Surrept (4 page)

Dana checks her file as the title officer issues everyone their signed documents and disclosures to make sure everything was in order for each party. In addition, she has copies of the clients' files for her records.

Dana gets to the last page and there it is, a check for her commissions for one hundred fiftty-three thousand dollars. She can hardly contain herself as she closes the file. Dana stands up, "Well, I think that's everything, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all so much for allowing me to be the transactional broker on this deal. I think it most certainly is a good deal for all parties."

Everyone gets up as Dana finishes her statement. "I hope you all will consider me in the future for your other transactions."

Mr. Lucero, the seller, takes Dana's hand as she is pressing the flesh. "Miss Underwood, could I see you for a moment?"

The buyers leave with the title agent after saying their goodbyes.

"Yes Mr. Lucero, what can I do for you?"

Mr. Lucero is her father's age and looks her right in the eyes as he speaks, "I am really pleased as to how smooth everything went and that all the details were handled so professionally. I feel that I would like you to find me another income property to purchase, and take advantage of the tax benefits you described by doing a ten thirty-one exchange and buy up in value to protect this money from capital gains."

Mr. Lucero holds up the check he just received for three point six million dollars after costs and commission for the sale of his apartment building.

Dana is surprised. "I would be honored to represent you, Mr. Lucero, as your buyer's broker on your next transaction. Thank you so much for your confidence." She walks with him down the hall.

He pushes the new deal with her. "Do you have the time to sign an agreement of representation now so that I can give you this check to deposit into escrow and make the . . . what did you call it?"

Dana says, "The ten thirty-one declaration will allow you to buy up into a more expensive property and not be taxed on the profits from this transaction. And it will defer any profits from being taxed until you decide to take a capital gain after selling your next property or the one after that, if you wish."

Mr. Lucero looks at her for a moment. "I think maybe something with over a hundred and fifty units. What do you think?" He had just sold a fifty-five unit, now he wants to move up.

Dana responds, "I think we better get you signed up so I can get right to work on finding your next property."

Across town in the Cherry Hills suburb, Richard Underwood is reading the Wall Street Journal at his seven-acre estate. He is sitting in the kitchen with his dogs, Moose and Sassy, his two Great Pyrenees.

His phone vibrates on the table; he picks it up to view the screen, and he smiles when he sees that it is Dana. "How is my princess today?"

Dana is sitting at her desk. Mr. Lucero has just left her office. "Hi Daddy, your princess just became the top producer in the company. I finally closed the Lucero deal."

Richard Underwood smiles grandly as he sets the paper down. "I knew you would get it done. So what was the final closing price?"

"Three point seven nine, and guess what?"

"Nice job Dana, especially in this market. That puts a few bucks in the bank, what else?"

Dana has to control herself from talking too fast. "Well, I negotiated my commission as a transactional broker to four point two percent, and Lucero was so happy he gave me his business to 'buy up,' and I signed that deal right after the closing. So I have to get to work on that right away to find him another property with around a hundred and fifty units."

Her father says, "Wow, you got the back end of the deal as well. I guess you were listening to your old man all these years?"

She smiles as she hears his proud statement. "I would never have known what to do, Daddy, if I were not your daughter. So I want you to come to dinner with David and me tonight to celebrate, say, to Morton's about seven-thirty?"

She knows what is coming next as her father starts, "Now there you go, the check has not even cleared yet and you are going to pop for a fancy dinner. Honey, you need to put that check in the bank, and then develop a business plan and tax strategy, young lady."

"Daddy, stop it. You are the one that taught me in this business that you never spend over fifteen percent of your earnings and save a minimum of forty percent, and always reinvest in yourself with the balance and have discipline with debt."

She wants him to know how much she listened and learned from him as she continues.

"So since your little girl just made a hundred fifty thousand gross commissions, I think she can take the two most important men in her life to dinner. Besides, family first, as you always said."

He smiles and pets Moose as he nudges him, who probably heard Dana's voice over the phone. "How can I argue with my own policies? I guess the apple has not fallen far, has it? Okay, you win again. I will see you and David at seven-thirty. Congratulations on your success."

"Thanks daddy, I love you, bye."

He pushes the button on his phone and wipes the tear streaming down his face.

***

David is working at his desk when the audio prompt alerts him that an e-mail message has arrived. He clicks his inbox, sees that the message is from Dana and clicks on her message. It says:

Success is Bitchin.

Dinner at Morton's 7:30, my dad is coming too, and by the way, we will be having "dessert" at home.

Love you, Dana.

David smiles and says to himself, "That's my baby."

There is a knock at the door as it opens. His new assistant, Adrianna Pucci, walks into his office. She is dressed in a sharp black skirt and blazer. She is wearing those heels from hell with the ankle straps, and she stops at his desk.

"David, I have finished the Kiatsu campaign translation for your PowerPoint presentation and the marketing proposal. How many copies will you need for the meeting?"

David taps a pencil on his desk. "There are twenty-six board members, two designers and their staff of about seven and their local media reps. So I would guess about forty or forty-five copies of each would be about right."

"No problem, I will give them a copy in Korean and English. I'll print fifty of each and overnight them to Kiatsu, in Seoul, addressed to you so that you will not have to carry them on the plane, and I'll give you two copies on flash drives, just in case."

David nods. "Thanks Adriana, you're great."

She smiles at his approval. "Your success is my success David. I think your presentation is a hit and fits their market strategy like a glove. I know they will be pleased."

