a nightmare. That’s another subject, though.”
“It’s another subject that I would like to talk about right now, Mr. Albert.”
Al Qatari, a quick study who knew nothing about the investigation of River, and not nearly as much about Peterson as he should have, interjected, “Would it be possible for River and me to work together on the Peterson job? I would be more than willing to do that for you, sir.”
Albert thought for a moment. “You know, al Qatari, that will work. Okay, you guys are on. But River, I want you to know that there are only two reasons that I’m agreeing to this. The first is that you are familiar with Peterson. You’ve watched him carefully for a long time now. Second, you have an experienced agent who is willing to work with you—even if he did come to us from the CIA. River and al Qatari chuckled. Albert didn’t crack a smile.
“River, can I be honest with you?” al Qatari asked, after the two retreated back to River’s office.
“Sure. What?”
“Have you ever thought about not talking at all?”
“Why would I not talk?”
“No; the question is, Why would you talk?”
Eddy was overjoyed to see River. River had been unable to contact her or the twins from Medina. When he showed up at the door, the two of them embraced, fell to the floor laughing, and told each other again and again how much they missed each other. They picked up where they left off.
The twins were active little people now. They brought new excitement each day. River Jr. was able to hit a ball with his bat between his naps. Eddy Jr. kept a planning calendar and a diary so she would never forget an important date or thought. At nearly two years old, everything about the twins was exciting. River and Eddy adored them.
Eddy was concerned, though. Her independent spirit, no doubt inherited from her grandfather, caused her to do things her own way and solve her own problems. But for now she was focused on her husband. Medina had changed River. Peterson had frustrated him. The investigation triggered by Hernandez humiliated him. He was a man of high ethical standard who was under attack from all sides. Eddy would not allow the attack to continue unchallenged. She felt overwhelmed and helpless. This was all very big, much bigger than what she bargained for years ago when she asked River to marry her.
There was a noise outside the door, but the doorbell didn’t ring. Yet there was the package, down on the welcome mat—and a man Eddy had not seen before walking toward the elevator as he stumbled, hurrying along. Eddy hadn’t ordered anything to be delivered. What about River? Had he ordered something for her, a gift to brighten her day?
The rules were clear. Any unexpected package delivered to an agent, either at home or headquarters, was to be left alone, and USFIA was to send an agent to pick up the package for a compete inspection. Eddy was excited, though. Still, she hesitated. As she leaned over to pick up the package, she reminded herself of the policy. She called River.
“Don’t touch it. Get the twins up and get out of the apartment, but only if you’re sure that guy’s gone. Don’t go anywhere in particular, just drive around until I call you on the cell phone and let you know if it’s okay to go back home,” River said. “I’ll get right over there to check it out.”
The package was a gift for Eddy, sent to her from her father. It was a smoked–glass, turquoise vase. He had forgotten about USFIA’s policy regarding packages. He felt bad that he had caused a scare. The delivery driver hadn’t helped the situation any either. He had forgotten to press the doorbell, which added suspicion to the situation. River knew that delivery people sometimes “forget” to ring the doorbell, which means that they are able to save a few minutes by not waiting for someone to come to the door, sign for the package, ask the occasional question, engage in time–consuming chitchat and so forth.
The “strange man” Eddy saw leaving was not the delivery man. He was her new neighbor down the hall. His name was Leslie James. Neither she nor River had met him. He had stumbled over the package as he was walking past their apartment, on his way to the elevator. So all was well, except that it all reminded Eddy that nothing about their lives was normal, not even a simple package delivered from a loved one.
Early each evening for several weeks, River and Eddy went for long walks in the nearby park, pulling the twins in the wagon behind them. They were able to talk during their walks, and talk they did. They shared everything, except for the most confidential details about River’s work—details he was not permitted to share with anyone.
Upon returning each evening they talked more. During game time — each night they played board games before going to sleep for the night — they talked. Eddy wanted to know as much as she could know, but she didn’t ask about details. Evenings were like mini vacations for River and Eddy. Each one was special.
“I have something I want to talk with you about, River,” Eddy said one night after dinner.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“God spoke to me in a dream.”
“Great. What did He say, Eddy? People who hear from God get on my nerves,” River replied with a half–hearted attempt to soften the conversation.
His choice for a response was not too bright, though. Eddy began to cry.
“He placed the issue of single mothers squarely in front of me. He wants me to do something about it,” Eddy said through her tears. “There are young girls out there who are not as fortunate as I am. I have you to help me with the twins, and we have money to live on. Many, many girls out there have nothing and no one to help them.”
River now realized that his job was to be supportive, not funny. He was skeptical, though, and he couldn’t conceal his skepticism. “What does God believe you should do about the problem?”
“I should open a charity, a home for single mothers. A home for very young single mothers.”
“How would we do that, Eddy? Did He give you any details?”
“Yes. More details than you might believe. He showed me how these young girls are often misunderstood and mistreated. He showed me the flaws in how we believe about them and about how horribly we treat them. And He gave me the mon—”
Eddy stopped in mid–sentence.
“He gave you money?” River asked.
“Yes. He did.”
“The life insurance benefits from Emily’s insurance policy?” River asked.
“Yes. But you don’t understand, River. It’s not the money. It’s the fact that He gave me the vision. The money just confirms His vision. He even gave me a name for the shelter, ‘Emily’s Angel’s.’”
CHAPTER TWENTY–ONE
JANUARY 2026
The botched U.S. response to the Crimpton bombing coupled with the collapse of Style & Shores ignited unparalleled worldwide suffering and chaos. Lava from the meltdown flowed in all directions from Pennsylvania Avenue and Wall Street, out onto every street in the world. The resulting fire was all consuming. The world was
burning. Hell was everywhere on earth. America was fully to blame. Or at least the world had determined that she was. This was not the time to be in a prominent leadership position in the U.S. government.
The democrats wanted Congressman Robert Wallens from New York to be the Speaker of the House. It wasn’t meant to be. Wallens was street smart and more manipulative than even the slickest politician in Washington, and he didn’t want the job—at least not now. Wallens was accustomed to perfect timing, and this was not the time to be elected to the office of Speaker of the House. To be elected at this time was to be elected to a no–win situation. Wallens didn’t get involved in no–win situations. Those situations were for others to get tangled up in.
Wallens enjoyed the finer things in life. He was a huge opera fan. He fancied himself an opera expert. He also fantasized about being an opera star himself. Or a classical musician. Or a Shakespearian actor. Or a great orchestra conductor. In reality, while Wallens was street smart, he wasn’t intelligent, although he surrounded himself with those who were. His position as a U.S. congressman was the perfect cover for his ignorance. No one would know. No one would suspect. He compartmentalized things. Each aspect of his life was segregated from the others.
Always positioning himself to be in the right place at the right time, Wallens made certain that he got to know the right person to be a suitable friend or political ally. Timing was critical. Where potential friends were concerned, character did not matter to Wallens. Anyone would do as Wallens’ friend—anyone with money, prestige, political clout, notoriety, true intelligence or any other asset Wallens needed at any given time. Wallens knew how to use people. And he knew how to throw them away when he had used them up. He had more enemies than friends; he also held a position that provided the perfect hiding place for a fake. He hid behind his New York congressional seat. His enemies moved on rather than taking him on. New friends were glad to embrace him; former friends wouldn’t dare touch him. They simply joined the ever–swelling ranks of Wallens’ quiet enemies, and just moved on with their lives.