At eleven o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday, Nick found her sitting in a padded chair on the wooden deck at the back of the house. Flowers in early spring bloom surrounded her. She was drinking iced herbal tea and reading a paperback mystery novel.
“Oh, to enjoy the lazy life of a retiree.” Nick leaned down to give her a hug.
“Lazy life, my butt.” She removed her glasses and massaged the bridge of her nose. “Tax season just ended. I’m taking a well-deserved break.”
“You’re supposed to be retired, Mom. Why are you still doing taxes for people?”
“Some folks at the church needed guidance.” She gave him a level look. “I do it because I can.”
It was a familiar answer from her, one of those mottos that she and his dad had preached to him for his entire life.Get good grades because you can. Do the right thing because you can.
Research cures for diseases because you can, Nicholas.
Nick’s original calling to medicine had been a mission to find a cure for sickle-cell anemia. The disease had claimed the life of his mother’s eldest sister, his beloved Aunt Doris. Although he had been only a teenager at the time of his aunt’s passing, the pain that his family had experienced as she wasted away had made an indelible impression on him. He’d always had a knack for science and math, and the pursuit of a degree in the sciences had seemed like a way to make a difference, to perhaps spare someone else’s family the pain that his own had endured.
The cause was just, but the money, to him, was never good enough. He’d gotten a doctorate, worked as a pharmaceutical scientist for one of the world’s top drug companies, and though he’d done important work, it seemed that the bulk of thefinancial rewards always went to the company’s top executives. It had forced him to face an unpleasant truth about himself: he’d yearned to make a difference with his knowledge, but more than that, he wanted to be rich.
It seemed almost sinful to admit it, given his church upbringing, but the pull of materialism was too strong for him to resist. He wanted to spin around town in expensive cars. He wanted a big house in a tony neighborhood. He wanted a Rolex on his wrist, fine wines in his cellar, and the latest fashionable clothes and shoes waiting in his closet. His respectable but modestly paying corporate gig would never have brought the financial rewards that he craved.
When Omar, his frat brother from Morehouse, had called with a business proposition to launch their own nutritional supplements company, the timing couldn’t have been better. Nick had been ready to stake his claim on his own fortune.
“Is everything doing okay, Mom?” Nick settled on a chair next to her.
“I’m doing fine, Nicholas. I’m a little surprised that you’re visiting me on a Tuesday morning instead of working. Is everything okay withyou?” Her gaze probed him.
“I’m all right.” He couldn’t bear to meet his mother’s copper-brown eyes, and looked instead at the menagerie of potted plants assembled on the deck. “Everything is everything.”
“All right, then.” She pursed her lips, clearly displeased but not willing to push it. “How’s Amiya?”
“She’s fine. Any day now, I’ll pop the question.”
Nick hadn’t told his mother that he had already asked Amiya to marry him and had gotten a noncommittal response. No good would come of sharing such information with his mother. His mom was crazy about Amiya, but she would side with him and wonder what was wrong with his girlfriend, and he didn’t wantto give his mother any reason to harbor a negative opinion of her. Amiya would come around, in time.
Yeah, she’ll really want to marry you if she finds out a crime boss has you on a string.
“You got any more of that tea?” Nick asked.
“I brewed a whole pitcher. It’s in the refrigerator. Help yourself.”
In the kitchen, Nick took the glass pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator and placed it on the granite-topped island. He wasn’t one to snoop around his mother’s house, but he couldn’t help but notice a FedEx letter-size envelope from a sender whose name he recognized: Falcon Properties.
Falcon Properties was one of the largest developers of live-work-play communities in the country, and they had several developments throughout metro Atlanta. Nick’s old condo, a unit in Decatur, had been part of their portfolio.
The FedEx package had been opened. He poured himself a serving of tea in a highball glass, and slipped the letter out of the envelope.
It was printed on heavy, expensive paper. It had a watermark, too.
As he read the correspondence, his heart began to boom.
This,he thought,could be the answer to my problems.
His mother entered the kitchen via the French doors. He looked up at her, waved the sheet of paper.
“Mom?” he asked. “Is this legit?”
“That? I was going to tell you about it today, actually. Yes, I think it’s legitimate.”
Nick licked his suddenly dry lips. He looked back at the page, but his gaze picked out only the key phrases.
