Found Money

I apologize, my stories get long. I know. That's just what happens. Also my characters have flaws. You probably won't find an ex special forces billionaire CEO in my stories.

If you are after quick sex, this really is one to skip. If you decide to read it I hope you enjoy it.

Found Money

Oh Fuck! I've got to get out of here, Damon thought. He knew there were some risks operating in this city. The police did not like drug dealers, and the mayor had declared a war on drugs. But the money was so good, and it had worked well for so long. I almost had enough to move home Damon thought. He thought working out of this high end neighborhood would keep him safe.

And it had, for a while.

Damon saw the action from the upstairs window. Down the street it looked like they were assembling. Damon had a choice, get the drugs, or get the money.

He grabbed the beat up stuffed backpack out of the hidden spot in the basement. Damon then slipped out the backdoor into the backyard.

Damon saw the reflection of the police flashlight on the sides of the neighbors house. They were close. He took a moment, looked around, and soon was climbing over the back fence into the neighbors yard.

They're going to catch me, he thought. Fuck! I need to stash this money somewhere, quick. Damon was in the backyard of the house directly behind the rental house he had been living in. Frantically, he looked around. He noticed a foundation vent. He thought that could work.

Quickly Damon was on his hands and knees. He swung open the vent window. He squeezed through the vent opening and was now in the crawl space under the neighbors house. It was filthy and God knew what was living under this house.

He didn't care. He needed to stash this money. This was his future. Damon crawled deep under the house, pushing through spider webs and other filth. He found a small depression in the ground. He tucked the red backpack into the depression and slid a loose piece of lumber over it.

Now I've got to get out here, he thought.

He emerged filthy from the debris under the house. So far no cops he thought. Damon walked straight through the side yard toward the front of the house, brushing the dirt off his clothing as he walked.

He took a moment and studied the house. He memorized the address, 5718. He repeated the address over and over, committing it to memory.

He turned right heading down the sidewalk one street over from his street, where the cops were. If I can make it to the corner, Damon thought, I can cross into the parking lot and quickly slip into the park. At that point I should be free, he thought.

With a flicker of optimism Damon walked briskly toward the corner. The route seemed to be clear and he started to jog casually across the street toward the church parking lot. That's when the first two police cars showed up. Damon's reaction was to try to escape. He turned, took two steps in the opposite direction. That's when the third cop car appeared blocking his path.

Hands behind his head he stopped and was quickly surrounded.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

I wondered how my life had gotten to the point I was at now? It didn't seem that long ago that all seemed wonderful, things were going well. I used to be happy most of the time I thought.

On the other hand I can't really complain. I have this great house in Ballard. True, I've had to make some changes. I no longer have the trendy office space I once had. But I do have a nice home office and a decent contract job in the tech industry. And I have Mel. I think. She's beautiful and successful.

Just then my phone rang. I saw from the screen it was my cousin Mike.

"Yo, JD, What is up?" Mike greeted me.

"Just wrapping up." I told him.

"Mel working?" He asked.

"I guess so. She's not home." I told him.

I never knew when she was working or not. With her job she could be gone a lot. Even more so lately it seemed like.

Mike suggested we meet at The Norsemen, a neighborhood bar partway between Ballard and downtown Seattle where Mike's office is. Mike is an assistant district attorney working out of the King County Prosecutors office. He often had interesting stories of criminal activities.

My mother and his father are twins. Our families were close growing up and we were just a year apart in age. Mike and I stayed friends and I would have to say he is one of my closest friends.

He was already at the Norsemen by the time I got there. He had ordered me a Porter, my normal beer of choice. He looked like he'd had a long day. Suit jacket off, white shirt wrinkled, tie loose.

"Thanks Cuz," I said and we silently toasted clinking glasses.

We sat there for a moment in contented silence just enjoying the solid bond of family and many years together. We are very different. Mike's kind of an alpha, and me more of an introverted nerd. In reality I really wasn't that bad, that's just how I thought of myself

"How are the criminals treating our fair city these days?" I asked Mike.

