When Fates Collide

by Isabelle Richards

  Gavin rolls his glass between his palms. “I’m sorry to have laid all that on you,” he says sheepishly.

  Before I have a chance to say anything else, his phone rings, the Hawaii 5-0 theme song issuing from it. Looks like Gavin has a sense of humor. “That was Sullivan,” he says after checking the phone. “There have been some developments, but the agents won’t be back until morning at the earliest. He said it’s not safe for you to go back to your house. An agent is going to come by in a few minutes to take you to a hotel.”

  I hear what he says, but it doesn’t really register. I’ve drunk my weight in scotch and haven’t eaten since this morning. My brain is hazed in a fog. All I want is to go home, shower, and climb into bed. But I can’t do that. I don’t know when I will be able to go home. And I don’t even know why! It has been comforting talking here with Gavin, but it has allowed me to completely ignore the reality of the situation.

  Meredith, the agent assigned to babysit me, arrives. She stands about five foot eleven and is built like a linebacker. No one is messing with this chick. When I stand up, the scotch suddenly hits me, and the ground moves beneath me.

  Meredith catches me as I stumble, saving me from falling flat on my face. “Whoa there, lightweight! Let’s get you to the car.” She waves at Gavin. “Come on, Hot Stuff. You can hitch a ride.”

  “Why’s he coming with us?” I say in what is intended to be a whisper but probably comes out loud enough for the whole bar to hear.

  “I think we’d best get her some take away on the way to the hotel, Mer,” Gavin says as he scoops me up and carries me to the car. “Something good and greasy!”

  We drive by an all-night Mexican place—an insta-sobering trick I learned in college. As long as I don’t think about what’s really in this burrito or other pesky things like health codes, I’m golden. By the time we get to the Marriott, I’m feeling somewhat human again. We enter the hotel through the back entrance. I’m told I’ve been checked in under an assumed name: Kelly Kapowski. Classic.

  I’m in the room right next to Gavin’s. When we arrive at our doors, I look at him and have no idea what to say. This is such a bizarre situation. I don’t think Emily Post has etiquette rules on this. Do I say, “I’m sorry my shithead husband killed your wife?” “Thanks for getting me trashed so I don’t have to think about how my life is in danger?” “You’re so beautiful it helps me forget that my whole world has turned upside down?”

  I settle for, “Thank you for getting me out of the station and for sitting with me tonight. Have a good night.” I unlock my door, but turn back around to face him. “Wait, will I see you again? What happens now?”

  He pauses with his hand on this door handle. “I’ll see you tomorrow. They’ll bring us back over to the station tomorrow morning, and they’ll tell us as much as they can about what happened today. Stop by when you’re up in the morning. We can have breakfast.” He comes over to me and looks me in the eye so intensely that it sucks all the oxygen out of me. “Don’t worry, Lily. We’ll get through this. Try to get some rest. You’ll need it to get through tomorrow.”

  He gives me a hug that’s as soothing as climbing into bed with sheets fresh from the dryer. So warm you just want to crawl in and never leave. This man has something about him that emits a sense of security. He lets me go and walks back to his room.

  “He’s something else, huh?” Meredith says, snapping me out of my trance. “Come on, Lightweight. You need a shower. You smell like a distillery!”

  Meredith clears the room and then lets me in. No monsters under the bed or boogeymen in the closet. The room is a one-bedroom suite with a small living area. Meredith says she’ll stand guard by the door all night. The bedroom itself has a proper door, so at least I can have a little privacy. There’s no way I would get a moment’s sleep with Meredith staring at me.

  Eager for a shower, I head straight for the bathroom and turn the water on as hot as it will go. The scalding stream leaves me feeling raw. But at least I’m feeling something. I keep waiting for the day to catch up with me, but my mind is blank. I try to focus on the individual parts of the day, but it’s as though my mind is determined to shut it all out. I guess this mental shutdown is why people drink scotch. You really can forget it all.

  When I get out of the shower, I realize I don’t have any pajamas, and I remember that I left a load of laundry in the washer. Damn! Ashton gets so mad when it has that mildewy smell. Even when I use vinegar, it never gets it all the way out, and he...

