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“Vanessa is gone,” I tell Mandy after hanging up. “I have a feeling she’s leaving with Tommy.”
“That’s what I gathered from listening to your side of the conversation,” she replies with a smirk. “I can’t believe you were so hung up on her for so many years.”
“Believe me, this isn’t the girl I grew up with,” I reply, completely blown away by how everything is panning out. “I don’t know what happened to her.”
“Well, no parental guidance and choosing to date a guy who didn’t treat her very well might have been part of it,” she replies bluntly.
Is it really that simple? I have to wonder if she would’ve turned out differently had she chosen me instead of Tommy and Tyler. I was so in love with her that I would’ve treated her like a princess. But, she chose that path for herself… c'est la vie.
Mandy
Trey remains quiet for the rest of the ride. Regardless of how he feels about Vanessa at this point, it’s not easy seeing someone who you once loved falling into a death spiral. I can’t help but think about whether or not Silvia felt bad when Dad lost everything. She doesn’t seem to be the sentimental type, but Trey claims that she was much different when they were young. I truly hope I never have to go through anything like that.
I glance over at Trey, sensing that he is staring at me. “I’m really glad things worked out exactly how they did,” he says, reaching over and placing his hand on mine. “Vanessa wasn’t the one. I just didn’t have any frame of reference at the time.”
“I’m glad things worked out this way, too,” I reply as we pull up to the old farmhouse. “Time to go see what these two have been up to. We must be having Dad’s favorite meal for dinner,” I deduce after detecting the lingering smell of charred beef in the air.
“It’s a good thing we never dropped off your stuff at the B&B,” Dad informs us as we join them in the kitchen. “You guys can just bunk here for the night. Anthony wants to get an early start.”
“Yeah, it’s going to be another long day,” Anthony adds. “Tommy took his personal jet and he appears to be headed for Belize. Romeo is stationed at the airport. There’s only one runway at the Belize City airport, so if he lands there he won’t be hard to detect.”
“Have you talked to Agent Mitchell?” Trey asks, still seeming a bit preoccupied.
“I did and he never got a chance to meet with Tommy this afternoon. He was already gone by the time he arrived at his office,” Anthony confirms. “Right now there isn’t any evidence they can use to pursue a case against him anyway. They have money transfers from an untraceable account in Belize, that didn’t belong to him, which were sent to another untraceable account in Eastern Europe. So even though you and I both know that account probably belongs to The Ghost, it would be a real challenge to prove it. It would take a team of lawyers endless hours to get around the international trust laws and even if they were successful, its most likely Carly’s account. And she is either dead or missing.”
“I know,” Trey replies, pushing his hand through his hair. “It all drives me nuts because he set everything up to fall on her shoulders and now she’s disappeared. It’s all too damn perfect.”
“It happens more often than you think, especially when you’re dealing with a creative mind like Tommy,” Anthony replies, slapping Trey on the shoulder. “That’s why so many people hire us to bring justice to otherwise unresolvable situations.”
“Tomorrow, will be our justice,” Trey declares, sitting down at one end of the kitchen table.
“In the meantime,” Dad interjects. “Do you like your steak medium rare or medium rare?” He laughs, holding a platter of beef in front of Trey.
“Medium rare sounds perfect,” he replies, piercing a slab of meat with his fork and hoisting it onto his plate.
“Amanda likes vegetables with her meals, so I’ve got pickles, olives and ketchup.” He laughs, setting them out on the table. “Anyone like a slice of bread?”
“Nah, why ruin perfection with unnecessary accessories,” Anthony replies with a laugh. “Let’s face it… no one goes to the steakhouse for the baked potato and steamed broccoli.”
“Exactly!” Dad concurs, pointing at me as if a higher authority has suddenly validated his lack of meal planning skill.
“Pass the pickles, please?” I ask Trey, shooting him a smile. It’s good to be back home, even if it’s only for a night.
