LatinosUSA

Micah Wellington sat at his cluttered desk. His mortgage payment was overdue, and so was his enormous credit card debt. He had to figure out which account to skim for the cash he desperately needed. He had been stealing from the company for the past five years, searching for the ultimate score to live out the rest of his life, never to worry about money again. But it all began to collapse. Covering his deceitful tracks became harder each day. Lying had become second nature.

A light tap on his doorway startled him back to reality. His boss, Natalie Harper, stood unsmiling.

Now what? he thought.

“Morning, Micah. Do you have the figures for the Penn account? Scott Krasinski called and said you never gave them the final count. What’s going on?”  The tall, slender, middle-aged woman crossed her arms. Her dark gray business suit fit snug across her shapely image.

“I’ve got them right here, Natalie. And I was just about to call Scott.” He held up a manila folder from his desk. If Natalie took a closer look, she would notice it was not the Penn account file at all.

“Good to hear. I’ll leave you to it.” Natalie turned on her heel and left him alone, swimming in a mess of fiction.

He wiped his moist, wrinkled forehead. No wonder his black hair was receding at the young age of only thirty-two. How much more of this deception could he handle before cracking, sending him spiraling out of control? He loosened his blue tie. The sweat from his armpits lingered and saturated his white dress shirt.

Micah’s chin dropped to his heaving chest. Once filled with the sparkle of life, he turned himself into a slow-burning candle, ready to be extinguished. The saddest part of his life was that he couldn’t even blame his continuous debt on a wife and family. No—just himself. His greedy self. Yet he still could not find happiness.

What was wrong with him?

The desk phone chimed. He hesitated when he looked at the Caller ID—Scott R. Micah rubbed his tired, burning eyes and let it go to voicemail. There was no use talking with Krasinski. Micah had not finished the Penn account. In fact, he was contemplating skimming a few thousand off the multi-million-dollar account.

Would someone notice?

Now they would. Scott had called Natalie, bitching about the account. Attention was drawn to the matter, and avoiding it was no longer an option.

Two hours crawled by as Micah hurriedly threw together a temporary package of acceptance.

What a mess!

Micah scratched his balding head. He should have worked on this weeks ago. It would have to do. His stomach churned. He still did not have the money for his mortgage or bills. His luxurious lifestyle got him into trouble. The 2.3-million-dollar home was a farce. He couldn’t even afford furniture to fill it. In the backyard, the built-in pool remained covered, too costly to use and maintain.

Why couldn’t he ever be satisfied?

Once again, his phone lit up—Scott R. Micah let out a huge sigh. If he didn’t answer, Scott would definitely reach out to Natalie—again!

“Scott…how’s it going? I was just about to call you,” said Micah, with a lifted voice. For a brief moment, he thought he might vomit. Bile rose up his throat as his own lies choked him. Nerves tugged and pulled inside his empty stomach.

“Micah…have you got the figures on the Penn proposal?” asked Scott in a sharp tone.

Micah cringed. His jaw clenched as his forefinger tapped on the folder.

“Right here in front of me, Scott. I can FedEx it to you this afternoon,” replied Micah.

“Why don’t you just send me the PDF files now and UPS the paper copies?” suggested Scott.

Micah cleared his throat. “I can do that, too. Give me a couple of minutes. I’ll send the files pronto.” And before Scott could reply, Micah disconnected the call.

Micah bounced his foot. It would take Scott just a few minutes of reviewing the documents to realize how little work had gone into the two-million-dollar Penn account proposal. So instead, he pulled up the figures and began to work his magic. Once he skimmed the amount he needed, he sent it to an offshore account from which he could retrieve it later. Then he sent a quick email to Natalie, announcing his resignation. He knew now, there was no sticking around.

Micah stood up to leave. It was only 3 p.m. He glanced around his office. There wasn’t anything else to take with him. He would not be back. As he hurriedly left the office, the receptionist in the lobby waved goodbye. Micah ignored the young woman and pushed open the glass doors, walking out into the mid-afternoon sun.