  Then it hits me: Ashton isn’t going to be upset about the laundry. He isn’t going to get upset with me about anything. Ever. Ashton is gone. Huge tears begin to fall. Tears of loss and tears of mourning. Some are tears of relief. I cry myself to sleep.

  Three

  The Mexican food did the trick. I’m hangover-free. When I wake up, it takes me a minute to realize where I am. The unfamiliar sheets and my nakedness throw me for a loop, until the previous day’s events come back to me in pieces. After I find a bathrobe in the closet, I peek out the bedroom door to find Meredith doing yoga.

  “Doing okay, Lightweight?” she asks, balancing in crescent pose.

  “Yeah, I think the e-coli from that burrito ate all the alcohol,” I retort.

  She laughs. “I like you, Lightweight. You didn’t puke in my car, and you have a sense of humor.”

  I smile at her.

  “I spoke to Greene a few minutes ago,” she continues. “The guys are back at the station and will see you later in the morning.”

  “Don’t they need to sleep?” I ask. “They’ve been at this all night!”

  She shakes her head. “That’s life on the job, Lightweight. That’s life on the job.”

  I feel a sudden deep appreciation for these men and women who are charged with keeping me safe. Lives have been lost, others are in danger, and Ash is at the center of this mystery. My selfish prick of a husband. Guilt consumes me, and I vow to be as helpful as I can so that this investigation can all be put to rest.

  Reluctantly, I dress in my disgusting clothes from yesterday. I wish I had at least washed my bathing suit out in the sink, but the idea didn’t occur to me until now. Once I’m dressed, we leave the room and walk to the car.

  “Are we getting Gavin?” I ask.

  “Hot Stuff’s already down there. They called him in very early this morning.” She unlocks the car doors with the remote. “Now, let’s stop off at Target. You’ve got to grab some new clothes. You still stink!”

  I open the door and slide into the passenger seat. “I don’t have my wallet or anything,” I reply.

  She hops in and closes her door. “I’ll spot you,” she says with a smile.

  “Thank you. I’ll pay you back right away.”

  She laughs. “Please. It’s more for me than you. I’m stuck with you all day in close quarters. A deodorized version of you would make this day much easier.”

  After a quick shopping trip and an even quicker change in the store’s restroom, we return to the station. As we walk through the lobby, I notice the TV is set on some morning show. Hot news from the Hollywood scene. Gavin Edwards, Brook Livingston’s husband, was seen entering a DC hotel late last night with a very attractive blonde. This picture comes from a hotel guest that captured the two as they exited a cab and snuck in the back entrance of the hotel. Brooke’s PR rep says she’s in New Zealand working on a project, but rumors are flying that the Covent Gardens star has been arrested for a DUI in Washington, DC. So we want to know: What is up with Brooke, and who is this woman on her husband’s arm?

  There I am, walking into the Marriott. The picture isn’t half bad considering the shape I was in at the time. As flattering as it is that they’re reporting me in a positive light, the stroke to my ego does nothing to squash my fears. I’m petrified that the word is out and what that will mean. The FBI has been so cryptic about this investigation. I don’t really have a grasp on what’s going on, who the bad guys are, or what they could possibly wan
t with me.

  Meredith shakes her head at the TV. “Damn vultures,” she says. “Now we’ve got to change hotels. Dammit!” She yells loudly enough to draw the attention of everyone in the lobby. “Let’s go. The boys are waiting,” she says with great irritation as she guides me to my interrogation room.

  “Seriously guys, I thought we’ve moved passed the scary room with no windows?” I ask as I enter, trying to bring a bit of humor to the two very cranky-looking men.

  Sullivan points to the same uncomfortable plastic chair that I sat in yesterday. “Sit down. We’ve a lot to talk about. The press has gotten wind of you, and it’s only a matter of time before this blows up and takes the whole case down with it. The higher-ups are pulling as many strings as they can to keep this quiet, but that only works with mainstream press. The trash papers couldn’t give a shit whose life they put in danger.”

