Fiduciary Duty Read Online Free
Author: Tim Michaels
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Suspense, Retail
meant something to me. I also boxed up and mailed out the things that I thought would mean something to my family or H’s uncle, her closest living relative. I sold almost everything else at a garage sale that weekend and what was left went to the Salvation Army. Monday morning, I put my toolbox full of Craftsman tools and a few other odds and ends I wanted to keep in the Explorer, drove to the real estate agent’s office and handed over the keys to the house. From there I headed south, to my father and stepmother’s house. I had a flight to São Paulo at the end of the week, and the Explorer was going to stay with them until I got back. It was a long drive, and it gave me time to realize I was kind of numb. But numb was good, it dulled the pain.
I didn’t have a plan for how to kill the Prince, but I had a feeling there would be times I would need to be anonymous. I was going to take the first step to getting that anonymity before leaving the US. On the way to my father’s house on Merritt Island, I stopped at a hotel parking lot in Orlando. One of the items I had taken with me was a pair of crutches from when H had broken her leg a year earlier. I got out the crutches and hobbled my way into lobby. After sitting for ten minutes, I hobbled out and got into a cab.
“I need to buy prepaid credit cards,” I told the cabbie in broken English, heavily pushing my best Argentine accent.
“Must be anonymous credit card,” I told him, “Cannot use normal card or my government tax my purchases.”
The cabbie, an immigrant from Southeast Asia with a stronger accent than mine, didn’t seem to care either way. He grunted, and started driving toward downtown.
Ten minutes later, we pulled into a small store that catered to tourists. I didn’t want to appear on any security cameras, so I asked the cabbie if he could have one of the store clerks come out to the cab.
“Ees my leg,” I said, “Ees bad today.”
After some back and forth, I ended up buying twenty pre-paid $500 anonymous Visa cards, which the clerk assured me could be used anywhere that Visa was accepted. I paid for the credit cards in cash. Then the cabbie then drove me back to the hotel. Before hobbling in, I gave him a $50 tip. After another ten minute sojourn in the lobby, I hobbled back to the Explorer and drove the rest of the way to Merritt Island.
Chapter 3. Beaches
My plane landed at the airport of Guarulhos just outside São Paulo. It was good to be back in Brazil. I felt as if I was on an adventure, but one that was deadly serious. I thought of what H would have said. H had been such a stickler for doing the right thing. She would have told me I was on a just cause. But she would also have warned me that a just cause meant more responsibility. A person who failed on a just cause was inadvertently allowing an injustice to continue. There was almost nothing I would not do to minimize the injustice to H and Jeremy.
I picked up my bag and quickly got through customs. I had packed light – a bagful of clothes, some toiletries, my laptop and that was it. That was lucky, as my rental, a tiny Fiat hatchback, was smaller than I had anticipated. It would never even have accommodated the crutches that were, at the moment, still sitting in the trunk of the Explorer halfway up the Atlantic coast of Florida. Another surprise to me was that the Fiat was tri-flex. That is, it had two fuel tanks, one for compressed natural gas and the other could accept any mix of ethanol and gasoline. Most cars, trucks, and buses, and even a few motorcycles on the road in Brazil could run on two or more fuels allowing the driver to select whichever got the most miles per gallon, or rather, the most kilometers per liter when they pulled into a service station.
The history of those tri-flex vehicles dated back to the second Oil Embargo following the overthrow of the Shah in Iran. Brazil had the same gas lines as we did in the US, but the Brazilian government vowed never to get
I didn’t have a plan for how to kill the Prince, but I had a feeling there would be times I would need to be anonymous. I was going to take the first step to getting that anonymity before leaving the US. On the way to my father’s house on Merritt Island, I stopped at a hotel parking lot in Orlando. One of the items I had taken with me was a pair of crutches from when H had broken her leg a year earlier. I got out the crutches and hobbled my way into lobby. After sitting for ten minutes, I hobbled out and got into a cab.
“I need to buy prepaid credit cards,” I told the cabbie in broken English, heavily pushing my best Argentine accent.
“Must be anonymous credit card,” I told him, “Cannot use normal card or my government tax my purchases.”
The cabbie, an immigrant from Southeast Asia with a stronger accent than mine, didn’t seem to care either way. He grunted, and started driving toward downtown.
Ten minutes later, we pulled into a small store that catered to tourists. I didn’t want to appear on any security cameras, so I asked the cabbie if he could have one of the store clerks come out to the cab.
“Ees my leg,” I said, “Ees bad today.”
After some back and forth, I ended up buying twenty pre-paid $500 anonymous Visa cards, which the clerk assured me could be used anywhere that Visa was accepted. I paid for the credit cards in cash. Then the cabbie then drove me back to the hotel. Before hobbling in, I gave him a $50 tip. After another ten minute sojourn in the lobby, I hobbled back to the Explorer and drove the rest of the way to Merritt Island.
Chapter 3. Beaches
My plane landed at the airport of Guarulhos just outside São Paulo. It was good to be back in Brazil. I felt as if I was on an adventure, but one that was deadly serious. I thought of what H would have said. H had been such a stickler for doing the right thing. She would have told me I was on a just cause. But she would also have warned me that a just cause meant more responsibility. A person who failed on a just cause was inadvertently allowing an injustice to continue. There was almost nothing I would not do to minimize the injustice to H and Jeremy.
I picked up my bag and quickly got through customs. I had packed light – a bagful of clothes, some toiletries, my laptop and that was it. That was lucky, as my rental, a tiny Fiat hatchback, was smaller than I had anticipated. It would never even have accommodated the crutches that were, at the moment, still sitting in the trunk of the Explorer halfway up the Atlantic coast of Florida. Another surprise to me was that the Fiat was tri-flex. That is, it had two fuel tanks, one for compressed natural gas and the other could accept any mix of ethanol and gasoline. Most cars, trucks, and buses, and even a few motorcycles on the road in Brazil could run on two or more fuels allowing the driver to select whichever got the most miles per gallon, or rather, the most kilometers per liter when they pulled into a service station.
The history of those tri-flex vehicles dated back to the second Oil Embargo following the overthrow of the Shah in Iran. Brazil had the same gas lines as we did in the US, but the Brazilian government vowed never to get
Readers choose
B K Nault
Iceberg Slim
Carol Henry
Ainslie Paton
Stan Mason
Gemma Burgess
Gary Parker
Jon Sprunk
Joseph Riippi
Shaun Whittington