The SUV was packed and ready to go. It would be soon enough before the leasing company would repossess the car. In the meantime, he planned on getting as far away as possible, even if it meant leaving the vehicle behind.

Micah pulled out of the bank the small amount he siphoned off the previous day. He still had the huge amount in his offshore account, but that would not do him any good yet.

The teller at the bank was surprised when he wanted it in cash. She suggested other methods, but he refused. He rubbed his arm, looking around. The teller asked if he was alright. He forced a smile. Minutes later, he was back on the road, heading west. Unfortunately, he knew his cell phone would be a dead giveaway. A burner phone would have to do for now.

Night was creeping in as he turned up the radio. How did his life end up in such a mess? Micah hopped onto I-75, with no destination in sight. After several hours on the road, his eyes burned with fatigue. Over eight hundred miles later, he skirted off onto the ramp. A tiny green showed a gas pump. The gas indicator pinged.

Micah slowly pulled into the BP gas station. The convenience store attached was open. He could stop and rest. His stomach grumbled. It had been a long time since his last meal. He would toss the credit card he used once the gas was purchased. Inside, the elderly clerk watched him as he roamed up and down the aisles. He gathered a few items of junk food and a large bottle of water.

The clerk totaled Micah’s purchase. “That’ll be eleven sixty-three. Passing through?”

Micah pulled out his wallet and handed the man a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

The elderly man’s eyes narrowed. He needed to get far away from the gas station. The old man pointed to the corner of the store. A camera stared down on Micah.

Great! thought Micah. On video, just what he needed.

Minutes later, he was back on the road, heading west. As he eased onto the highway, he tossed the credit card used to fill up the tank out the window. It settled somewhere, lost among the weeds.

Micah gulped down the cool water. His eyes burned from fatigue. He turned the radio on, loud enough to keep him awake. The chips were salty and tasty. He hummed along to the familiar tune.

Several cars passed him. He must maintain the speed limit to avoid any interaction with the police. Unnecessary interaction with law enforcement could only be a minus. Sooner or later, he would be considered a wanted man. When his boss realized the amount of money Micah had swindled from clients, he would report him to the FBI. Probably gain a spot on America’s Most Wanted and American Greed, his two favorite programs.

Micah chuckled at the thought. Who would have thought he’d grow up to be a criminal? Not that he really cared. Sometimes guilt would creep inside his soul, only to be set free once he looked at the numbers in his offshore bank account. The good life was coming his way. He just had to make a clean getaway.

With no family, relatives, or friends in tow, Micah had no stooges waiting to snitch on him and his devious deeds. Sometimes being a loner came in handy. And this was one of them.

Micah drove another four hours before reaching the point of exhaustion. He entered the state of Kentucky. The sun was beginning to peak behind him, giving way to what would become a hot and hazy day. As he continued on, a small place called Auburn seemed to lure him to stop and rest. Exiting down the ramp, the single-lane road drove straight into town. A diner, a two-pump gas station, and a B&B occupied Main Street.

The open sign at the quaint house was lit. Micah grabbed his overnight bag and headed to the front door. He glanced at the freshly painted white porch. Three stories tall, it was the perfect place to get a few hours of sleep before getting back on the road.

The heavy door creaked, and a tiny bell jangled above. Shiny wood floors and a long desk with a couple of high-backed, cushioned chairs filled the spacious lobby area. An elderly woman stood up to greet him.

“Welcome to Glory Be Bed and Breakfast. How can I help you?” asked the woman. Her smile was filled with missing teeth. She looked older than the converted house.

“I’m looking to stay a night or two. Is there a room available?” asked Micah.

Her thinned grey hair hung low as she bent forward and pulled out a book. She opened it, then turned it about to face him.

“The Bible Room is available. It’s seventy-five dollars a night. Pay upfront—cash if you got it.” She slid it toward Micah to sign.

