He was having a business proposal outside the country; he didn't want anything to spoil the mood, and he had to clear his name officially of all guilt. George sat in the back of a black sedan, hands folded over his cane, eyes cold as the car drove peacefully on the roads of New York City. Just then, the car cruised past the JFK terminal. Terminal B. That was the place where it all happened.
Twenty years ago, for a crime he knew nothing about. It was the last time he believed in love. The city moved around him in silence, but in his head, the memory cracked open.
"Gate 14, boarding now to Paris, Charles de Gaulle..."
He'd stood beside Amira at the security gate, passport in hand, suitcase rolling behind him, and he was smiling, his heart full of foolish hope. They were all meant to flee; little Brown was with them. Amira held him tight; she didn't smile throughout; she kept a straight face. He'd signed the power of attorney. Liquidated his accounts. Left everything behind. And she knew. Just then, she looked at the guards sternly, then she winked, and all the guards rushed toward them with their canine dogs.
"Sir, step aside." The chief guard said immediately, "Excuse me?" he replied, and the guards swarmed in. The dogs began perceiving his luggage, and lo and behold, they found a lot. They opened up his bags and boxes within his suitcase, which were filled with hard drugs, cocaine, guns, weapons and Contraband.
They were all planted.
He'd looked to Amira, stunned. "George, what the hell is all this?" she asked furiously. She hadn't even blinked. "I don't fucking know", George said, "Mom, what's going on with dad, I'm scared", Brown who was just 9 years old watched how the police took his father in cuff and pushed him to the car, "whatever you say or do, will be used against you in the court of law", they concluded as they pushed him into the car. "Amira!" he had shouted as they cuffed him. Amira just looked at him from a distance as she walked through security and smiled at him before she walked past the car and turned her head away slowly.
Then he knew she had planted everything; she framed him, and she was gonna run away with his money. Everything in his marriage was a lie; it was a trick.
"Mr George, we are here", his driver said, as he opened his eyes and nodded.
They began to form a secret alliance behind Amira's back. Brooke sat across from Selene in a private lounge of an abandoned art gallery. The air between them was charged, like fire under glass. Selene unzipped a leather folder and pulled out documents. "This is the original will. The amendment. The clause that vividly proves I was always the heir." Brooke couldn't speak. She looked up. "Why show me this?" Selene sipped her espresso, unbothered. "Because soon, everything Amira has will begin to crumble. And I need someone who knows where all the bodies are buried." Brooke stared at her.
"What do you want from me?" Selene smiled.
"I want the truth. Every single truth from her. And when the time comes… I want you to help me burn the lies." Brooke looked at her and the file; she was in the middle of betraying Amira, which would cost a lot, and then helping Selene to crumble Amira De Fernandez.
Amira's phone rang at exactly 3:27 p.m. "We just received surveillance footage from a place. He's back."
"Who?"
"George Caldwell. And he was seen leaving the gallery in SoHo." "Alone?" she asked "No, ma'am. He was with someone. A woman." "Who could that be? Describe her." She pondered, "late-twenties. Black blazer. Long dark hair. Silver ring, right hand."
Silence roamed over the line for a while. "Mrs Amira?" the voice asked. But Amira was already standing. Shaking.
"It's her." She added and dropped the phone.
His meeting proposal was successful, he got his house back, his money all the wealth his father, Byron Caldwell, left before he died, he still felt the pain Amira put him through for 15 years in prison, she didn't even come bail him out, Natasha did, he stopped by close to the Central Park, George sat on a marble bench near the old cupid love fountain they used to walk by, sit on, kiss and smooch, look at the stars it was romantic back then when Amira still loved him.
A young lady walked over him she approached him, silent as dusk, dressed in black as usual, she sat beside him, he turned his head and stared at her for a while, he just smiled, "I thought I'll never see you again, dear, Selene", he said, "of course, Dad, I told you I'll come back soon", she added, they both had mutual plans for Amira De Fernandez.
"You look like your mother." Selene shook her head. "I don't look like that piece of crap", she said, "I look like justice." She handed him a folder. "This is everything. The fake signatures. The wire transfer she made to the warden. You weren't just betrayed, George. You were sold." "What do you mean?" he asked, "I looked into your whole assets and case. Around the time you were arrested at the airport, when you liquidated all your assets, it didn't just go to the donation centre or the orphanage or the bank. It went straight to Amira, I don't know how she did, but trust me, she's going down", she explained.
His fingers trembled.
"I thought I lost everything." "You didn't lose me."
Later that night, in her penthouse, Amira threw a wine glass across the room. It shattered like the legacy she built.
"I buried that girl! 23 years ago, I thought she was long gone and dead, I'm fucking going to kill that doctor," "I paid for silence. For time. How is she here? With him? And where did she come from, Natasha alone is too big to handle talk less of two extra enemy, they won't win", she was very furious, she paced furiously Brooke entered behind her, expression unreadable. "Should I increase security?" Amira turned slowly.
"No. Tell the board executives, I'm calling an emergency meeting tomorrow." She walked to the window, looking down at the city she once ruled.
"War is coming.
And this time?
I'm ready to kill for it." But downstairs, in a black town car parked outside the building…
Selene smiled.
"Because war was already here." Just waiting to strike"
Then the car zoomed off.