Chapter 9
I pulled out a thick envelope wrapped in plastic. I stood up and placed the envelope on the counter. The thud it made silenced the businessman. I tore open the plastic. Inside was a stack of $100 bills, fresh, crisp, uncirculated. My emergency fund, my war chest. I counted out the money. 1,000. 2,000. I kept counting until the pile on the counter looked like something from a drug bust.
I believe this is legal tender, I said, keeping my voice flat. Two first class tickets to Nassau. And I want the window seats. Sarah stared at the cash. Then she stared at me. She swallowed hard. Yes, sir. Of course, sir. She started counting the money, her hands shaking slightly. The rude businessman behind me was dead silent. I turned to look at him.
He was suddenly very interested in the ceiling tiles. I looked down at Mia. She was looking at the money and then at me with wide eyes. Grandpa, why do you have money in your shoe? Because banks can make mistakes, Mia, I said loud enough for the people around us to hear. And because sometimes the people you trust the most are the ones who steal from you, but you never let them stop the mission.
Do you understand? She nodded solemnly. Sarah handed me the boarding passes. Her attitude had completely changed. There was respect in her eyes now, or maybe fear. I did not care which. Thank you, Mr. Slater. Have a safe flight. I took the tickets. I took Mia’s hand. We walked toward security. I could feel the weight of the remaining cash pressing against my ankle.
It was uncomfortable, but it was a good pain. It was the feeling of ammunition. Austin thought he had disarmed me. He thought he had left me helpless. But all he had done was force me to go back to my roots. I was not just a grandfather anymore. I was a soldier deploying to a hostile theater.
And I had just secured transport. The seat belt sign dinged off with a soft chime that sounded like a bell marking the beginning of a new round in a boxing match. We were leveling off at 30,000 ft, leaving the gray clouds of the east coast behind and piercing into the brilliant unyielding blue of the upper atmosphere.
I adjusted my seat, reclining it just enough to ease the ache in my lower back, an ache that had more to do with the tension of the last 12 hours than my age. Next to me, Mia sat rigid in her leather seat. In first class, the seats are like armchairs, wide and enveloping, designed to make you forget you are hurtling through the air in a metal tube.