Chapter 29: Rita's POV (Saturday, October 15th)

I can't believe the judge played me. How could he do that to me? Rita Komer! I am an upstanding citizen of Miami. I have always done things by the book and always toed the line. Why am I being punished now? I told my brother that marrying Rachel was beneath him. But he never listened to me. He said he loved her and her little girl. I knew getting tangled with a married woman and one with a child was wrong. It's because of that brat that my brother is dead. He wouldn't have felt the need to compete with Ranger if Julie didn't exist. Rachel wouldn't be egging him on by telling him they wouldn't have their extras if it weren't for Ranger. That bitch.

The only good thing that came out of Rachel having Julie is Marco. He is the perfect man. Handsome, wealthy, decent in bed, and enjoys being cared for. I take good care of Marco. However, I haven't been able to contact him since Tuesday. We talked that morning, and that was it. All my calls go directly to voicemail, which means his phone is off. I email him on his secret account. No reply. I have no legitimate reason to call Rangeman. I don't know what I'm going to do.

I drove past his home the other day, and it looked empty. That isn't surprising since Alicia is a nurse, but I didn't see Marco's car. It was after 7, and he is usually home. Not to mention, there were no lights on. I got lucky and saw a neighbor outside and asked them about Marco and Alicia, pretending to be a friend visiting from out of town. She said she hadn't seen Marco in a few days, and Alicia and the boys went on vacation to see her parents. I am concerned that Marco is in trouble somehow. Then again, Alicia's mom is a cancer survivor, so maybe she had a relapse.

I glance at the clock. It's eleven. Maybe I should go to the bank and withdraw the money from the secret account Marco set up for me. I'm overdue for a nice, long vacation far away from Miami. I believe I need to lay low and regroup. With Marco's money in my account, I could live in Spain for two years without working. I think that's what I'll do. I'll go get the money and then travel to Spain. I opened my laptop and found a direct flight to Barcelona for $306. That's a great deal. I'll leave tomorrow night at 10:30 and arrive in Barcelona Monday at about two in the afternoon their time. That will give me time to pack and clear out my fridge. I check that my passport is current, then book the flight. I booked my ticket, ensured that I could take a suitcase, and decided to run my errands.

My first stop will be the drugstore. I need to buy some travel-sized containers for my toiletries. It will take a few days to a week or two to settle in, so I'll need enough supplies to tie me over. Then, I stopped at my favorite boutique to buy a few dresses. It's typically in the 70s there, much like here, so I can't wait to wear some new clothes. Finally, I stopped at the bank. Fortunately, the line isn't too long. I give my withdrawal slip to the teller, requesting $3000 in cash, and put the remaining funds into my checking account. For some reason, the teller has to talk to the branch manager. What could be going on? I wait patiently; after about five minutes, the branch manager is at the window.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I need you to enter my office. It's standard procedure when someone closes an account with over $75,000. I'm Mr. Grossman, by the way."

Mr. Grossman is about fifty, with salt and pepper hair, a goatee, and brown eyes. He's about six feet tall with a slight beer belly. I see a wedding band on his left hand. After escorting me to his office and closing the door, he motions for me to sit.

"I'm sorry to delay you, Ma'am, but there are a few questions I must ask you. Protocol."

"Sure, Mr. Grossman, I understand," I say, smiling charmingly at him. I need to cooperate if I want to get out of here anytime soon.

"Mrs. Komer, our records indicate that you opened this account five years ago, and $3,000 has been deposited monthly. During the last five years, you have never withdrawn more than $1000 at a time. I must ask, why are you taking out so much money and closing the account?"

I am a little miffed. How dare this bank manager ask me what I do with my money? Protocol, my ass. However, I remind myself to be nice. "I'm planning on taking an extended trip to Spain. A good friend of mine moved there, and I decided I wanted to stay with her for a while. I need to have easy access to my funds."

"Oh, how wonderful. I absolutely love Spain. Are you going to Madrid?"

"No, Barcelona."

"Another beautiful city. Ms. Komer, you know that you cannot withdraw funds from this account in Spain without prior approval from the bank. Now that we know your planned travel, I will allow for any foreign transactions. I must also remind you to contact your credit card providers to let them know you will be in Europe for an extended stay."

As I'm about to respond, there's a knock on the door. "That must be Sebastian with your cash withdrawal. Please excuse me."

Mr. Grossman rises and opens the door. Suddenly, four men enter the small room, and one grabs me by my arms.

"Mrs. Rita Komer, you are under arrest for money laundering, fraud, tax invasion, and grand larceny. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?" says a man wearing an expensive navy suit.

"I…I don't understand. What is going on here?" I ask as I'm being roughly led out of the bank, my hands cuffed behind my back, everyone looking and gawking at me. I even see a few cell phones out recording this.

"Mrs. Komer, do you understand your rights?"

"Yes, yes I do," I replied, "please let me go. I didn't do anything wrong."

By this time, we are standing next to a marked police car. The officer gently guides me into the car, where I buckle in before two uniformed cops sit in the front seat and start to drive. I realize my purse is not in my possession, and I see one of the cops in a suit holding it, looking through it. How can this be happening to me? Marco assured me that he didn't do anything wrong. There's no way I can go to jail. If I'm in prison, I'll never be able to get Manoso to give up the brat.

Soon, we are pulling up to Miami Dade Police Headquarters, where I'm taken inside. We go to a small room, where my possessions are taken and inventoried. They then had me change into an orange jumpsuit and sign that I had all my possessions adequately logged. Next, I have my picture taken, along with my fingerprints. I can't believe I'm being treated like a common criminal. Finally, I'm placed in a small interrogation room, and the two men in suits enter the room, sitting across from me.

"Mrs. Komer, I'm Detective Grady, and this is Detective Riveras. Were you read your rights?"

"Yes, I was."

"Do you understand them?"

"Yes."

"Good. Mrs. Komer, you had over $150,000 in an account at Miami Community Bank. Where did that money come from?"

"I refuse to answer any questions. I want an attorney."

With a sigh, Detective Grady rises. "That's fine, Mrs. Komer, but I promise, it won't be any more pleasant with a suit."

The two detectives rose, leaving me alone in the room until a female officer came to bring me back to my cell. Why me?