He tilted his head. “There’s actually a room called ‘The Bible Room?’” he chuckled.

The old woman did not smile. “You got something against the Bible?” she asked as she pulled the book back.

“No! Not at all! I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to offend you, ma’am. Please…I’ll pay for two nights – cash.” Micah dug in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He snagged two one-hundred-dollar bills and handed them to her. “Keep the change—for all your trouble.” He then slowly slid the book back to himself and signed the guest register.

The old woman held the two bills in her wrinkled hand until he was finished. She stuck the money in her worn dress pocket.

“I’m Mic…” He suddenly stopped himself. “I’m Mike Darin.” He cleared his throat.

“Mr. Darin…here’s the key. The Bible Room is on the second floor. It’s marked. Breakfast from eight-thirty to ten-thirty a.m., served in the drawing room.” She pointed a finger behind him. “Dinner from five to seven p.m. Lunch on your own. If you need anything, ask. I’m Mable.” She turned and yanked a key from the hook. “Enjoy your stay…Mr. Darin.”

Her eyes were cold. He could not bear to look into her doubting face.

She knew he was a liar and a thief.

“Thanks, Mable.”

Micah gently retrieved the key and made his way up the winding staircase. The old woman stared up at him as she shook her head.

The room was quaint and cozy.  Home sweet home—if there was such a thing. The summer quilt decorated the full-sized bed. Four large, fluffy pillows adorned the bedspread with matching flowers. A tiny round wooden table and two chairs, a beige sofa, and one nightstand filled The Bible Room. On the wall above the bed was a painted portrait of the Holy Bible. On the nightstand sat a leather-bound Bible.

Micah dropped his duffel bag near the sofa, then walked over to the open window. Outside, the warm breeze blowing through the trees made it feel as if he belonged there.

Is this where he should settle down?

Even though Auburn wasn’t a far distance from Pennsylvania, maybe hiding in plain sight just might work out even better. Getting lost in the back hills of Kentucky. He closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh country air.

This is the life.

As Micah basked in the peacefulness of the charming room, he realized how weary he had become from the driving. Suddenly, his eyes burned. He rubbed them with the palms of his shaky hands.

Why was he trembling? She knew he was a liar and a thief.

Micah closed the window, then headed toward the welcoming bed. Once again, he noticed the bible. Not much of a religious man, he picked it up for the sake of staying in The Bible Room. He plopped down on the bed and opened the holy book. A strange tingling sensation began in his fingers, then traveled into his arms. He tried to drop the book, but his fingers clasped the bound leather. Sacred words cried out within his mind. Images of strange people begging, pleading for redemption—for forgiveness of sins. Sins from the past. Sins from the present. His jaw clenched in agony as pain seared within his heaving chest.

Heart attack?

Pages flittered beyond his control as the sacred words played on and on like a song.

Stop!

Micah moaned while his whole body trembled. Voices everywhere. Talking, crying, shouting over one another.

Repent! Repent! Liar! Thief!

The knock was hard and deliberate. “Are you alright in there?” called Mable through the locked door.

Suddenly, it stopped. The Bible dropped from his hands to the floor. Sweat flowed freely down his neck and back.

“I said…are you alright, Mr. Darin?”

Micah’s breathing slowed. He focused on the voice behind the closed door. Mable—the innkeeper. He stood up and swayed. His feet felt like lead. Seconds felt like minutes. Grasping the old, tarnished doorknob, he slowly pulled it open.

“I heard a commotion, Mr. Darin. No loud music or visitors. Are you alright?” asked the old woman as she tried to look behind Micah. It was then she noticed the Bible on the floor. “No way to treat a Bible, Mr. Darin. Even if you’re a non-believer.”

Micah turned and glanced at the book on the floor. Without saying a word, he inched his way back and bent down to pick it up. This time, nothing happened.

“I…I knocked it off the nightstand by accident,” lied Micah.

The old woman’s eyes narrowed.

