Carlos and I were busy for the holidays. Without neglecting our children, we worked to give our other employees time to visit their families. Alex and Jillie, under Dad's supervision, took a four-hour shift at the monitor station, while Carlos and I caught up on other searches for potential clients. Rangeman received a few calls during the Christmas holiday. Most alarms resulted from guests opening the exterior door without thinking.
Through the grapevine and an email from Mateo, I learned Erica and Bones relocated to Baltimore to work at the Johns Hopkins Hospital, one of the best trauma centres. Erica was stuck on the midnight shifts, and Bones worked between 07:00 and 17:00. I wanted to feel sorry for them, but they messed up. Helen Fuld and St Francis Hospital's administration departments recommended that Erica and Bones seek employment elsewhere when the Rangeman employees and their friends refused to allow Erica to treat their injuries. One of the Rangeman employees, Vince, broke his arm, which required surgery. He refused to let Bones operate and went to another hospital for the procedure.
"Babe?" Carlos asked when I mumbled.
"Do you remember when Vince broke his arm in that accident around Thanksgiving?"
"Brett had to drive Vince to the Newark Hospital," Carlos replied. He raised a brow in question.
"After Bones left Rangeman, Helen Fuld hired him full-time, hoping to draw trauma patients to the hospital. The hospital board revoked his contract," I said. "Now, Erica and Bones work at Johns Hopkins Hospital."
"What happened?" he asked, sounding more amused than wanting an answer, which I suspected he already knew.
"None of our employees in Trenton would let Erica or Bones treat them," I replied. "When the emergency patients heard Vince and the other men request a new nurse, they also asked for a different one, thinking something was wrong with Erica and Dr. Lambert. Nobody would let Erica check their wounds or take their vitals. Did Bobby, Mateo or Brett tell our Trenton employees what transpired between Bones and us?"
"They didn't need to," Carlos said. "Immediate dismissal from Rangeman means the employee betrayed protocol or the core team. Our employees put two and two together. We built Rangeman on trust, respect and honour. When one of those key components is missing, there's a breakdown in camaraderie."
"It feels like the guys took it too far," I replied.
"Babe, would you ever trust Erica to access your medical files to update your chart?" Carlos asked.
"After everything she accessed without my permission? Never," I answered honestly.
"Exactly," Carlos said, making his point regarding the Rangeman employees' actions at the hospital. The men couldn't be certain Erica never accessed their files while searching for details in mine. We all have things in our medical files that we'd rather not have our enemies uncover, like where we received treatment for specific injuries.
"I love the solidarity from our Trenton branch," I said.
"You worked with most of them during your military career," Carlos reminded me. "The men are loyal to you."
"To us," I corrected. "I met Vince in basic training, but I don't know many of the others. They're much younger than us."
"Only by two or three years. You may not remember them, but they know you from when you stayed in their camps," Carlos said. "Some of them assisted your team for reconnaissance and respected your methods."
"Carlos, I was never their leader. I was only doing what my commander ordered," I said. I wanted to argue about the men's ages, but Carlos was probably right. The guys could have joined the military several years after attending college to further their military careers, just as Al and I joined after completing high school.
"Babe, you took charge, and the men did as you asked. Their job was to protect your team while you collect samples and evidence. The few times you came under fire, you protected them more than they had to protect you," Carlos replied.
"Pfft," I said. "That was one time when I gave them a three-second warning after my spidey sense went off."
"Which is three seconds more than they would have had without a warning," Carlos said. He had a point, so I stopped arguing. "Any news about Miller's estate?"
"Not yet. Al said it will take at least six months. Because of the life insurance policies, especially General Brian Miller's, probate might take eighteen months. As Brian's executor, General Stevens filed the claims on Ron's behalf. The insurance company issued the cheque, but nobody deposited it into Ron's account or included it in his estate," I replied. "For all I know, whoever emptied Miller's mailbox might be sitting on the cheque."
"Or cashed it," Carlos said.
"But that's the issue, Carlos. Nobody cashed the cheque, and the money only earns interest in the insurance company's account," I replied. "The insurance company sent the cheque to Ron's house in Miami. I've asked Juanita and Cece to search for it while cleaning. They haven't found it yet."
"How much was the policy?"
Carlos whistled when I said, "Five million."
"What do you need from me?" Carlos asked.
"To find out who collected Ron's mail while he was deployed," I replied. "He doesn't have living relatives, and I have already eliminated his friends from the list."