He just shook his head. During the protests and rioting in the city the liberal downtown government had slashed funding for the police department. It was as if the mayor had rented a billboard with a sign saying "criminals welcome, and don't worry if you are caught you won't be punished".

The only thing there seems to be a firm stance against was drugs. Drug trafficking was looked at quite seriously.

"There was something a little odd that happened not far from your place. Some guy was selling drugs out of a house real close to you and Mel."

"Where was that?" I asked him.

"I don't know but I'll find out. It's possible I may even get the case. The odd part about the deal is that usually these drug houses aren't in a nice neighborhood like Ballard. Your house has to be worth a million, if not more." Mike told me.

"Normally we see this happening in the bad parts of Renton or Tacoma. Not in your type of neighborhood." Mike said.

He was right. Our home value along with the entire neighborhood had gone way up. Amazon, Microsoft and other tech employment had increased demand dramatically. The house I had purchased not that long ago for around five hundred thousand was easily now worth more than a million.

"Huh," I thought. "I wonder which house it was?"

"Not sure," Mike said. "But if it's like any of these other drug houses look for the one that's rundown looking, probably an overgrown yard. That's probably it." Mike went on.

I thought for a moment. Most of the neighbors worked hard to keep their houses and yards nice, or hired people to do it for them. I did recall one house around the block that was in much worse condition than the rest of the neighborhood. Hmm, that was pretty close to us. Was that the drug house? I couldn't remember seeing any activity that looked like drug dealing in the area.

We got to talking about other things and I soon forgot about the drug house around the corner.

When I got home Mel was there. I wondered what kind of mood she'd be in. Mel worked for a large advertising firm in downtown Seattle.

She looked up as I walked in. Nothing resembling a smile on her face. Uh oh, another bad mood.

How did it get so bad so quickly I asked myself.

"Hey, how was your day?" I asked.

For the moment her response was silence. She was studying something on her phone.

"Mel?" I said.

All of a sudden she look up at me. A better description was she glared up at me. Definite negativity in the look. I quickly began going through a mental checklist of anything I may have done wrong. About three quarters of the way through the list Melanie replied.

"How was my day?" She stated, aggression in her voice. "Well JD," the heavy emphasis on my name, "I'll tell you about my day. First off there are rumors of a re-org at the office. We've got a new executive director from the New York office. Word is he's a real numbers guy. I am now assistant producer on two of the least profitable clients. So my day was fairly fucked up." She told me. And somehow the way she put it, it felt like her misfortune was my fault.

"Aw honey," I said and moved to comfort her. "I'm sure it's not that bad. You do a great job. There lucky to have you. You don't have anything to worry.... "

Moving toward Mel to give her a hug and comfort her she held both hands up, palms out in an unmistakable 'stop' gesture.

I did stop. Now she was back to her phone. Pecking and scrolling at who new what.

I retreated to my office. My thoughts picked up on the subject I had contemplated earlier. How did I get to the situation I now found myself in?

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

A little less than five years ago my life was very different. I was living in a studio apartment in Bellevue. I was a programmer for Microtec. I was single and making good money, I thought. On the side I was developing a financial software program that I had worked on, off and on, since college. I was a contract employee at Microtec, so what I created on my own, I owned.

The program was designed to help with home budgeting automatically. I thought there was a chance it would have mass appeal. It became sort of my hobby and I would work on it during my off time from Microtec.

I happened to meet a guy who worked at one of the big banks. He became interested in what I was doing and put me in touch with their IT department. They introduced me to one of their software providers. We ran some tests and I made some improvements. So far everyone liked my program.

I had a friend at Microtec, Isaac Yang. Isaac and I would share different ideas about the tech business. We seemed to agree on a lot of things. The idea of going in to business together was something we discussed. We both had a lot of ideas.

And then I got the offer. One of the big tech companies wanted to buy my program. The offer was in the high six figures. I had to sign away all the intellectual property on my program, but it was worth it. Now suddenly my life was very different. I had money and I had options.

