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Click hereAuthor's note: Chapter 13 of 13. Thank you Tim413413 for selfless editing.
The Perfect Pieces - Chapter 13
Deputy Secretary of State Singer was having an especially difficult day. Four meetings and nothing resolved, problems piled on her desk and a sinking feeling she was accomplishing nothing of value in her life. The world was no safer since she had joined the State Department twenty years ago. She could no longer find the drive that had driven her up the ranks. Cynicism had quelled her desire.
The meeting with the Iranian ambassador's secretary was especially painful. He was a hardliner and thought the administration was insulting him by providing a female contact. It was all she could do not to slap some sense into him. Half the damn world was women and the idiot thought them unworthy of making decisions. He spent most of the meeting refusing to speak English, though he had attended Stanford, and dropping veiled insults to her gender. She let her anger get the best of her when he demanded water. There was a pitcher right in front of him and he expected her to pour it. He didn't expect it any more. He left in a huff without his glass of water.
She had been teetering on resigning for weeks. Leave the world to its own devices and concentrate on her own damaged life. Her marriage had suffered greatly. It was still hanging on, more due to Byron, her husband. Infinitely patient, he would tolerate her necessary absences and sooth her when things went sour. Lately, she had been less than cordial with him. The weight of the job and its seemingly endless problems made her cranky and Byron was forced to absorb it.
When did the job become more important than Byron? Strangely, it was when she began to lose faith. The less she trusted her work, the more important it became. A weird inverse relationship had developed and she was being sucked into its vortex. She felt wasted. Useless. When was the last time she ravished Byron for the sake of love? She had trouble liking herself anymore.
There was a knock on the door that woke her from her thoughts. More problems she thought.
"Come in," she called out. Sam entered, his red hair hiding his age as usual. It gave him a whimsical look that belied his attention to detail. He was holding an opened postal package. Everything was opened nowadays. The anthrax scares had seen to that.
"More problems?" she asked, indicating the package. Sam smiled, something rare on his face. He was usually overly serious.
"Something not unpleasant, I think," Sam said. He placed the package on her desk and uncharacteristically stayed for her reaction. She pushed aside the protective wrapping paper to reveal a stained glass white bird and a stained glass red rose bloom. She pulled them out, turning them around. They were well done, with small loops at the top to allow them to be hung.
"There's a note," Sam said, indicating the package. He was happily anxious. She reached in and pulled out a handwritten note.
I deserve none of the freedom or love you have given me, so I share it with you. I will do my best to see that your trust is not wasted.
Samantha Amber Winslow
P.S. Lizzy made the rose. She says hi.
Singer held up the freedom dove and the lovely rose again. A smiled crossed her lips. "You're right Sam, not unpleasant at all." It was not what she expected. She had second guessed her dealings with Mark Winslow over and over. One of her failings she had thought. She was sure he brought the child to toy with her emotions and enhance his bargaining power. She allowed it to happen, giving him what he wanted more for the child's sake. He had weakened her opinion of her country and of herself. She had thought it a low point. Now, maybe not so low. Maybe she was exactly where she needed to be. The world needed someone who thought with more than guns and hate.
She took the suncatchers and held them up to the natural light from the window. The light broke through the glass, changed colors and brought a smile to her lips. She mounted them on the upper window, using the groove of the bottom window to hold them in place. "Freedom and Love," she said, "what do you think of them Sam?"
Sam liked the expression on Singer's face. He had feared was she losing hope and he, his mentor. The gift was especially timely. "For this office," Sam said, his smiling growing, "they are the perfect pieces."
The End.
I love this story and have read it several times, I love coming back to read it again. It is in my top five stories of all time, to truly enjoy a story we have to suspend disbelief and I have no trouble doing that with this story. I wish I could give more stars.
I enjoyed this story but like all of your long stories, I think they are too long. Amber switching her affections from Pablo to our hero seemed too quick although we do not have any idea of how long a time elapsed between leaving Pablo and bumping into our hero. You did have her say that she stayed with Pablo more for the money and the life-style than for love. Maybe that is enough of an explanation.
Happy ending. Romantic. But is it really so? She's a very confused or a very devious woman. Does he truly know her well enough to propose? Even if she professes her love for him, how does he know whether it's true or fake? He has saved her from the DEA, fine. That was enough to satisfy his conscience regarding the child. Prudence recommends he wait for a few months to really check her out, to know her more, before proposing. Still a good story.
Another outstanding story.A plague on the morons who caused this fine writer to stop.
Dang you DreamCloud, it's almost 1 in the morning but I had to finish this one! Great flow, attention to details, and character development. I hope there are many more to come.
Pretty good handle on the story arc rationale.
Re: why didn't Samantha have bank accts Amber could access?
1. $10,000 bank transaction limit notification law. Any transaction of $10k or more is reported to US gov. If you're a successful drug dealer, first challenge is what to do w/ all the cash. Start depositing/withdrawing more than $10k, & you won't be a drug dealer very long, successful, or not.
That leaves a chit load of < $10k bank accts to keep track of, or money laundering. Then there's the aspect of living beyond one's means. If you have no job, how did you afford the house, car(s), food, clothes, etc.
All kinds of schemes have been tried, & failed; drag racing, ('90's West coast cocaine scheme), art work, (US & European schemes, multiple times), real estate, same, rare cars, same... no scheme works. Even 'good' laundering schemes eventualy get people busted.
The only scheme that 'works' is a short term involvement so you're not dealing w/ storage containers of cash. Transfer cash to negotiable bonds/jewels/gold in small purchases, then lead a normal life. Supplement a job's income, & always have a rainy day fund for life's inevitable problems.
Takes discipline, & not being greedy. Done right, an otherwise normal life can have a few 'lucky' breaks, here & there, & wealth can be gained, legally.
Can it really be done? Well, I do seem to know how to do it, & I came up in the '60-'70's before guns were more important than scales, (scales could be a challenge back then.. no Amazon. There was a small college town w/ a small, outdoor, downtown mall. The mall had a USPS mailing kiosk w/ a scale, available 24-7. A small college town @ 3-4:00am, back then, was real dead.
An enterprising young businessman w/ a bicycle, back pack & some plastic bags, nerves of steel & a bit of craziness could, in <15min, split a kilo of weed into 1/4 pounds & some stash/samples. No need for anything smaller; weed was sold in 'lids', either 3 finger, or 4 finger in the '70's!)
Just sayin'... ;-)