"You think a neighbour is hanging onto the mail," Carlos said.
"Yes," I replied. "There's a catch."
"Which is?" Carlos prompted.
"Ron Miller lived two houses to the left of the Martines' residence," I replied.
"We have to call Rachel," Carlos said.
"Only if I can't find another lead. Rachel hates us because Mateo divorced her. We had nothing to do with it. Mateo caught her cheating, and the paternity test proved Ron Martine was Julianna's biological father," I replied. "I'm glad Mateo isn't supporting the child. He refused to sign the birth certificate or accept responsibility for Julianna until he received the paternity test results."
"Do you think Rachel or Ron has the mail?" Carlos asked.
I shook my head before he finished his question. "Miller wouldn't have trusted them. The house between them used to be inhabited by Glenda Holmes. She passed away a few years ago in a nursing home. I tried searching the community centre and the other organizations she joined, but I couldn't find a living person who might have known her," I replied.
"Did you ask Abuela Rosa?"
Smacking my forehead, I said, "No. I never thought of Abuela." Carlos' grandmother tended to hang around with her friends at the Cuban Community Centre, not the one for the general public. I never considered asking her if she knew Glenda or her friends. It was possible that the two community centres combined senior events to save money or resources.
Carlos called his grandmother. Speaking rapidly in Spanish, I heard him ask if she would mind us visiting for lunch, which made my stomach grumble. He smiled and winked at me, knowing I caught a few words. I understood "lunch" in every language.
My stomach grumbled again. It was time for lunch. Carlos offered me a hand, which I readily accepted. "Where are the children?" I asked.
"With Frank and Rosalyn. Abuela Rosa made empanadas. She planned to call us to join her for lunch," Carlos replied.
"I love Abuela Rosa," I said, locking my laptop but leaving the lid open. The search I started would continue running in the background. I stood and stretched.
Carlos smiled as he waited for me to grab my purse from the drawer and walk around the desk. He gently guided me to the door, placing a comforting hand on my back. It closed with a quiet snick. The lock turned when Carlos pressed the button on his fob.
Nobody stopped us as we walked to the elevator. During the holidays between Christmas and New Year's Day, we have the minimum amount of staff scheduled to cover the shifts. A few temporary contract workers covered the monitor shifts while Carlos and I spent time with our family. Alex and Jillie loved watching the monitors. Thankfully, they haven't seen any drug deals or teens having sex. We don't let them cover the evening shifts when the likelihood of illicit or sexual activities would happen in the dark alleys and parking lots.
The elevator opened on the main level. I stepped out and walked to Carlos' Porsche 911 turbo. It was my favourite car, but we rarely had the opportunity to use it because we usually took the Cayenne, which had room for the children. We used the Cayenne as our family vehicle and the 911 turbo for dates and time together.
Carlos pressed the key fob to unlock the car. I smiled when he opened the door and motioned for me to get inside.
"Is this why you arranged for the children to be with Dad and Rosalyn for lunch?" I asked, sliding into the soft leather seat.
"Babe, I never planned this," Carlos replied. "But I can't say I'm unhappy with the turn of events." He closed the door when I buckled myself into the seat. I watched him walk around the back of the car to the driver's side. Carlos slid into the driver's seat and started the car. He placed my hand on his thigh before exiting the garage through the metal gate.
It took ten minutes to drive to Abuela Rosa's house. When Carlos and I exited the car, she opened the door. Carlos took my hand and walked up the sidewalk to the steps leading onto the porch. Abuela stepped inside her house before hugging us.
"Lunch smells delicious," I said after Abuela Rosa hugged me. The statement was punctuated by my stomach grumbling.
"I made enough for your children's dinner," Abuela Rosa said, motioning for us to follow her to the kitchen. "They know I'm sending some home for them."
Abuela Rosa had set the kitchen table instead of the one in the dining room, which she used whenever we visited with the children. The kitchen table could easily accommodate us. Carlos helped his grandmother carry the empanada platter and the salad to the table. She never bothered to decline his assistance.
"These are so good," I said after eating an empanada while ignoring the salad. I would eventually eat the salad but wanted to eat the empanadas while they were still hot. "Thank you for making them for us." Abuela Rosa waved off my thanks. She loved cooking, and I loved to eat. It was indeed a win-win scenario.
