The woman in the picture has a different hair color. Beautiful chestnut hair hanging long down her back, no make-up, wearing a plaid shirt, and a hat pulled low on her head, sunglasses disguising her eyes.
There is another shot of her inside the local bank, taken by the security cameras. It shows her without her glasses and offers a clearer image of her face.
Jack says, “His contact superimposed the before and after images and asked the algorithm to assess the likeness. It came up as a ninety-six percent match.”
“Not one hundred percent, though.”
“It’s enough.” He grins, supercharged at his own investigative work, and I stifle a smile. Jack is diligent in his job in every aspect and will be thriving on this discovery.
“We hacked into her doctor’s records, IRS records , dental records, and history. It all came back as a match except for her name and history. Bank records show a more than healthy balance with several investments, the main ones being in Goldsworthy Enterprises and their subsidiary businesses. We also dug into her financial history, and it appears she lives a basic life while sitting on millions of dollars, preferring to care for her cattle and animals with a team of ranch hands for the heavy lifting. Records show she has a huge scar across her abdomen signifying a cesarean procedure at the same time Alice was born.”
“It sounds like our woman.”
“It is our woman.”
Jack’s confidence is well-earned, and I lean back in my seat. “This must have cost a great deal to carry out such a detailed investigation.”
Not that I care, they deserve their fee, whoever it was who engineered this masterpiece of investigative journalism.
“It would have cost them a lot more if they had never come up with the evidence.”
His enigmatic reply tells me he has heat on his sources, which doesn’t surprise me. I wouldn’t want Jack as my enemy, which is why I keep him close. He has an uncanny knack of discovering weaknesses and applying pressure, capable of taking his foot off the bleed and watching the life slip away from his victims.
He controls and manipulates, which are characteristics I admire, and I nod my approval.
“Good work. I’m impressed.”
This is the only compliment he is getting from me, and his wry grin tells me he knows how impressed I really am.
“I have arranged a meeting with Edward Goldsworthy for eleven am today. Then the jet is on standby for a whistlestop visit to Idaho at your request.”
My thoughts turn to Alice, and I wonder how she will deal with this. My first thought is to tell her. To lay everything out on the line, but old habits die hard and secrecy is my middle name, so I decide to leave her in ignorance while I figure her shit out for myself.
I leaveJack to arrange the finer details and head off in search of my wife, who is taking it easy this morning. I left her in bed, and I expect she’s hungry. I have decided not to order in food; instead opting to cook for her. It’s not unusual for me to cook my own food. I prefer it because it channels my turbulent mind into something other than business and sex. I work out, sure, but I like my privacy, and so I often cook to cleanse my mind and settle down in front of a game to switch off from the daily shit life throws at me.
I head to the kitchen to make eggs, bacon, and pancakes. A morning feast for two extremely hungry people.
As I work, Alice enters the kitchen, her hair tousled and looking adorable in my robe.
“Morning, angel.”
She smiles and wanders over to me, slipping her arms around my waist from behind as I tend to the skillet.
“I could get used to this.”
“What, living over a strip club?”
She kisses my neck. “No. My own personal chef and man who tends to my every need.”
“I’m at your service.”
I don’t care if she looks on me as her servant because I am. I may be a heartless bastard, unforgiving and cruel at work, but I was raised to respect women and cherish them, despite the fact my father has kept a mistress for most of my life.
However, it’s obvious Mom is his greatest love, his asset, and the woman he adores. She accepts he has other pastimes and apparently couldn’t give a shit.
That’s not for me.
It never struck me as a solid base for a marriage, and when I asked him about it once, he merely said,