She knew he was a liar and a thief.

His head dropped, as if he were ashamed.

“I don’t need the other guests complaining about the noise. Glory Be is known for its serenity. No troublemakers.” Mable stood, staring at Micah. 

She knew he was a liar and a thief.

“I apologize for any inconvenience I caused,” murmured Micah. His eyes were glued to the floor.

Mable mumbled under her breath, then closed the door.

The intense headache crawled from the back of his head to the front. Suddenly, his stomach churned. He made a mad dash to the toilet. Bile rose into his throat. For a brief moment, he thought he’d vomit. But as quickly as his ailments attacked, they dissipated. His mind began to clear. He still clutched the holy words.

With his stomach settled, he lay down on the summery quilt.

She knew he was a liar and a thief.

Micah closed his weary eyes. His body was limp from exhaustion. But his mind raced.

Why did he care if the innkeeper knew? He never cared before what anyone thought of him. He was a liar and a thief.

Still clenching the bible, Micah drifted into a fitful sleep. Once again, strange and mysterious images plagued his mind. But as the darkness seeped in, he cried out, begging for forgiveness—for being a liar and a thief.

~~

Birds chirped outside the open window, welcoming the warm morning sun. Micah’s eyes fluttered open. For a brief moment, he forgot where he was. His cramped fingers hung onto the book. Gently, he released it. The delicious smells of bacon and eggs coasted on the silent wings of the summery wind. His stomach grumbled. He carefully swung his bare feet onto the carpeted floor. His white undershirt and blue net shorts served as sleeping attire. But he could not remember when he had changed into them the previous night. He retrieved his cell phone from the duffel bag. It was 9 o’clock. He had to hurry so he wouldn’t miss breakfast. Showering quickly and dressing in jeans and a T-shirt, he made his way to the drawing room.

The delicious smells intensified, leaving him with a ravenous appetite. Passing by the unattended front desk, he did not notice the man sitting on one of the lobby chairs, reading a newspaper. 

Micah rubbed his hands together at the sight of the large helpings of food. Several round tables with flowery tablecloths sat empty within the drawing room. A six-foot-long table sat against the far wall, containing eggs, bacon, muffins, toast, and an assortment of fresh fruit. A coffee urn and pitcher of fresh orange juice sat at the far end. 

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he said out loud.

A huge smile plastered across his face as he helped himself to the plethora of breakfast cuisine. Sitting down at one of the tables, he began to eat as if there was no tomorrow. The coffee was hot, and the orange juice must have been freshly squeezed that very morning. He hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in years. After several minutes of shoveling the food into his mouth, he noticed the man sitting at a table near one of the windows, reading a newspaper.

“Hey, buddy…did you try the food? It’s delicious,” stated Micah. He shoved another large forkful into his mouth.

The mysterious man folded the paper and set it on the empty table. His lanky frame and unshaven face stared at Micah. The lightweight jacket and dress slacks sagged off the thin man’s body. His silver-lined hair was combed neatly against his shallow face. But it was the aged man’s eyes that mesmerized Micah.

“Mr. Darin, I assume.” His voice was deep.

Micah swallowed.

He knew he was a liar and a thief.

“Yup…that’s me. Who are you?” asked Micah in between chewing. He slurped his coffee from the hot cup.

“I’m…well, I have many names. Not that you would know,” replied the strange man. “Do you read the Bible, Mr. Darin?”

Micah dropped his fork. “What kind of question is that?” he asked. He wiped his face with the cloth napkin. Suddenly, he lost his appetite. His stomach flipped, then flopped at the mention of the Bible.

Without warning, a loud noise came from behind him. Micah got up and turned. Mable dropped the tray of silverware. She immediately bent down to pick them up.

“Mable…let me help you,” said Micah.

He proceeded to stack the silverware back onto the tray. The old woman stared at him. He glanced up and met her fading hazel eyes.

She knew he was a liar and a thief.

