inform me of any safety concerns related to that whole situation if they arose.
Frederic survived —and barely dodged paralysis from the waist down ; good for him — but he left the hospital and went straight to prison , just as Ramón had said . Than kfully, I hadn't heard from him, even though some part of me wanted to ask him those unanswered questions I still harbored. Maybe in another life...
Honestly, what happened still stung. I had learned to trust, to give myself to Roland and then Frederic—and been tremendously let down. So many cosmic coincidences brought us all together in this strange, deadly arrangement. The feelings I had for them both would linger for a while, that I could tell for sure. Still, I had so many good things in my life again. Positive things. There was no doubt that I had gotten my vacation—it was just as far from the norm as possible. Soon they would both fade away, only remembered by the words that I wrote about them in my journal.
Instead of regretting that I had taken the Starland case—oh yes, my mind definitely wanted to go there!—I realized that it had strengthened me more than anything ever had in my life. It would take me years to catalog all of the lessons I had learned. Anyone other than Marisa Taylor would have crumbled under the weight of the Starland Empire. Yep, I was certain of that.
W ork was still great. Although Ramón had more or less told Pat what was up, I came clean to him, that the decision had been my own from the beginning and that I didn't meet Ramón until months into it. He laughed about it, but insisted that I had gone further than most journalists ever would for a story. The problem was, I couldn't publicly talk about this one. I'd find some way around it. Maybe that's what my "fictional" book was for.
My phone suddenly rang. I looked at the number; it was an area code I didn't recognize. Usually, I didn't answer calls from unknown numbers. Today, I decided to take a chance.
"Hello?" I said.
"Hi, is this Marisa Taylor?"
"Yes."
"This is Albert Rivers, lawyer for the Starland estate. How are you doing today?"
I bit my lip a little, nervous about where this might be heading. "Just fine, thanks. What is this call regarding?"
"I regret to inform you that Roland passed away several months ago. I'm handling his will—and let me tell you it's been a real nightmare to sort everything out for such a huge operation—so I wanted to inform you that you're listed as a beneficiary. He left you one-hundred million dollars."
"What the—" My hand shot up to support my head and accidentally struck my drink, sending the glass onto the floor. It shattered loudly, coffee splattering everywhere.
"Ms. Taylor? Is everything all right?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said. "I just dropped my drink on the floor."
"Very well then. We'll be finalizing the financial distributions at the beginning of next week. I'll be contacting you again then, okay?"
"Sure," I said. "Gotta go. Thanks!" I hung up as I heard him begin the word goodbye . "Shit!" I said loudly, getting up and walking toward the counter. Two employees were already coming toward me with a towel and a broom. "I'm so sorry," I said.
"Don't worry," the girl said. "Not a big deal."
"Should I pay for it or something?"
"No, don't worry, ma'am."
"Thanks," I said. I grabbed my purse and laptop bag and got out of there. I wanted to be overwhelmed by stimuli. Sometimes it helped me think.
One-hundred million dollars. It sounded like a joke, a cruel joke. Also, it didn't sound at all like a joke . It reinforced my belief that Roland actually wasn't onto me, and that he had indeed trusted me when I had learned to trust him the least.
Honestly, I really liked spending my own money again, the dollars that I worked hard for. I lived well. What would I even do with a sudden acquisition of one-hundred million dollars ? And that was it: Roland was gone. I would assume his dirty money got reclaimed by somebody , but as Ramón had
Frederic survived —and barely dodged paralysis from the waist down ; good for him — but he left the hospital and went straight to prison , just as Ramón had said . Than kfully, I hadn't heard from him, even though some part of me wanted to ask him those unanswered questions I still harbored. Maybe in another life...
Honestly, what happened still stung. I had learned to trust, to give myself to Roland and then Frederic—and been tremendously let down. So many cosmic coincidences brought us all together in this strange, deadly arrangement. The feelings I had for them both would linger for a while, that I could tell for sure. Still, I had so many good things in my life again. Positive things. There was no doubt that I had gotten my vacation—it was just as far from the norm as possible. Soon they would both fade away, only remembered by the words that I wrote about them in my journal.
Instead of regretting that I had taken the Starland case—oh yes, my mind definitely wanted to go there!—I realized that it had strengthened me more than anything ever had in my life. It would take me years to catalog all of the lessons I had learned. Anyone other than Marisa Taylor would have crumbled under the weight of the Starland Empire. Yep, I was certain of that.
W ork was still great. Although Ramón had more or less told Pat what was up, I came clean to him, that the decision had been my own from the beginning and that I didn't meet Ramón until months into it. He laughed about it, but insisted that I had gone further than most journalists ever would for a story. The problem was, I couldn't publicly talk about this one. I'd find some way around it. Maybe that's what my "fictional" book was for.
My phone suddenly rang. I looked at the number; it was an area code I didn't recognize. Usually, I didn't answer calls from unknown numbers. Today, I decided to take a chance.
"Hello?" I said.
"Hi, is this Marisa Taylor?"
"Yes."
"This is Albert Rivers, lawyer for the Starland estate. How are you doing today?"
I bit my lip a little, nervous about where this might be heading. "Just fine, thanks. What is this call regarding?"
"I regret to inform you that Roland passed away several months ago. I'm handling his will—and let me tell you it's been a real nightmare to sort everything out for such a huge operation—so I wanted to inform you that you're listed as a beneficiary. He left you one-hundred million dollars."
"What the—" My hand shot up to support my head and accidentally struck my drink, sending the glass onto the floor. It shattered loudly, coffee splattering everywhere.
"Ms. Taylor? Is everything all right?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said. "I just dropped my drink on the floor."
"Very well then. We'll be finalizing the financial distributions at the beginning of next week. I'll be contacting you again then, okay?"
"Sure," I said. "Gotta go. Thanks!" I hung up as I heard him begin the word goodbye . "Shit!" I said loudly, getting up and walking toward the counter. Two employees were already coming toward me with a towel and a broom. "I'm so sorry," I said.
"Don't worry," the girl said. "Not a big deal."
"Should I pay for it or something?"
"No, don't worry, ma'am."
"Thanks," I said. I grabbed my purse and laptop bag and got out of there. I wanted to be overwhelmed by stimuli. Sometimes it helped me think.
One-hundred million dollars. It sounded like a joke, a cruel joke. Also, it didn't sound at all like a joke . It reinforced my belief that Roland actually wasn't onto me, and that he had indeed trusted me when I had learned to trust him the least.
Honestly, I really liked spending my own money again, the dollars that I worked hard for. I lived well. What would I even do with a sudden acquisition of one-hundred million dollars ? And that was it: Roland was gone. I would assume his dirty money got reclaimed by somebody , but as Ramón had
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