Chapter 4 Episode 4

Diana has a grimace on her face. "Luiz probably doesn't know you approached Florida Capital, but I felt you should read it before meeting with someone from the firm. "If you still want to meet with someone from the company."

I nod and take a few breaths. "Right. Okay. Yeah. I'm certain he has no idea. We're just pocket change to a firm like his, right?" My speech sounds tight and choked.

"Mmm. "I hope."

I'm almost hyperventilating. I attempt swallowing, but my mouth is dry, and the swallow gets stuck in my throat. Coffee is burning a hole in my gut.

Luiz Menendez de Aviles. I gaze at the paper again. My hands quiver. This is how seeing his name in black and white affects me.

"I'm sure everything'll be fine." Her tone is unconvincing. She squints into the early sun and looks at the pirate.

"Yeah." I drag out the term. "Just. Peachy."

We stand in tense silence for a few minutes, me with unsteady hands, fanning my face with the paper, Diana glancing at the drunk and scratching her stomach. My previous resolve to pull the pirate away has faded. It doesn't matter if there are a dozen drunks sprawled out in front of the business.

If Luiz now owns the private equity business, it's unlikely he'll- Diana interrupts my depressing thoughts. "Every year, the obese, elderly guys with puffy shirts and eye patches show up at our building after the procession. It's never a guy who resembles Johnny Depp."

Now she's attempting to calm me down with a joke.

The paper has gone into my fingers and combined with my sweat. I hand her the paper and wipe a wet, dirty palm on my black pencil skirt. "Whoever thought the St. Augustine Pillage and Village Fest was a good idea a century ago should be drawn and quartered. Or forced to walk the plank. "Or shot."

"How long do you think the cops will take?" Diana asks.

"Who knows?" Not quickly enough. Perhaps I should have planned this meeting after the event was ended. "Or not schedule it at all."

We are linguistically dancing around the true issue.

Luiz.

"That's okay. It's not your fault if a guy is sleeping on the pavement after a night out. It's not like we didn't raid the village before. Remember when I dressed like a glitter pirate princess?"

I groan. Now she's attempting to cheer me up by reminiscing about our wilder teenage years. Bless her heart.

I tap my foot harder on the sidewalk while pressing my hand on my hip. Now I'm sweating everywhere, and not because it's ridiculously warm for February in Florida. I'm sweating because it's inconceivable to believe that the most significant guy in my history may one day be in charge of my future-and the future of my firm.

"So, I imagine the VP of Florida Capital-or MDA, or whatever the company's name is now-will recognize our business for what it is. We are a newspaper. We deal with truth. "Why try to hide the ugly?" I shrug carelessly as terror rises in my stomach.

Diana gives me a harsh glance. "Come on. We aren't that horrible an investment."

"There's a lot of ugly right now at the St. Augustine Times." I let out a chuckle. "I wish I'd stayed a reporter."

Diana sighed. "You were an excellent reporter, which I know was simpler than being a publisher. But what did you say to me when your father died? This is your legacy. You adore this. Fighting for what is right. Serving as the community's voice. Upholding the First Amendment. "It is in your blood."

"Lofty, ivory-tower crap," I remark.

"Stop being grumpy. You believe in the paper. Otherwise, why strive to rescue it?

I grunt. She's correct. Despite the challenges, I adore this location and business. I still believe we can make a difference in this messed-up world. When I'm having a rough day, I frequently remember a remark from Spider Jerusalem, my favorite dystopian comic book character: "Journalism is just a gun." It just holds one bullet, but if you aim well, that's all you need. Aim correctly, and you can blast a kneecap off the earth."

The problem is that my rifle has been dropped, kicked, and filled with muck. If it ignites, it may blow my head off.

Diana's gaze softens. "The building alone is worth what you're asking for the loan."

I rolled my eyes. The building is the only item of worth, which is distressing. Diana knows this. As CFO, she is well aware of the terrible situation. Everything depends on this encounter. My career. My newspaper. My whole life. The Times has been my family's inheritance in the city for almost 150 years, and its future is questionable.

At best.

And now Luiz stands between me and achievement.

The grandeur of it all makes me feel shaky and distant as if I've been snatched from my comfortable environment and thrown into another realm entirely, one where the laws of logic and rationality do not apply.

Larry pokes his head out the door again and screams out to me in a loud voice, "Ana, the police said they'd be here in five or ten minutes."

"Thanks, Larr." I grin without exposing any teeth and wave. He's been with the Times longer than I've been alive and is only a few years away from retiring. Sweet, white-haired Larry, who used to purchase my brother and me Rocket Pops from the ice cream truck when we were in elementary school and were obliged to spend summer vacation afternoons at the paper with Dad.

What happens to Larry's pension if this deal does not go through? He disappears inside. I may be the one to appreciate Larry's pension. The hole in my gut has expanded into a crater.

I pull my tight pencil skirt down past my knees and check my thumbnail. My red polish has not chipped. Yet. Diana's elbow nudges my forearm as I stand with my back to the street.

"Don't worry about it. Luiz will not show up today, Ana. He's probably unaware that this meeting is taking place.

"Yep. It's a large corporation, so he probably doesn't keep track of all the financing requests, especially so soon after the purchase. Furthermore, he appears to own a real estate investment firm and owns a variety of other properties in Miami. I wish someone had told me that this was going to happen when I filed for the loan."

"Maybe it'll even work in our favor."

I shrug, but my shoulders remain bent about my ears. "Maybe. Anyway, I think Luiz has forgotten I even exist. "It's been ten, twelve years since we last saw each other." I know precisely how long it has been since I occasionally perform the numbers in my head.

11 years, 2 months, and 3 days.

Not that I keep track of anything.

Diana clears her throat and looks at the drunk. I cringe as the pirate rubs his tummy in his sleep.

"Figures," I muttered.

Precise footfall echoes down the pavement behind us, and my heart thumps against my ribcage. I am about to turn back when there is a halt in the stairs and a beat of quiet. My heart beats in sync with the pounding ache in my brain. Can a thirty-four-year-old lady have a stroke and a heart attack at the same time?

"I've heard the journalism industry is going through some difficult times. I wasn't expecting skid-row drunks, though. Wait. Is it a pirate?

My breath catches, and a sudden fire runs across my body. That tone. Sardonic and attractive. I haven't heard it in a long time, yet it's as comforting and tempting as the humid wind that causes the Spanish moss to sway in trees across the city.

Luiz Menendez de Aviles.