11. ETHAN
11
ETHAN
I drop to my knees in the sand, my breathing labored, and my heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest.
Five miles.
Five lousy miles.
Back in the Navy, I could do twice that, barely breaking a sweat.
I’m getting weak.
The truth is, I’ve been neglecting my training. I run when I feel like it, but it isn’t daily.
The late nights and soft living aren’t helping things.
I need to toughen up.
This upcoming job is not going to be a cakewalk. While it does not necessarily entail any physical work, it requires mental sharpness, which goes hand-in-hand with fitness. A strong mind goes along with a strong body.
My budding romance with Sophia has been a—distraction.
I don’t want it to end, but I have been slipping ever since she came into my life. That’s a problem.
Playing house is something kids do, but now it’s turned serious. I have to be on top of my game and ensure Sophia is as well.
We’re scheduled to meet with Lena—Lena Gardner I learned—in two days. That only gives us a couple days to get our story straight.
I haven’t told Sophia yet that we’ll meet with Lena before meeting Harrison Whitmore, but he’s notoriously hard to get a hold of.
I’m sure Sophia will be pissed. Her involvement hinges on her getting a good impression of the father-to-be.
I spoke to our lawyer personally and explained that the success of this plan involves us meeting with Whitmore, and to please make that clear. His response was surprisingly hostile, replying that one did not present Mr. Harrison Whitmore III with ultimatums.
This puts me in a difficult position.
If Sophia decides to drop out, that leaves me hunting for someone to take her place. I know girls, and many of them would jump at the chance to make a lot of money for not a lot of work, but none of them have the intelligence and poise to pull off the impression we need to make on Miss Gardner.
As much as I dislike my family sometimes, I don’t want to fail them.
I look up into the sky, the morning sun beating down on my face, and think about a beach that is not all that different from the one I’m standing on.
It was a little shithole in Yemen on the Gulf of Aden called Al’ Aws. There was nothing for miles but sand and a few scattered fishermen’s shacks.
We trekked eight miles to the northeast to the terrorist encampment we were assigned to hit. I had something of a revelation as I surveyed the little shanty town of crumbling cinder block and masonry buildings through binoculars in the fading early evening sunlight.
We don’t appreciate how lucky we are to live here in the U.S.
By sheer accident of birth, I was born into a family with all the advantages, and I merely took it for granted for all those years.
At that point, I resolved that I wanted to do good with the wealth and power our family had accumulated.
The problem I face, however, is how do you define “good”?
If you give it some thought, it isn’t that simple.
Let’s say you give a charity a million dollars. Where is that money going? Does it help the people the charity is supposed to help, or does it line the pockets of those running it? And if a charity solves the problem they want to address, doesn’t that put the livelihoods of those who work there at risk?
Once you start to dig, it’s a slippery slope, and that’s where my ability to navigate the morally gray areas comes in handy.
Whatever his faults may be, Whitmore can give his child everything they need to reach their full potential. Lena will be able to start fresh with a nice settlement and better prospects for the future. Yes, deception and subterfuge were involved, but wasn’t the end result worth it?
In this case, the ends really do justify the means.
I pick Sophia up after work and take her back to my place for dinner and a rehearsal, as I began to refer to it. After all, this is an acting job, why not treat it as such?
We’ll use our real names, Sophia and Ethan, to keep things as simple as possible. The only difference is we’ll use the last name Blackwood.
I worry a little that Lena might know the name and the reputation that goes along with it, but it’s a common enough name that it shouldn’t raise any red flags.
I’m an investment banker who owns and operates my own firm. My original idea to pose as an attorney was shot down by our lawyer because Lena might decide to try to look up my firm online. Investment bankers are much less public, and we money types are notoriously low-profile.
Sophia works for a large national PR firm. We’re prepared to specify but hope that won’t be necessary.
I inform her that our wardrobe should be expensive, but elegant, and not too flashy. We want to present ourselves as a conservative couple with class. It should be easy to pull off.
I clarified to her earlier that I would pay for anything she needed to complete the look. After all, if it’s my job, I should be willing to provide the tools.
“I don’t think I’ll have to work all that hard to play the loving wife.” She walks up to me playfully, pulling on the front of my shirt with two fingers.
I chuckle, but I need to keep my head on straight. I’m going to approach this just like any other mission. Cover all the details, and think of all the possibilities, not just for myself but for my team as well.
“Later, Mrs. Blackwood.”
Now, I have to worry about her getting too into this. Being too lovey-dovey would also look suspicious. Every couple has a honeymoon period, but things tend to cool down after being married for a bit.
“So, when do we get to meet Mr. Whitmore?”
I had already informed her about meeting the mother-to-be first and the father later. She’s, surprisingly, OK with that. Of course, I didn’t tell her that he hadn’t even officially agreed to it yet.
“The lawyer is setting that up.” I lie.
“So, what do you think I’ll look good in?” She comes up behind me, placing her hands gently on my shoulders, an affectionate gesture that interrupts my train of thought. I know what she is fishing for me to say, but I decide not to humor her.
“I dunno. Maybe pick up some things from that boutique where you work. Maybe you can get an employee discount,” I smirk.
“Ugh, you have to be kidding,” she says dismissively. “Those clothes are designed for older women. I had some snooty older lady come in the other day and tell me that she wanted me to help her find clothes that would make her look good. I wanted to tell her it would take much more than new clothes to make her look good.”
I laugh at that. Maybe I’m rubbing off on her after all.
“I’m thinking of maybe hitting the mall this afternoon. They have some nice, trendy stuff. Who knows, perhaps I’ll pick up something lacy for underneath.”
I can see she’s annoyed with me refusing to engage with her, but I’m all business when I put on my game face.
There’s silence, and the temperature in the room seems to drop. I can feel the tension. She is about to drop something on me, I can tell.
“So, you know I’m friends with Melanie Farrell, right?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“You went out with her sister, Alexa.”
Now, I know I’m not going to like this.
“Yeah, it was long ago, but we dated for a while.”
“I know it didn’t end well. What happened?”
“Look,” I snap, turning to face her. “I like you—a lot—but you’re not my girlfriend, and I don’t want you butting into my personal life. What went on between Alexa and me is none of your business. Suffice it to say, we had some issues, and it ended. That’s all you need to know. I don’t want to hear about it again. Are we clear?”