“Thank you, Mr. Darin. I appreciate your…sincerity.” The old woman wobbled as she tried to stand up.

Micah forced a smile.

She knew he was a liar and a thief.

“Mable, who’s the guy sitting at the table near the window?” he asked in a low voice.

Mable grimaced. “There’s no one sitting by the window, Mr. Darin.”

Micah swiveled. The seat was empty, and just the newspaper was on the table.

“He was…he was right there. I swear. He knew my name. He even asked me if I read the Bible!” exclaimed Micah. He ran his hand across the top of his balding head.

“Mr. Darin, to leave this room, he would have had to pass both of us. I didn’t see anyone except for you.” Mable blinked, then proceeded to leave him alone in the drawing room.

~~

Micah spent part of the day walking the area around the B&B. The trees were thick further from the backyard of the Glory Be. Flowers and hedges were professionally landscaped, accentuating the uniqueness of the old-style house. It was a beautiful summer day. He still could not figure out what happened to the odd man.

He knew he was a liar and a thief.

“Mr. Darin!” shouted Mable from the front porch. “Mr. Darin!”

Micah kept walking. Minutes later, Mable was huffing as she tried desperately to catch up to him.

“Mr. Darin.”

“Oh…sorry, Mable. Lost in my own thoughts,” he said, stopping in his tracks.

She knew he was a liar and a thief.

“There’s a phone call for you, Mr. Darin. You can take it in the lobby.” Mable turned on her heel and trudged back to the inn.

Impossible! No one knows he is here.

Micah’s heart raced. Sweat lined his brow. Suddenly, the sun felt hot. His body was sticky. As he entered the lobby, he looked for a phone. On the counter, an old dial phone lay with the receiver off to the side.

“Are you serious?” he mumbled. He picked it up and held it to his ear. “This is Mr. Darin. Who is this?” Silence filled the line. “Hello? Who is this?” Micah shifted on his feet. “I don’t think this is funny. What do you want?” he shouted as the line went dead. Micah slammed the receiver. “Asshole.”

He glanced around to see if Mable was within listening distance. Hoping she was busy somewhere else, he took two steps at a time and went to his room. Once inside, he locked the door and opened his laptop. Immediately, words flashed across his screen – NO INTERNET SERVICE PROVIDER.

“What the…” His voice trailed off.

Not only did the Glory Be have no cable service, it had no Internet either.

What did people do here all day?

He glanced at the Bible sitting on top of his nightstand. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

I’m a liar and a thief.

Micah gathered his laptop and keys. He would drive to the next closest town. If there was a public library, for sure there would be Internet availability. Or at least he hoped so.

The drive to Covington took almost forty minutes due to the busy city traffic. After stopping at a gas station and asking for directions, Micah realized he was hungry. The golden arches were near the Covington Public Library. He gobbled down his burgers while sitting in his car. He had to be careful not to draw attention to himself.

The library was state-of-the-art. Three floors and a humongous lobby area, where people could sit in comfortable armchairs. Small work tables were placed sporadically in each labeled section. 

Micah strolled up to the information desk. An older, dark-haired woman in her mid-sixties was busy entering information on her computer. She abruptly stopped to face him.

“May I help you, sir?”  A smile spread across her wrinkled face.

Micah’s mouth opened.

She knows I’m a liar and a thief.

It then closed.

“Sir…how may I help you?”

Micah’s eyebrows crinkled. “Computers?” he stuttered.

The woman’s eyes bore into his.

She knows I’m a liar and a thief.

He dared not hold her stare. Immediately, he glanced around.

“The computer lab is directly behind me. You’ll have to sign up to use the lab and/or the computers. You will need a library card. If you do not have one, the lab monitor will help sign you in as a guest. Is there anything else I may help you with, sir?” A tiny smile reappeared.

Finally, Micah looked at the strange woman. “No, thank you.”

Before anything else was said, he moved quickly toward the mounted sign, which read Computer Lab. Inside, a young woman sat in the corner, reading a book. He assumed she was the lab monitor.

