Danny pulls his van into a parking space at the local boat shop and strolls in through the door. The air-conditioning feels refreshing on his clammy skin.
“Hey there,” the manager says. “What can I do you for?”
Danny explains that he needs his deposit back on a boat he put a down payment on.
“I don’t have the riverfront property I did when I planned to buy the boat,” Danny explains.
After his arrest, Danny moved out of the river house he had used as the base of operations for his drug deals. Not only could he not afford it anymore, but he was also afraid that Mitch would find him there and exact revenge for Danny leading police to his restaurant. He hoped Mitch wouldn’t hold a grudge since he’d led the police astray. He’d known Mitch didn’t keep any drugs in the restaurant, but he wasn’t sure Mitch would see what he’d done as a favor.
“You want your deposit back?” the manager asks. “You know you don’t get all your money back, just a portion. It says so in the agreement you signed.”
Danny scratches his head and reluctantly says that he understands.
“I need the money,” Danny says. “There’s no way I can buy a boat any time soon.”
The manager walks into a back office to collect the paperwork and write Danny a check, and Danny stands and waits, looking around. He studies the selection of skis, life jackets, and boat-maintenance tools. He feels a wave of depression come over him. There is such a difference between the life he lives now and the life he had a year ago—the life he thought he would continue to have forever.
As if he needs another reminder of the difference between what he has and what he wants, Danny watches as a red Ferrari zips into the parking lot and parks next to his van. The two vehicles couldn’t look more different. His van is dingy and dented, with rust growing on the doors and a filthy film on the windshield. The Ferrari is gleaming and red, as if its owner washes and waxes it every time he takes it out for a spin.
When the driver steps out, Danny can’t believe it—it’s the same man he’d seen on the drive here. The preppy man with glasses at the house where the kids were playing in the sprinkler.
The man walks in the door and starts down the aisle, whistling without a care in the world. Danny stares at him.
When the man comes to the counter with a few bottles of cleaning products and a package of sponges, he nods at Danny and says, “Afternoon.”
The manager comes back to the counter and tells Danny that he’ll ring the customer up quickly and then take care of Danny’s refund.
“Getting your boat cleaned up?” the manager says politely.
“Yes, sir,” the man says enthusiastically. “Gonna take my boys out tubing this afternoon.”
The man says he has a thirty-foot, five-hundred-horsepower speedboat.
“The kids love it,” he says, taking his receipt and heading out the door.
Danny and the manager both watch as the Ferrari glides out of the parking lot.
“I wish I had that kind of money,” Danny says.
“You and me both,” the clerk says, handing Danny a check. “Do you know who that is?”
Danny shakes his head.
“Stephen Small.”
“I’ve heard the name.”
The clerk explains that the Small family just sold its media empire for sixty-four million dollars. He doesn’t know how much Stephen Small got, but it has to be a decent chunk. He says that Stephen Small recently bought the B. Harley Bradley House.
“You know, that fancy house over in the historic district? The one Frank Lloyd Wright designed?”
Danny knows the one.
“Some people have it all, don’t they?” the clerk says, shaking his head in wonder.
“Not me,” Danny groans, and tucks the measly refund into his jeans.
As he walks out the store, the manager calls after him, “Gotta make your own destiny, man.”