  “Let’s just focus on the new information, and we can worry about the press later,” Greene says. I’m thankful he seems to be keeping his head. Greene has such a calming effect. Otherwise, Sully’s intensity would probably send me right over the edge. “Meredith, can you get Lily something to drink?” he asks.

  She nods and leaves the room.

  “Before we start,” I say. “I want to let you know that I know Ashton was trouble. Always in trouble, always making trouble, always looking for trouble. I don’t know a lot of details, but I’ll do everything I can to help you.”

  Sullivan nods. “We appreciate that. There are holes that need to be filled in, and hopefully you can help. We may ask you some questions that seem obvious, but just go with it. Tell us what you know. You’d be surprised the details people know but don’t realize are important.” He takes the cap off a pen and pulls a legal pad closer to him. “Let’s start by talking about yesterday.”

  I hold my breath and flinch. I’m not ready for this, but it’s happening, like it or not.

  Before we dive in, Meredith comes back with a bottle of water. “Stay hydrated,” she says. “I’ll be down the hall if you need me.” She gives me a reassuring smile and disappears once again. I wonder if it’s obvious how nervous I am.

  Greene moves closer, his voice softer than before. “As we told you, Mr. Preston was in a head-on collision. It’s our understanding that Mr. Preston was speeding to get to a meeting with Mr. Jason Robertson, the owner of the farm, and an Anthony Maniglia at the farmhouse. Do you know either of these people?”

  I tap my chin as I try to remember. “I remember hearing about a Jason, but I don’t recall specifics. I tried to keep as much distance from Ashton’s extracurricular activities as possible.”

  Sully jots down a few notes on the pad.

  “That’s okay,” Greene says soothingly. “Mr. Robertson was a drug dealer and bookie. Mr. Maniglia was a financial backer of Mr. Robertson’s, and he had ties to organized crime. We’ve obtained confirmation that your husband was in debt to these two men.”

  “He owed them some major dough,” Sully chimes in.

  “I wish I could say I’m surprised, but nothing surprises me when it comes to Ash,” I reply. I’m curious how much he owed and what he did with the money, but I refrain from asking. Being curious and actually wanting to know are two very different things.

  Greene continues. “Your husband was trying to blackmail his way out of the mess he was in. He claimed he had evidence that would be damaging to both men and that he would hand over this evidence to Maniglia in exchange for their clearing his debt. He was supposed to be bringing it with him to the meeting.” Greene looks at me in the eyes, “You with me so far?”

  I take a sip of my water and then nod.

  “As I mentioned yesterday, there are many branches of law enforcement involved in this case—state and federal. We have evidence coming in from informants, undercover agents, and wiretaps. When we got confirmation of Ashton’s blackmail attempt, everyone thought it would be our big break. We were lined up to take them all down, until your husband got into the accident. It put a wrench in everything.”

  I swallow hard as I try to process this information. Greene’s story sounds more like a plot from a movie than something I could actually be involved in. “So you were planning on arresting Ash yesterday?” I ask.

  Sully taps his pen on the table as he responds. “We were going to listen to their exchange over the wire, and once we had what we were looking for, we were going to arrest them all. Not only those at the farm, but others in the organization as well. The busts were supposed to be simultaneous, but all of that came to a screeching halt after the accident.”

  “Oh,” I reply, digesting his statement. My mind returns to yesterday morning. Ash had complained I hadn’t made enough bacon for breakfast and that I must have shrunk his shirts in the wash. I’d snapped back that if he ate less bacon, maybe his shirts would fit. He tried to keep fighting, but it just wasn’t worth it to me, so I’d ignored him while he ranted and raved about all the ways I let him down. We’d spoken more in that conversation than we had all week. What would I have done if he’d called saying he was arrested? I probably would have laughed and told him to rot in jail.

  Would I have said or done something different if I’d known it was the last time I was going to speak to him? Probably not. Our relationship was so broken that there really was nothing left for us to say to each other. A tearful good-bye would have been bullshit, and we both would have known it.