“Excuse me, I’d like to use the lab. I don’t need a computer. I brought my own laptop. I need to hook up to your Internet, though.” His words flew out of his mouth quickly. 

The young woman, no more than eighteen or so, handed him a card with the library’s username and ID. She then pointed to an empty table.

“Thanks.” He forced a smile.

Immediately, she went back to reading her book.

Once connected, he searched the Internet for any kind of news about his embezzlement. At first, nothing jumped out. But when he entered his name, three articles popped up. The first one had to do with the FBI, and that they were looking for him, now considered a fugitive. A reward of $50,000 was offered to anyone with information about his whereabouts. The second article highlighted his work as an investment broker. The final article listed the companies who came forward, bringing civil suits against him for the missing monies from their respective accounts.

Micah bit his lower lip. If he turned himself in, he would undoubtedly be tried and convicted. He’d serve his sentence out in a federal prison, where early release was not an option. He let out a huge sigh. 

How long could he hide?

He had watched enough reality crime programs to know that sometimes the FBI enlists the help of federal marshals. Maybe he could hide at the Glory Be until it blew over and he wasn’t top news any longer. Surely, the authorities would slow down the manhunt over time. But Micah would need to forge identification documents to keep his fictitious name—Mike Darin.

Micah thought for a brief moment about living in Mexico. There were no extradition laws there with the United States. But as quick as the idea entered his head, it slipped out. Mexico was a dirty place. He did not speak Spanish. Micah was an American.

An American liar and a thief.

As Micah debated his next move, he accessed the offshore account. The staggering figures pulsated on the screen. If he could get himself a passport, he could leave the United States once and for all. He started to research his options. After a couple of hours, and stares from the lab monitor, Micah narrowed his search to the Maldives, located in the Indian Ocean, about four hundred miles from Asia. The language spoken was prominently English. Its capital, Male, opened the opportunity to obtain prime real estate. No one would ever think to look for him there.

In order for his plan to succeed, he must obtain an authentic passport with his new name. For the next hour and a half, Micah did the inadvisable. He accessed the dark web. But much to his surprise, finding forgers was quite an easy task, especially when money was involved. After conversing with an unsavory character, Micah kept his fingers crossed he wasn’t taken for a ride. He sent the unknown forger the needed information and provided half of the money required. Now he would sit and wait.

Before he knew it, the lab monitor had approached him and announced the library was closing. Micah had spent the entire afternoon and evening at the Covington Library. His back ached from sitting on the hard chair. He stretched and gathered his things to leave. As he strolled out into the warm evening air, he noticed a police cruiser sitting on the opposite side of the street. With only the street lamps to guide him, he hurriedly made his way to the SUV.  With shaky hands, he unlocked his vehicle. As he slid into the driver’s seat, red and blue lights flashed behind him.

He knows I’m a liar and a thief.

The Covington police officer got out of the cruiser and walked slowly to the driver’s side of the vehicle. Micah had his window down.

“License and registration, sir,” stated the officer.

Micah’s trembling hands dropped his license to the floor. On it was his real name and address. Finally, he held it out to the police man. The tall law enforcement officer peered at both documents.

“I’ll be right back…Mr. Wellington.” The officer turned his back and quickly made his way to the cruiser.

After a minute or two, Micah could see in his rearview mirror the officer on the radio with dispatch. Micah hung his head. There was no doubt he had been caught.

He was a liar and a thief.

“Here you go, Mr. Wellington. Your tag expired, and since you live out of state, I’ll let you go with a warning. Have a good day, sir.” The lean, muscular cop turned on his heel and left.

Micah sat stunned. What just happened?  

As the police cruiser’s headlights disappeared into the night, Micah forced his finger on the ignition button and started his car. His heart raced within his chest.

That was close!

Micah knew now he could not make a home in Auburn, even if he wanted to. He was on the police radar. After tomorrow, he would have to head out, making his way across the country. He would have to figure out how to obtain a fake passport after all, if he still wanted to leave for the Maldives.