My Dad, before he died, always urged me to buy real estate. Things in the Puget Sound market were expensive, but I never forgot that advice from my Dad. I ended up buying a nice single family home in the Ballard neighborhood. It needed some work but I had a bit of carpentry skills and I saw fixing up the old place as a challenge. I bought it for cash, and I still had a chunk of money left over from the software sale.

As I said, I had options. One of the options was to go into business for myself. Immediately I thought of Isaac. He and I had a number of different ideas. Isaac and I met and talked about business.

Since I had the cash I would fund the business. I would own 75% and Isaac would own 25%. We agreed that if we were going to be a real business we would have to look like a real business. That meant an office and furnishings so people knew we were serious, not two nerds playing on computers in the garage.

We got a deal on a small office in a trendy tech section of downtown Seattle. It was a neighborhood of other offices, art galleries, chic restaurants, and popular bars. Life was very exciting for me.

I began to notice many of the other people in the area around our office. They were younger, attractive, successful looking and well dressed. One night after work Isaac and I decided to get a drink at one of the upscale bars near the office.

I observed all the stylishly dressed attractive people around my age in the bar. And then I took inventory of my own appearance. Black sweatpants and a navy blue hoodie. Under the hoodie was a lime green tee shirt from some old teenage rock concert I attended. My hair was un-stylishly long and I needed a shower. The idea of approaching a woman looking the way I did was absurd. I vowed to myself I would change my image.

I began dressing better. I bought new clothes. I had my hair cut in a more normal style. I didn't shave every day but I never let my beard get scraggly. One day before heading off to the office I took a look at myself in the mirror. I was lanky, 6'2 probably one hundred and fifty pounds. My long but styled brown hair had light highlights suggested by the stylist. I was dressed in nice jeans and a button down shirt. Not too dressy, but I didn't look like the slob I once did.

I felt good. I looked better than normal. We were having some early success with the business that was producing some revenue. I had money in the bank and a nice house in Ballard. And property values were rising.

One day at work this hip chick with a nose ring popped into our office and handed me a flyer.

"Hey," she said with a big smile on her face, "there's a gallery opening tonight on second near Pike, the address is on the paper. You guys should come." She told us.

We set the flyer aside and continued working. Later that day I noticed groups of young, successful looking people out in the neighborhood, active, going places and looking like they were having fun.

I picked up the flyer the girl had left. I glanced at the activity outside.

"Isaac, we should go to this gallery thing tonight." I said.

He looked at me with a blank puzzled expression on his face.

"Do what?" Isaac asked.

"Let's go check out this gallery." I replied picking up the flyer and waving it.

"Excuse me?" Still confused, he replied.

"Isaac, we work twelve hours a day or more. We've made a little money, let's go have some fun. Who knows, maybe we'll meet some women." I added.

"Sure," He said. "I'm in." He replied. Then he took another look at the flyer studying it for a moment.

"A gallery?" He shook his head with a half smile on his face.

Several hours later we found ourselves in a busy large room, walls painted an eggshell white with works of art displayed on the walls and stands throughout the rooms with various sculptures. There was a tall Asian woman circulating with flutes of champagne.

Isaac and I were each offered and accepted the champagne. Then, we really didn't know what to do so we wandered around a bit aimlessly. Neither of us knew a thing about art. At one point I was alone looking at a particular painting when I sensed someone behind me.

"She really is good isn't she?" A female voice said from slightly behind me.

Without replying I turned and saw this striking young woman looking at the painting in front of me. Dark nearly black hair, an oval face, slightly olive complected, a pronounced nose, that for me was interesting looking, and a tight shaped body.

She gave me an odd look, I guess I had stared at her too long. And I still hadn't said a word.

"Um" she hesitated still looking at me me oddly, "do you like the Mundt?" She asked.

After a moment I realized that the artist must be named Mundt. I redirected my gaze at the piece of art.

"Um, yes." I replied, and then I said. "To be honest I don't know a thing about art. My partner and I got a flyer and decided to come."

"Partner?" She questioned with a slightly raised eyebrow.

