Ryan looked at her. He knew where she was going. She was going to try and find a way to justify keeping it. And so was he. That’s the real reason he was here, wasn’t it?
“Just my partner.”
“Can you trust him?”
“Her. And yes, totally.”
She didn’t like that answer; too quick, too definitive. There was only one reason he could be so sure, he was probably involved with her. Anne wanted to probe further, but there would be time for that later.
“What does she think you should so do with the ticket?”
“She hasn’t told me. She says it’s my decision.”
Good, Anne thought. Smart girl. “Then let’s look at a couple of options. I know you used to look at life in absolutes, Ryan, your John Wayne syndrome; right is right, wrong is wrong, life is black and white, period. Has nine years in law enforcement dulled your integrity?”
Nine years on the streets usually turned the biggest idealist into a jaded cynic. And Ryan had seen enough injustices, corruption and abuse of power to rattle his belief system, but it still worked, somehow. “Dulled, perhaps, destroyed, no.”
“But I’m sure you now realize that there is a lot of gray mixed in with the black and white.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Well, that’s what we’ve got here, Ryan. A gray area. In a perfect world you’d turn the ticket in, the rightful owner would get it and the angels in heaven sing a chorus of Halleluiah. But, since turning in the ticket would mean no one gets the money, those angels have got nothing to sing about. If you did claim the lottery and used the millions for the greater good, those angels could unleash their voices.”
“The greater good?”
“Charities, friends in need; Ryan, we’re talking forty-seven million dollars!”
“Thirty-four after taxes.”
Anne laughed. “Okay, thirty-four. That’s still a boatload of cash. Think of all the great things you could do with that money. All the people you could help. You could be a one-man United Way, giving help and money to whomever you want.”
Ryan hadn’t thought of that. And taking the money for charitable purposes didn’t seem as dishonest somehow.
“Look, I’m just spit-balling here, I need to get back to my office and check a few things. How much time do we have? When does the ticket expire?”
“Thursday.”
Anne’s jaw dropped. “The day after tomorrow? Aren’t you cutting this a little bit close?”
“We just found the ticket. Syd, that’s my partner, wanted some gum so I told her to look in my glove compartment. And there it was, buried in a few years worth of crap.”
“Sounds like she’s the real hero in this story,” Anne said. Then something occurred to her. “Wait a minute, you don’t still drive the Mustang, do you?”
“It was my dream car in college and it’s my dream car now.”
And then Anne remembered a night long ago. They were driving back from Malibu the night Ryan proposed, the top was down, their hair was blowing and he said, “I’m in my dream car with my dream girl. Does it get any better than this?” The memory filled her with such a sense of melancholy that she looked away, oddly embarrassed.
Ryan noticed. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said, and then regrouped. “You know,” she said, getting back to the heart of her idea, the heart of her salvation. “I could help you set up this foundation. I’ve been living the life of a greedy corporate attorney for long enough. Taking and never giving back. This could be a great opportunity for both of us. You’d resign from the police department and we could run it together.”
“Wait, hold it. Who said anything about leaving the police department?”
“You’d have millions of dollars, why would you want to still be a cop?”
“I love being a cop.”
He said it with such conviction Anne was envious. She wished she loved something that much. “Then you remain a cop and oversee the foundation on the side. The important thing is we put that money to good use.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple, Ryan. You’ve been given an incredible opportunity to help thousands of people. Frankly, it’s a no brainer. In fact, as I fully unwind my powers of rationalization, I could make a case that you winning the Lotto and using the money for charity is much more humane than some beer guzzling tow truck driver who would no doubt piss away all the money. It’s better for everyone.”
“Well, almost everyone,” Ryan said.
“Sure. But what the tow truck driver doesn’t know can’t possibly hurt him.”
Anne made so much sense. And for the first time since he’d found out about the winning lottery ticket, Ryan began to see a way he could actually justify keeping the money. And the idea of working with Anne every day, seeing Anne every day, was surprisingly appealing.
“You have time for one more drink?” he asked.
Anne shook her head. “No, if we’ve got a Thursday deadline, I’ve got a ton of work to do.” She slid a twenty-dollar bill onto the bar. “You have time tomorrow if I need you?”
“I’ll make time.”
Anne stood. “I’ve missed you, Handsome.” And then she kissed him gently on the lips.
The kiss surprised Ryan. It felt good. It felt familiar. It felt right. Ryan suddenly realized how much he had missed her. “Talk to you soon, Beautiful.”
Anne walked out of the bar, a smile on her lips. She had him.
EIGHTEEN
Syd sat at her desk in the deserted bullpen, eyes focused on her computer screen. The more Syd read about Anne Rogers, formerly Anne Magee, formerly Anne Reich, the less she liked her. Syd had Googled her, checked her Facebook page and the Rogers, Middleton and Roberts homepage. What emerged was an up-from-the-bootstraps story of a poor young girl raised in a trailer park by an alcoholic mother who made it to the top with pluck, brains and determination. There is no mention of her brief college marriage to Ryan Magee, but blog after blog accompanied by the appropriate pictures, chronicled her worldwide travels to the far-flung capitals of the world, Zurich, Dubai, Paris, etc., with her wonderful husband Rick. They were always photographed either hand in hand or with arms around each other; clearly two people in love.
That was a bit consoling; at least she was happily married.
Anne’s legal career seemed successful but uneventful. She represented Fortune 500 firms in a variety of corporate litigations; lawsuits that make money, not headlines. Syd double-clicked on Anne’s picture on the Rogers, Middleton Roberts homepage and the smiling brunette face filled the screen. She was pretty, if anything, too perfect; almost like she was trying too hard.
Syd had met a few women like her in the Police Academy. Overachievers, who studied harder and worked out longer than all the other cadets. Syd knew the type well; she was one of them.
In a way, becoming a cop was a going away present from EMT Eric Templeton. At Eric’s funeral, Syd met his sister, Andrea. She was a vet, too, an MP in the Army who joined the LAPD after her discharge. Eric had told Andrea all about Syd, and the two women hit it off immediately.
Andrea saw the same potential in Syd that Eric had, and helped her get her high school GED, enroll in Santa Monica City College and even got Syd a part-time job working at a friend’s cafe.
Andrea wasn’t pretty. She had a nose that was a bit small on a face that was a bit too long and eyes that were just a tad too close together. She kept her brown hair cut short and wore almost no make-up. She was tall and skinny, but strong. She spent five hours a week in the gym and was a first-degree black belt.
She was also gay. In the Army, nobody asked and she didn’t tell. In the LAPD, it was nobody’s fucking business.