The Aspen Account (44 page)
Authors: Bryan Devore
Michael knew that Seaton already had the answer but wanted to hear it from him. “Thirty-one.”
“By thirty-three you’ll become one of the youngest CFOs in the history of any Fortune one hundred company. And you will have become a legend in the financial world. You will be the future of X-Tronic. What’s more,” he continued, “you will also be the face that restores the public’s confidence in X-Tronic. You will be responsible for reporting to the media the changes and progress that X-Tronic makes as we begin our restructuring efforts. You will become one of the main presenters at future shareholders’ meetings. As the former Treasury agent who exposed the fraud, you would immediately be a trusted voice to the public. You couldn’t be more perfect for the job.”
Michael didn’t need any time to make his decision. “When do you want me to start?”
Seaton raised his glass to Michael’s. “Immediately!”
After discussing his future over another drink with Seaton, Michael left the Brown Palace, planning to go straight home. For too long now he had felt trapped by his undercover life. Lying in bed in the hospital had given him ample time to think, and he had told Glazier he would leave the Treasury. Because Falcon was still at large, Glazier had stationed a police officer outside his hospital room. Michael had had a number of visitors, but there was one person he had refused to see. According to the nurse, Alaska had tried four times to visit him, but Michael had given specific instructions not to let her in.
He drove past the turn to his apartment and kept driving south on Broadway.
True, she had betrayed him, but her repeated attempts to see him in the hospital had made him question things he had been certain about. He still didn’t think he could face her, but he wanted to forgive her.
Pulling into the parking lot, he got out of his car and walked toward the red two-story building with the open patio on top. Inside, he found a long room with a bar on one side and a row of high-backed leather-upholstered booths along the other. The only person in the place was the barman at the far end. He nodded at the barman’s greeting and walked slowly along, studying each of the paintings that hung above the booths. He stopped near the end and looked longer at each of the last three paintings, which had Alaska’s name below them.
“These are great,” he said. “You have any others by this artist?”
“I don’t, but it sounds like she paints a lot. I can’t imagine it would be a problem if you wanted to see more of her work,” said the barman, obviously trying to be helpful.
The guy knew her, Michael realized. They had spoken, and he wanted to help her. He, too, had seen a glimpse of her pain.
“I’d like to buy these three,” Michael said.
“Great,” the man replied. “Look, if you want more, we could get the artist on the phone right now. I know she’d love to show more of her work.”
“No. Thank you, though. I’ll just take these three.”
“Okay. I’ll mark them as sold and give her a call. Maybe she can come down here right now to do the transaction.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time. I’ll pay you cash now, and I trust you to get her the payment. I’ll give you an extra fifty for your trouble. Otherwise, I’ll just go.”
“Oh, sure, man. We can do that. Whatever you want.”
“Could you also help me move them out to my car? I had an accident recently, and I don’t think I can carry them.”
The barman took down the three paintings and carefully leaned them against the side of the bar. “Just let me go get an envelope for the money,” he said.
As the barman left the room, Michael sat in one of the booths and looked at the nearest painting. It was a hypnotic image of blue skiers gliding down a white mountain with purple trees against a crimson sky. He was still surprised at how captivating he found her visions. He studied the other two paintings carefully before eventually looking back at the one with the ski slope.
The barman seemed to be taking forever. Suddenly, the snow in the painting lit up as if he were on the actual slopes and the clouds had just parted. He turned toward the front door, which stood open. Framed in the sunlight was a figure that became a young woman as she walked inside. When she saw Michael she stopped and stared, breaking eye contact only long enough to see the three paintings resting against the bar beside him.
“I got a phone call and rushed down,” Alaska said. “I didn’t know the buyer was you. What are you doing?”
Having no adequate answer, he just stood there.
“I read about you in the
Post
,” she said. “I tried to visit you in the hospital.”
“I was still healing.”
Her eyes gleamed wet. “What are you going to do now?”
“I’m taking a new job out here.”
“So you’re staying in Denver?”
He nodded. “What about you?”
She gave a little shrug. “I was thinking about moving back to Aspen to be closer to my dad.”
He was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “I’ve never met your dad, but from what you’ve told me, I bet he would rather you spent time finding your own life.”
“And you think my life’s in Denver?” she said. “I have nothing here anymore. Most of my friends are scattered in the wind. The only real family I have is my dad in Aspen. And my painting career is nonexistent.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “You just sold three.”
She grinned. “Only a lunatic would buy three of my paintings when no one else even notices them.”
“Well this lunatic just might have a few ideas for helping you market your talent to the people of Denver.”
She laughed. “You’re still such an accountant. I suppose there’s nothing you can’t do?”
Michael frowned. “Actually, right now I can’t even carry these paintings up to my apartment when I get home.”
She seemed to consider this. “You’re
really
that helpless?” she said, and gave him an appraising look. “Then I guess—right now, anyway—you need me.” She had that same sassy grin as the night they first met in the club.
The grin spread to him. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
She carried the paintings out to his car one at a time; then they went back to his apartment. As he drove through the rising neighborhood streets with her sitting beside him, the fading sunset hung over the snowcapped Rockies, its orange glow lighting the bare winter trees that lined the road home.
THE END
About The Author
Bryan Devore was born and raised in Manhattan, Kansas, and received his Bachelor’s and Master’s in Accountancy from Kansas State University. He also completed an exchange semester at the Leipzig Graduate School of Management in Leipzig, Germany. He is a CPA and lives in Denver, CO.
The Aspen Account
is his first novel. He welcomes comments and feedback, and can be contacted at [email protected].
Novels by Bryan Devore:
The Aspen Account
The Price of Innocence
The Paris Protection
To read the story behind the book visit
Table of Contents