  Greene coughs, and it brings me back to the present. “The accident threw a wrench in everyone’s plans. The agents knew they needed to play everything very carefully so as not to blow their cover. We sent in special units to the accident to clear the scene and avoid arousing suspicion. Luckily, while Mr. Robertson and Mr. Maniglia were essentially trapped in the farmhouse, they consumed large quantities of drugs and became very chatty. We got enough on record to sink them both for life.”

  Sullivan jumps in. “We knew they’d be worried about what evidence your husband had, and we suspected they would come after you. We stationed local PD in your home last night. As it turns out, we were right. At two eighteen a.m., two men entered your home. There was a shootout between them and the police, and both men were taken down.”

  My blood goes cold. “Is everyone okay?” I ask, the words barely squeaking out.

  “Yes, everyone involved came back safely,” Greene says in a soothing voice. “After we had proof that they sent someone to harm you, officers raided the farmhouse to arrest both Robertson and Maniglia. Both of them were high out of their minds and came out guns blazing. Both were killed.”

  Ashton may have been a magnet for trouble and had always wound up in over his head. But this… this is different. People have lost their lives. It’s all too much. “Now that these guys are gone, do you think I’m in the clear? Is someone else going to come after me?”

  “Lily, look,” Sullivan says, almost sounding human, “The straight answer is we don’t know. We think Maniglia was operating off-book, meaning this operation wasn’t authorized by the higher-ups in his group. The rest of the organization isn’t going to be happy that he had this little side project and that it comes with so much heat. I don’t think they’ll give you a second thought. But, that’s just a guess at this point. This could be a sanctioned operation, and if that’s the case, there are going to be some very angry and desperate mobsters looking to make this go away.”

  So basically, they know jack. I take another sip of my water. It doesn’t soothe my fears, but it helps with my dry throat. One problem down, a million to go.

  Sully taps that damn pen again. If he keeps doing it, I’m liable to stab him with it. “The bigger issue is—what else was your husband into? We have only just begun to sift through the evidence, and it’s pretty clear he was involved with other unsavory parties and in trouble up to his eyeballs.”

  I nervously chew on a fingernail as I try to think about anything I might know that could help. “I wish I knew something, but I don’t.”

  “We starte
d going through his business offices and your home. Your home is now a crime scene, and you won’t be able to stay there for a while. Now that the hotel is compromised, we need to find safe housing for you. You’ll stay in FBI custody until we clear this all up. That could take hours, days, even weeks. We have no idea.”

  “Oh no! The business,” I exclaim. “He has employees. Not many at this point, but they are good people that rely on their jobs. I have to do something.” Ashton had been running Preston Construction since his father’s death. When his father ran the company, PC was a big player in the Washington commercial construction market. They built office buildings, apartments—that sort of thing. He’d made his fortune on government contracts. At one point, he’d had hundreds of employees and contractors, but since Ash took over, all but a handful have left. He ran the business into the ground.

  Greene pats my hand and says, “All assets from Preston Construction will be frozen pending further investigation. We have already spoken to the employees. I know it’s hard, but that’s how it has to be. We’ve found evidence of drug dealing and bookmaking in his office. We’re guessing he was using the business as a front, but until the accountants dig through the records, we won’t know for sure.”

  It was one thing when it was Ash screwing up, blowing through money. He was only destroying his life and keeping me from living mine. I could live with that. But this is different. People are dead. Lives have been destroyed. I know I didn’t do it, but I feel responsible. Thinking about those poor people losing their jobs makes me sick.

  “What do I tell people?” I ask. “Is this still a secret? What am I going to tell his mother?” The room spins as I start to panic.

  Greene scoots closer to pat my back, but it’s Sullivan that snaps me out of it. “We have to worry about your safety first. Then we have to consider the case being built against these guys. I think we can all agree we want to get these guys and stop them from hurting anyone else. As far as you go, we don’t want anyone that may be watching you to think anything is up. You’re going off the grid. You can’t tell anyone about this, not yet. Post on Facebook that you are going on a trip, taking some ‘you time’ or whatever the hell girls like to do. Don’t talk to anyone, no details to anyone.