After returning for the evening, Micah packed his bag and decided to leave first thing in the morning. In fact, he would skip the check-out process, since he prepaid for the two nights. The less he interacted with people, the safer it would be.

The following morning was filled with sunshine and humidity. He left the key to his room on the lobby counter. Mable was nowhere to be seen. He could smell the aroma of breakfast lingering as he closed the door. His stomach grumbled. But there was no time to waste. He had to get back on the road before someone figured out what he had done.

It wasn’t long before he got back on Interstate 75. After a couple of hours on the road, he stopped at a filling station right off the highway. Inside, he purchased snacks and a couple of bottles of water. He paid in cash.

As Micah shoveled a handful of Fritos into his mouth, his tracker phone chimed. Startled by its sound, he grabbed it and answered.

“Hello?” he asked, almost in a whisper. Static filled the empty line. “Hello?”

“Do you still want the passport?” asked a deep, rough voice.

Micah’s hand trembled. He immediately slowed down and pulled off onto the berm.

“Who is this, and how did you get this number?” demanded Micah.

“You either want it, or you don’t. What will it be? I don’t get all day,” said the mysterious man.

Micah hesitated. Here was his chance. “Yes…yes…I still want it.” Silence. “Hello…are you still there?”

“Text the info to this number. Use the tracker phone. I’ll text you with the account information—twenty-five thousand.”

“Are you serious? Twenty-five thousand dollars? What kind of assurance do I get once I deposit the amount that you’ll go through with your end of the bargain?” asked Micah. Sweat lined his brow.

He knows I’m a liar and a thief.

“You don’t. Take it or leave it. Twenty-five thousand, deposited within one hour. I’ll call you back with a place and time to pick up the passport.” The harsh sound of the mystery man’s voice ended.

Seconds later, his tracker phone pinged. Micah clicked on the message. Numbers flashed across the small screen.

“This is crazy!” he mumbled.

He rummaged through his duffel bag and pulled out the envelope with his offshore account information. After several tries, he was able to transfer the funds. Micah chewed on his thumbnail. Minutes ticked by; still nothing.

Micah tossed the tracker phone down on the seat. He pulled his SUV onto the highway. His nostrils flared. What a fool he had been—a desperate fool. He should have asked more questions instead of willingly giving up the money. He slammed the palm of his hand down on the steering wheel.

“Damn!”

The SUV accelerated. Micah darted in and out of traffic, not heeding the speed limit. As he reached the eighty-mile-an-hour mark, it dawned on him. He could not risk being pulled over by a state trooper. He immediately eased his foot on the accelerator pedal back down to the legal speed limit.

Suddenly, his tracker phone chimed. Once again, he signaled and pulled to the side of the road.

Micah licked his lips, smiling as he opened the text. It read:

‘Exit 73 – empty fruit stand – under bench.’

His smile faded.

What does that mean?

Micah texted back with a question mark. But no response was given. He let out a huge sigh.

As he got back onto the road, he saw a sign with Exit 61. He had a ways to go before he would reach Exit 73. It was almost midday, and he wanted to reach his destination before dark. It would be hard enough to find the fruit stand in daylight.

As he finished off the remainder of the junk food he bought, the sun was slowly slipping down behind the horizon. Exit 73 was two miles ahead. The traffic had thinned. As he crept down the ramp, he glanced on both sides of the road to make sure he did not miss the fruit stand. After ten minutes of crawling below the speed limit, he saw the run-down stand. Leaning to one side, and ready to collapse with a strong wind, Micah pulled off the road and left his flashers on, making sure no one hit his SUV or him, for that matter. He snagged a flashlight out of the glove compartment. The air was warm and sticky. Mosquitoes buzzed as the crickets began to sing.

Suddenly, a pair of headlights flashed across his car door. Micah remained in his vehicle as the car slowly passed him. Darkness crept in, preventing Micah from seeing the face of the driver.