He looks at her standing so erect in those heels, and that skirt is killing him. "Let's hope so, or I may be paddling back from Seoul."

Adriana looks at him playfully. "Paddling? I kind of like the sound of that."

David dodges her comment. "Get out of here, and go make some copies or something."

She slithers as she walks out of his office and he catches himself watching her exit.

***

Ahmed gets back to the store and begins loading the van for the afternoon deliveries that Omar and Kari have prepared and stacked on the tables near the rear door. He watches his surroundings more now that Josef has called.

Omar walks around the van where Ahmed is loading. "Ahmed, I spoke with Josef. He said he would make a list of products, and he thanked me for calling him, but he asked me that you call him. He seemed that it was urgent. What is going on with you and him?"

Ahmed turns to him. "Josef is always asking me how it is here—'Is life better here, is there prejudice, is there work, and is there a mosque?'—I think he really does not know what do and just wants what is best for his family's life. He always is speculating about things."

Omar looks at Ahmed with concern. "Be sure to tell him to be sure that he pays for his arrangements, and not to be asking for things if he cannot keep his promises."

Ahmed tries to put him at ease. "Josef is an honest man, Omar. He will keep his promises."

Omar shoots back as if he remembers something. "Do you have a delivery for that Armenian, Babikian?"

Ahmed tries to remember the evening's list. "I think so. Why?"

Omar bursts into one of his tirades. "Because he has not paid for the last two deliveries that you brought him, and he is always trying to get over in our favor. You call him and tell him that he must pay his bill in full or no delivery. We are not a bank."

Ahmed tries to calm his cousin, "All right Omar, I'll take care of it, I promise, don't worry."

Omar smiles at his young cousin's answer. "Thank you, Ahmed. You are good with the customers, but you cannot help everybody. Remember that every man must take care of his own responsibilities."

Ahmed pats Omar on the shoulder and gets into the van. He pulls away from the market, checks the rearview mirrors, and looks around cautiously. He pulls into a parking lot down the street from his cousin's market where he feels he will not be disturbed. Ahmed parks among the other cars, so he blends in and is not noticed.

Ahmed feels his heart racing as he picks up the phone and disconnects the charger. He notes a full charge, and he checks the screen while dialing the codes in for the phone card. He then dials Josef's contact number in Iraq.

The phone is quiet with a hissing as it connects to the overseas number and finally begins to ring. A man answers in his tongue with a familiar voice. It is Josef. "Hello?"

Ahmed says, "Greetings, my brother."

Josef answers in a stern voice, "Why have you waited so long to call? You are late on your study session. You have already missed a day of studies. If you are not in class tomorrow morning, you will be expelled. Do you want that?"

Ahmed answers him feeling the stress. "No, of course not."

"Then you must be in class tomorrow morning on time."

Ahmed answers rapidly, "I will be there."

The phone goes dead and Ahmed realizes that it has begun, and there is no turning back now. He feels sick to his stomach as he pulls away to complete his deliveries. He thinks to himself that he must get rid of the phone he just used.

Across the country, a woman is sitting at a bank of computer monitors in a dark room with big screens. The hands of the monitoring listener transcribe the conversation from Iraqi into English. She then time-stamps the call's duration and the cell phone numbers. She includes the locations of the phones involved in the short correspondence.

Three hours later, Ahmed looks at his watch as he arrives back at the market. He exits the van while locking the door. He rushes inside and makes his way down the stairs to his room.

He grabs his prayer rug and places it on the floor. The alarm on his clock radio erupts with the sounds of Islam as an imam begins evening prayers.

Ahmed, on his knees, goes deeply into prayer as his mind races to his past of the images playing over and over again of the horrors of his family's demise at the hands of western soldiers.

Images of their faces and the body parts, separated from his family members after the rocket grenade attack on his building where insurgents had chosen to make their stand against the soldiers' pursuit, torture him.

The imam's voice fills the basement as the tears run down Ahmed's face. He begs Allah for forgiveness for what he is about to do.

The memory of his sisters' screaming haunts him. He remembers their faces while being taken from their family home years before. The images flash through his mind of the men sent by Saddam's sons to collect all of the most beautiful girls from each neighborhood for their choosing, never to be seen again by their families.

All of these things haunted Ahmed and validated the pain and hatred that consumed him every day of his life, and it drove him to where his focus was at this moment, which helped to justify what he was about to do.

The prayers go on as Ahmed's tears turn into the fervent prayers that he believes are being answered, which helps to lift his pain and anguish as he puts his head down with each bow of faith and obedience.

The sun has fallen behind the Rockies as Omar places his prayer rug on a rack and covers it. Ahmed emerges from the basement stairwell with his coat on.

Omar sees the eyes of his young cousin and recognizes his pain, as is often the case after prayers. He could see that today was more so than usual.

Omar tries to ease the atmosphere for Ahmed, "
Assalmu Alaikom
."

Ahmed responds to Omar's warmth and genuine tone. "
Alaykum as Salaam
."

"Omar, I forgot that I have an appointment tomorrow at the university to see my counselor to make sure that I am getting the proper classes. I should be done by the afternoon. Do we have many morning deliveries?"

"Do not worry Ahmed, I will call them and schedule all of your deliveries for the afternoon. How did the deliveries go today?"

"No problem, and I got the full payment from the Armenian Babikian. He asked me to tell you that he was sorry for paying late."