TheDeadBillionaire
1588 Words
The black SUV stood on a dark deserted road miles away from the city. A woman studied a picture. A tall man got off a private jet in the picture. Dark hair, blue eyes. Powerfully built and recognizable, unmistakably recognizable. She picked up her ringing phone. "Tell me," she commanded. The voice broke momentarily, and then uttered something. "We've found him." The woman scowled fiercely. "Where?" "Bakery in a small town." Silence. Deadly silence that comes before the bloodshed. "And his condition?" "Seems to be alive." She pressed the phone harder. She remained silent for quite some time. "That's a problem," she finally said. Smiling faintly. Coldly. Ruthlessly. Then she hung up.
Thunder rolled in the night sky. A man who had been declared dead, Ethan Brown, was now sitting on a sofa in a stranger's home, unable to recall his name. Unaware that someone had just learned that he was alive, that someone wanted to finish what he couldn't do after the plane disaster. Above all, he was ignorant of the fact that the little boy yawning in the hallway was his son.
Noah smelled pancakes when he woke.
“Mum!
The apartment erupted in a shout of excitement.
Liza Perry smiled in spite of herself.
Five-year-olds didn't understand what sleeping in was.
Especially her son.
The little tornado stomped into the kitchen, wearing dinosaur pajamas and mismatched socks.
“You’re up early.”
"Nah."
Noah climbed up on a chair.
“I’m hungry awake.”
Liza giggled.
“That’s the same thing in fact.”
She flipped another pancake and her eyes wandered toward the living room.
To the stranger sleeping on her couch
His face was more at ease this morning.
Less scared.
Last night she had seen deep furrows of tension, but they were gone.
For a moment he seemed ordinary.
Nothing mysterious.
Not dangerous.
Just a man needing rest.
Then his eyes opened.
And the sadness returned immediately.
A twist in Liza’s bosom.
It annoyed her, the feeling.
She didn't know this guy.
She shouldn’t give a s**t.
But somehow she did.
The stranger sat up slowly.
Noah’s gaze fell on him.
The boy smiled.
“Morning, morose man.
Liza almost choked on her coffee.
The stranger blinked.
Then, oddly, his lips twitched into a smile.
"Morning.
Noah gestured.
“You don’t look as sad today.
“Thanks I guess.
“No problem.
The boy accepted the answer as if he had just solved a big world problem.
Liza shook her head.
Children were out of the question.
The stranger rose slowly.
His actions showed that he was still stiff.
The head injury looked nasty.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
"A bit lightheaded."
“You need to rest.
He nodded his head.
But his glance ranged round the apartment.
Searching.
Looking always.
Hunting for memories that wouldn't come.
The sight hurt worse than it should.
Liza looked away quickly.
"Breakfast?
The stranger halted.
Then she turned her head slightly.
Thank you.
Noah patted the empty seat beside him right away.
You can sit here.
The stranger complied.
For some reason Liza didn't know, the vision felt strangely normal.
Dangerously organic.
Like they were a family having breakfast.
It made her heart skip a beat.
She pushed it aside immediately.
That can't be.
Ridiculous.
And entirely unsuitable.
She took the pancakes to the table.
Noah attacked his food with gusto.
The stranger looked at him for a few minutes.
His eyes were kind.
It was as if the sight of Noah had stirred in him feelings of which he did not understand the nature.
Then he looked at Liza.
I thank you for your assistance.
She was surprised at the sincerity in his voice.
“You don’t owe me a thing.”
Maybe not.
And their eyes met.
“But I am thankful.”
Heat crept into her cheeks unexpectedly.
Liza looked away quickly.
"Have your breakfast,"
The stranger's smile broadened slightly.
That smile felt dangerous for some reason.
Two hours later Noah was downstairs, stacking pastries in the bakery.
Mostly this meant stealing cookies when he thought his mother wasn't watching.
Liza was behind the counter checking stock.
The stranger was still upstairs.
Relaxing.
At least that was the idea.
Until she heard the television turn on.
And then a little while later she remembered something.
Local news.
Her stomach knotted up.
What if they showed a missing person's report.
What if someone knew of him?
What if—
The sound of breaking glass came from upstairs.
Liza froze up.
Then he ran.
She climbed the stairs afraid.
Hey!