Carlos and I ate our lunch as we explained the overall purpose of the visit. Abuela Rosa asked, "What's Glenda's full name?"
"Glenda Trudy Holmes," I replied after wiping my mouth on the napkin.
Smiling, Abuela Rosa said, "I knew Trudy. She moved to a retirement care facility after her stroke. The poor woman couldn't walk without assistance. None of her family lived close enough to take her in. Trudy died a few months later."
"Did she store her furniture?" I asked.
"Trudy donated everything. She only kept her clothes and other personal items. Her jewelry went to the grandchildren," Abuela Rosa answered.
"Do you know if she collected her neighbour's mail?" I asked, crossing my fingers that she knew that detail.
"Only for the kind soldier who lived beside her," Abuela Rosa replied. "He mowed her grass and fixed things around her house. In exchange for his help, Trudy gathered his mail whenever the military deployed him. Are you looking for something?"
"A letter from Global Life Insurance," I replied. "We couldn't find it inside his house or safe. Do you know if she gave the letter to a friend?"
"She gave me a shoebox filled with unopened letters before moving into the retirement facility," Abuela Rosa said. "I promised to find Ron Miller's family and deliver the box. When I read the obituary, I realized he had no living relatives."
"Was it a Sketchers shoebox?" I asked, wondering if it was the same one Carlos had stored in the safe at Rangeman.
"Yes, for size eight shoes," Abuela Rosa replied. Could we have had the damn cheque under our noses the entire time? "I taped it closed and gave it to Carlos for safekeeping."
"Did you look inside the box?"
"No."
I helped Abuela Rosa clear the table and load the plates into the dishwasher. Carlos hand-washed the platter and baking sheets, setting them on the draining board for Abuela Rosa to dry.
"Thank you for lunch," I replied.
"Let me know if that letter is inside the box," Abuela Rosa said.
"We will," I quickly promised. Carlos and I hugged and kissed Abuela Rosa before leaving.
My knee bounced in irritation when Carlos and I hit traffic while driving to Rangeman. "Babe, the shoebox is secured in my safe. Nobody but you and I can open it," Carlos said, placing his hand on my leg to stop the motion.
"What if that letter isn't in the box?" I questioned.
"Then we contact Rachel," Carlos replied. Neither of us wanted to speak to our ex-sister-in-law.
A drive that should have taken ten minutes took us twenty-five. We got caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic caused by a car running a red light and striking another vehicle in the intersection. The police had to guide the traffic around the accident to prevent a higher pileup. I only hoped I didn't know the people involved.
As Carlos drove around the crashed cars, I leaned over to look at the carnage. The EMTs loaded an older man into the ambulance. I wondered if he had a stroke or heart attack. I couldn't determine which vehicle he was pulled from from my rubber-necking view. The woman loaded into the second ambulance could have caused the accident. Oh well, it wasn't a puzzle for me to solve.
I felt relieved when Carlos parked in the Rangeman garage. We exited the car and used the stairs to get to the fifth floor, where we could access the safe containing the shoebox.
My hands shook as I entered the code. Carlos leaned against his desk, arms crossed on his chest, waiting for me to collect the shoebox. I swung the safe door open and removed the item Carlos had placed inside a few years earlier. He uncrossed his arms and took the box from my still-shaking hands. With a swipe of the knife, he sliced through the tape. Carlos removed the lid.
The letter wasn't on top, and I exhaled annoyedly. I removed each letter and opened it. Carlos unfolded the papers and placed them flat on the desk in organized piles. He probably sorted them according to type, which would help me in the long run.
Halfway through the stack, I found the insurance cheque. It wasn't the only one Ron received. I set each aside for General Stevens to deposit into the bank accounts since he had access and I didn't. Carlos photocopied the cheques to ensure Stevens deposited them. "How many life insurance policies did General Miller have?" I asked, not expecting Carlos to answer.
"Babe, Miller's estate is worth fifty-two million," Carlos said, mentally adding the amounts on each cheque.
"Will they still let us cash them?" I asked.
"Yes, because you claimed the inheritance within the legal time restrictions," Carlos replied. I shook my head and gave him the cheques for safekeeping until we could fly General Stevens to Miami to deposit them into Ron's account, which the bank had frozen until I, the only beneficiary, claimed the funds.
"We have money to open that rehabilitation centre for veterans," I said. "Why did Ron Miller leave everything to me?"
"Because he knew you would use it to help veterans," Carlos replied.