Mister Moneybags(49)

“It certainly has.”

“Are you home?”

“No, actually. I’m at The Breakers.”

“I’ll meet you there. I’m just getting my rental car, and I’ll head straight over.”

“Okay, son. See you soon.”

After I picked up the Mercedes, I drove over the bridge that connected West Palm Beach to the exclusive island of Palm Beach. Driving past the famous Mar-a-Lago Club with its high hedges, I remembered my parents dragging me to a party there as a child and seeing Donald Trump. We’d spent many winters and holidays down in this posh, private community.

Driving down the road, to my right was a view of the aquamarine-colored ocean. To my left were the mansions—some Spanish-style, some with more modern glass-encased architecture. Tourists and residents leisurely strolled the sidewalks in beach attire, looking like they didn’t have a care in the world; I envied them.

I finally arrived at the The Breakers, a Renaissance-style resort where my father often met other retired CEOs for lunch. I knew he also spent a lot of time at a millionaire’s club down the road on Peruvian Avenue.

The breeze from the palm trees was a welcome contrast to city life. I couldn’t help but wish that Bianca were here to soak in some of this fresh air with me. That reminded me to book a vacation for us as soon as she was ready. I imagined how amazing it would have been to frolic on the beach with her here. I just knew her luscious ass would look amazing in a bikini.

Walking into the hotel reminded me why my father loved it down here. The whole island catered to the glitterati. He was totally in his element. It was a palatial explosion of pastels and money.

I’d texted him at the valet station, and he met me in the lobby.

My father offered a quick hug, patting me on the back. “Dex…so good to see you, son.”

“You, too.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the lighting or what, but my father looked a lot older than the last time I’d seen him. Despite that, he was in pretty good shape for his age because he made a point to stay active every day.

“We were just having lunch out on the balcony. Smoked salmon and capers prepared by Chef Jon. Why don’t you join us?”

“Who’s we?”

“Myra and some friends.”

Myra was my father’s most recent wife. She looked like many of the women down here: heavily blonde, Chanel-clad and tweaked by lots of plastic surgery. Let’s not forget the small fluffy dog by her side at all times. I was pretty sure Caroline would turn into a Myra someday.

“I was actually hoping that you and I could talk privately.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No. I just have some questions for you.”

“Alright. Let me just tell them I’ll rejoin them. We can take a walk along the beach.”

“That sounds good.”

I’d dressed for the occasion today, wearing khaki pants and a pink Polo shirt. When in Rome.

After he returned, we ventured down to the water. Rolling up my pants and holding my shoes in one hand, I walked alongside my father amidst the crashing waves as the tide came in. Shells crunched under my feet, and a few seagulls nearly grazed my head as they flew by.

“So whatever happened to the situation you called me about? The girl you lied to about your identity?” he asked.

“Well, miraculously, she’s decided to forgive me. We’re working on things. I haven’t earned her trust one hundred percent yet. She’s actually the reason I came to see you. Well, more specifically, her mother is the reason.”

“What about her mother?”

“She used to work for you. You fired her years ago.”

My father laughed. “That narrows it down to a few hundred people, then.”

“I met her the other night and immediately recognized her, which was odd. She must have worked for you longer than most, because I don’t remember many people from those days.”

“What’s her name?”

“Eleni George.”

He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look me in the eyes. “Eleni Georgakopolous.”

“No, Eleni George.”

“Georgakopolous. It’s Georgakopolous.” He walked over to a rock. “Come sit. I need a bit of a rest.”

“You sure her name was Georgakopolous?”

“Yes.”

“Hang on.” I quickly typed out a text to Bianca.



Dex: Random thought. I never asked you…George doesn’t sound like a Greek name. Is that short for something else?



She responded right away.



Bianca: Yes. I shortened it a while ago for work purposes. No one could seem to spell my last name. My legal name is actually Georgakopolous.



Dex: Good to know.



“What did she say?” my father asked.

“She said her last name is really Georgakopolous.”

He nodded. “Let me guess…your girl…she has big, golden brown eyes, gorgeous dark hair, and killer curves?”

“Yes.”

“The apple doesn’t fall far…”

“If you were so fond of her mother, why did you fire her?”

“Fire her?” My father laughed incredulously. “Is that what she told you?”