“Great. Just move along,” he uttered to himself.

As the car sped up, Micah got out and used his flashlight. As he pushed his way through the tall weeds, all kinds of insects gathered in clouds. He swatted endlessly at the constant annoyance. As he neared the dilapidated fruit stand, he noticed the long, broken bench. Quickly, he turned it over. There, taped to the bottom, was a small brown envelope. Micah snatched it, then dashed back to his vehicle. Inside, he eagerly opened the envelope. Out slid a fake passport with the name “Mike Darin,” his photo, and a bogus Phoenix address.

“Alright. It’s time to find an airport.”

Micah’s eyes burned. He was getting tired. He had no clue where the nearest airport would be. He chuckled as he turned around and headed back onto Interstate 75. Without looking back, Micah picked up speed, delighted with the idea of freedom.

Humming to himself, he pushed the pedal down, unaware of the flashing red and blue lights coming up from behind. A quirky siren echoed. Micah glanced in his rearview mirror.

“Damn! This can’t be happening.” He let off the gas pedal and signaled, stopping as he reached the berm.

The state trooper angled his cruiser behind the SUV. Seconds later, he was tapping on Micah’s window.

“Could you roll the window down, sir?” asked the trooper. His right hand rested on his weapon.

Micah took a deep breath, then complied. “Evening, Officer,” said Micah, with a forced smile.

“License and registration, sir. Where are you headed?” he asked Micah.

Micah instantly handed the passport over to the trooper.

The law enforcement officer held the passport in his hand. “Where’s your license, sir?”

And then Micah realized his grave mistake. If he gave the officer his license, it would not match the passport. If he didn’t, the passport would not match his registration. Either way, he would have some explaining to do.

The trooper’s eyes narrowed in the dark. Micah began to sweat.

He knows I’m a liar and a thief.

“I’m sorry, Officer, I’ll take my passport back. Here’s my license,” replied Micah as he searched his wallet.

As Micah handed his license to the trooper, he tried to grab the passport. The trooper’s grip was tight.

“I’ll be back in a minute. Please shut off your engine.”

Micah knew his time had arrived. Because of his own stupidity, he would be caught and sent to a federal prison. This trooper would not let him leave.

“Turn off your engine, sir—now!” ordered the officer.

Micah’s head dropped. He shut off the engine. The state trooper, satisfied, turned on his heel and returned to his cruiser. Minutes felt like hours as Micah waited for his fate.

After ten minutes, the trooper returned to Micah. “Could you please step out of the vehicle?” His hand rested on his issued weapon.

Micah did not move.

Should he make a run for it? Could he get away? Where would he go?

“Sir, I’m not going to ask you again. Get out of the vehicle,” demanded the trooper. This time, he unlatched the holster and pulled out his weapon, aiming it at Micah’s head. His muscles tensed as his chin and lips quivered.

“I’m getting out.” Micah released the door handle and stepped out into the night. His skin was clammy. He gasped for air.

“You’re under arrest, Mr. Micah Wellington.” The state trooper read him his rights. “Do you understand your rights?” Micah nodded slightly. “I can’t hear you, Mr. Wellington.”

“Yes. I understand,” replied Micah in a loud voice.

“Turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

Micah went to speak, but no words were spoken. He turned and felt the handcuffs click in place. The officer then placed him in the back seat of the cruiser.

Micah leaned his head against the leather seat, then closed his eyes. He was tired—so tired. Moisture filled behind his eyelids. Tiny drops leaked down his hot cheeks.

He was a liar and a thief.

And now he would pay for it for the rest of his life.

~~

The sentence was harsh. Federal and state laws broken. People’s lives were broken. His life was broken. He cooperated, against the advice of his court-appointed lawyer. And as he stood shackled in federal court, the judge read his sentence. But all Micah could hear were those resounding and haunting words:

“…nothing but a liar and a thief.”