She ran into the apartment.
The stranger stood before the television.
Heavy breathing.
The remote lay broken on the floor.
His face was a deadly whiteness.
Liza followed his look.
A news report was playing on the TV screen.
And her lungs suddenly felt airless.
The screen filled with a photograph.
The stranger's picture.
No.
Not the unknown.
A millionaire.
One she knew right away.
Beneath the picture was the headline:
ETHAN BROWN REPORTED DEAD AFTER PRIVATE JET CRASH
Liza held her breath.
The room tipped.
She could only stare for several seconds.
No chance.
Her eyes lifted from the screen.
To the man next to it.
Back to the screen.
Then again back.
Same eyes.
Same glass.
Her heart thumped in her ribs.
Ethan Brown.
One of the country’s best-known billionaires.
Chief Executive Officer.
Business genius
Media fixation.
The guy who was always on the covers of magazines.
The man with billions.
The man the whole world thought was dead.
The man who now stood in her apartment.
Living.
“Oh my God.”
The words escaped her before she could stop them.
The stranger turned to her.
His eyes were filled with fear.
“What does that mean?”
Liza was unable to answer.
The news anchor kept talking.
Authorities have now officially declared billionaire entrepreneur Ethan Brown missing after his private plane went down over the Atlantic ocean two weeks ago. Search efforts have been called off and sources close to the family now fear the worst.”
Liza’s pulse beat in her ears.
Two weeks.
Two weeks back.
The timing was just right.
And the anchor went on.
Brown Industries said it appreciated the support of the public during this difficult time.
The screen cut to footage of reporters.
Office buildings.
Mournful employees.
Stock market news.
The stranger looked on in horror.
His breathing was ragged.
That’s me.” Liza swallowed. “Yes.” His face drained of color. “No.” The denial was instant. “No, that’s impossible. “It’s your face.” He took a step back from the television. As if distance might alter reality. “I don’t remember any of this.” “I know.” “I don’t remember being him.” The vulnerability in those words pierced her heart. For a moment he didn’t look like a billionaire. He looked like a frightened man drowning in confusion. The stranger rubbed both hands over his face. “Ethan Brown.” He said the name carefully. Testing it. Trying it on.
Like it was somebody else's.
Maybe it did.
Perhaps the man he had been was dead.
Liza had a terrible thought.
If he remembered all…
And he would go?
Sure he would.
Men like Ethan Brown didn’t live in small towns.
They didn’t live over bakeries.
They had no business here.
And they sure as hell didn't belong with women like her.
That realization hurt more than it should have.
She hated herself for it.
You knew him for one day.
Chill out.
The stranger stared at her.
“What else does it say?”
She hesitated.
A perilous hesitation.
Because suddenly she wasn't sure she wanted him to know that.
Not yet.
The news report continued.
The images flashed on the screen.
Luxury cars.
business activities.
Press conferences.
A cold, powerful version of Ethan Brown.
Nothing like the guy she’d made pancakes for this morning.
Something like the man who smiled at Noah.
Nobody liked the man in her apartment.
The billionaire on the screen looked ruthless.
Untouchable.
A man who would never notice someone like Liza Perry.
And definitely never stay.
Some selfish thing stirred in her.
A feeling she hated at once.
If he could remember…
He'd go away.
Noah would lose him.
And then that thought hurt, too, somehow.
The stranger looked at the screen.
Lost.
Shattered.
Looking .
He asked the question she feared the most.
“Do I call somebody?
Liza's heart leapt.
She opened her mouth and closed it.
Then opened it again.
Every sensible answer said YES.
His family needed to know.
His firm had a right to know.
The authorities must have known.
But then she remembered something else.
What if the person that caused that crash was not done?
What if putting him back in the spotlight got him killed?
It sent a chill through her.
And beneath that another reason muttered deep.
You don't want him to go.
That voice, Liza hated.
But she couldn’t ignore it.
Not really.
“Not quite yet, perhaps,” she said softly.
The stranger scowled.
"What?
“You had a head injury.”
It wasn't a complete lie.
You’re confused.
Still true
You need time.”
That is true.
The stranger looked at her.
As if to figure out if he could trust her.
At last he nodded.
A little nod.
A simple gesture.
But somehow it felt like the beginning of something dangerous.
- Writer