In this day and age the term 'partner' has several connotations. This dark haired beauty was staring at me, most certainly wondering what side I played for.

"Yes, my business partner, Isaac," and I nodded across the room where Isaac was looking at some type of metal sculpture.

"Oh," she replied with renewed energy. "You're in business?" She asked.

"Yes," I said and offered her my hand. "John David Wisnewski. JD." I introduced myself and we shook hands.

"JD," She said staring at me and still holding my hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Melanie."

"Now," She said. "I want to see what's in this room"

With that she grabbed my arm and steered me toward a piece of art in the adjacent room.

Suddenly we were having this nice, get-to-know-you, conversation about our lives. She said her name was Melanie Miller and she worked at a large advertising agency with an office in downtown Seattle. She told me what she did and where she lived. Occasionally she asked me something about my life, but it was mostly Melanie talking about Melanie.

And at the moment, I was fine with that.

As if watching myself from a hidden camera I had this image of the scene. Strolling a trendy upscale art gallery arm and arm with this gorgeous, striking woman. Well dressed and successful. I couldn't believe it was me in the scene.

Just a short time ago my mental image of myself was far different. Nerdy, slightly introverted, no sense of style, very different than what my image at this moment would look like to others. I felt I was playing a role. A role of being a young, successful, casually well dressed entrepreneur.

A couple of times I noticed Isaac noticing me. The look on his face was as if he could not believe what he was seeing. He knew me as the nerdy me.

As the evening wound down I knew I wanted there to be a next chapter in this, I guess, friendship with Melanie. But I did not know or have the experience to ask for the next date.

As it turned out I need not have worried, Melanie took charge.

After a brief hug, but not so brief that I didn't get a hint of her curves, she told me she would meet me at Infusion, a super trendy bar not too far from my office. Friday night at seven PM.

"Okay." I replied. It felt like I had no choice but to agree.

I watched as she walked away down the rainy streets of downtown Seattle with three other women. I felt like my life had just ever so subtly changed. Mostly I was excited about the change. But there was a small part of me that was worried.

"What was all that about?" Isaac asked me.

I paused for a moment still staring at Melanie and her friends.

"Isaac," I said. "I have no idea."

As we headed back to the office I told Isaac that we were going to Infusion Friday night.

That Friday at the bar was fun too, at first. An extension of the art gallery evening. Melanie and a group of her friends showed up, late, but they showed up.

I was with Isaac.

Isaac made an effort to blend in, dressed well and was talkative. We were actually at a corner of the bar and it was a busy scene.

Again I felt like I was playing a role. The young successful entrepreneur. For a moment I worried, what if Melanie finds out that's not who I really am? And then I thought to myself, but I am a young, successful entrepreneur. My confidence blossomed.

But there was a still an undercurrent of insecurity.

We had a good time. We talked about our work, current events, our lives, and mostly Melanie talked about Melanie.

I didn't care I just enjoyed being with her.

As the evening progressed our group evolved to me and Melanie talking and Isaac with Melanie's friends.

I had my arm loosely around her waist, our heads close and our conversation became quieter, more intimate. I felt this was going in a very good direction. As I stared at Melanie I watched her eyes change from half lidded-ly focused on me to suddenly wide open and gazing over my right shoulder.

"Harrison," she exclaimed. And as she said this she shrugged my arm away from her waist and moved toward whoever she was focused on behind me.

I turned to see Melanie hug this guy, big, taller than me, and a little older than me. And I knew his type. He was the class president, starting quarterback, the big man on campus.

Tall handsome and confident. The kind of guy that had intimidated me all through school - without even knowing it. My thin mantle of confidence quickly cracked.

It was probably a good two minutes into their conversation before Melanie introduced me to 'Harrison'.

"Harrison Locke," He said and shook my hand.

All I said was "Hi".

Eventually I told him my name, and we all talked for a few minutes. And then there was an awkward silence. No one knowing what else to say.

"Well," Harrison finally did say. "I don't mean to interrupt your evening." And made motions as if he was going to leave.