Always Listen

She stood there in the rain, head hung down, trying to focus her eyes in the dark on the package that he had handed her as he laid dying. It was very small and lightweight, wrapped in waxed brown paper and tied with a string. She quickly stuffed it under her coat as she scurried back to her car. After sliding back into the driver’s seat, she placed the package in her glove compartment.

What was it that he had said? “Here, take this. Don’t show anyone until you’re someplace safe. Don’t worry. You’ll know what to do.” He let out a long, ragged breath, and then just stopped. She knew he was gone. She knew there would be no follow-up questions. She also knew that there was nothing she could do for him now, other than carrying out his dying wish.

She settled in and waited for the emergency vehicles to arrive. Since she was the first person to spot the crash, she had called 911 before getting out of her car to see if she could help. He had been thrown over 100 feet from his crumpled sedan, straight through the windshield. No doubt swerving to avoid some random animal in the dark, he had crashed headlong into a tree. Old Highway 77 was notorious for such happenings, but they rarely ended in a fatality. But tonight, in addition to the darkness, the rain, and dense fog, the lack of wearing a seatbelt had sealed his fate.

She didn’t have to wait long. In minutes over a dozen people had gathered around, including law enforcement, paramedics, and a few fellow travelers. The usual pandemonium ensued, followed by a hushed silence once everyone realized that there was nobody left to save. She didn’t know why, but she waited until they had loaded him in the ambulance before she felt she could leave. The other lookie-loos had all long since departed.

On the road again, she directed her full attention to her driving. One fatal crash was more than enough for the night. She was home, and halfway to her front door before she remembered the package. After going back to retrieve it from her car, she went inside, locked the door, and immediately headed for the bathroom. She knew exactly what she needed: a hot shower and a change of clothes, followed by a stiff drink and a warm bed.

It was 8 AM the next day when she woke, still in her bathrobe with the remote in her hand. The TV was warbling on, until she switched it off. In the early morning stillness, the occurrences of the previous night came crashing back into her mind like bats swarming out of a cave. It was only then that she mustered the nerve to open the small package that had been entrusted in her care.

She had thought about mentioning it to the police officer the previous night, but that “little voice” in the back of her mind cautioned her to heed her benefactor’s instructions and kept it to herself.

The rain had washed off most of the address on the front of the package, but she could still make out the name “Ludden Industries.” After cutting the string, she carefully unfolded the paper to reveal a small, black notebook. Inside the front cover, there was a name, address, and phone number. She had no way of knowing if it was the name of the dying man, or someone else, but it was the logical place to start.

On the pages that followed were dates, account names, website addresses, passwords, and user IDs. There must have been over 100 entries in the little book, all neatly penned in blue ink, and each with dates in the military format of the day, month, and year.

“So I’ll know what to do,” she mumbled to herself. The most obvious course of action would be to try the phone number, but she started to second guess herself. She was tempted to call her friend Jan to get a second opinion. But the dying man had been very clear about not showing the package to anyone else. After a cup of coffee, and a bit more time to think it over, she dialed the number in the little book.

“Hello, Tanner residence.” It was clearly a woman’s voice, cultured, professional, and somewhat subdued.

“Hello,” she replied. “You don’t know me. My name is Victoria Richardson.”

“Yes, Ms. Richardson. How may I help you?”

“I don’t know, exactly.” She paused to consider her approach. “Well, actually, I think that I may be of some help to you.”

Victoria recounted the events of the previous evening and then waited for the woman to respond.

“Oh, thank God!” She sounded happy, relieved, and sad all at the same time. “You see, the man you encountered was Joe Krueger. We were informed of his accident last night, but when I went to the hospital the black book was nowhere to be found.”

“So you were expecting it then?”

“Oh yes. Quite definitely,” she replied. “John Tanner, my Father, was expecting it last night. It is of the utmost importance that we retrieve the book.”

“Are you at the address in the book?” Victoria stopped there, allowing the unidentified woman to provide the details. She would feel a whole lot better if they matched.

“Yes. 7992 Orangewood Drive.” There was a brief pause, and then she continued. “My apologies. I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Susan Tanner, John’s daughter.”

Tanner was the name in the front of the book. John Tanner to be precise. The pieces were fitting neatly in place. Vicky relaxed slightly, knowing that she had found the rightful owner of the book.

“I was planning on coming into town today anyway,” Vicky offered. “I could be there in an hour.”

“That would be wonderful! We’ll be expecting you then. I’ll go let my Father know. He’ll be so pleased. Thank you again!” And with that, Susan hung up. The abrupt ending was a bit jarring, but Vicky chalked it up to the unusual circumstances.

Vicky was ready to go in less than half an hour. As she drove into town, she thought about whether she should have brought someone with her. It was unlikely that she was in any danger, but you can never be too careful these days.

Just as a precaution, she called her friend Jan. She got the answering machine, so she left a short message, including the address of where she was going and the names of the people she was meeting. If nothing else, someone would know where to start looking if she turned up missing.

As she pulled up in front of the house, she was impressed by the elegance of the structure. It was two stories, impeccably maintained, with well-manicured landscaping and a sweeping walkway to the entrance. She approached the front double doors and quickly rang the bell before she had a chance to back out.

An older man dressed in a suit and tie answered the door. “May I help you?” he asked in a somewhat imperious tone.

“Yes,” she began. “I’m Victoria Richardson. Susan Tanner is expecting me.”

“Indeed.” The man opened the door further and motioned for her to enter.

The foyer was simply stunning, with a marble floor, statues, floor plants, and a curved staircase leading upstairs. To the right was a set of closed double doors. The doors to the room on the left were wide open, and the man directed her toward that area.

He followed a few paces behind. Once she was in the room he spoke again. “Ms. Tanner will be here momentarily. Please make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything while you wait?”

“No, I’m fine.” Vicky approached one of the couches and sat down on the edge of the seat. It wasn’t more than a minute or two before Susan arrived.

“Ms. Richardson!” she exclaimed, obviously very glad to see her. Vicky started to stand, but Susan continued, “Please stay seated. You probably have many questions. Let me see if I can fill you in.”

Susan sat down on the opposite couch and started her story. She explained that her Father, John Tanner, had contracted with a Private Investigator to retrieve his book of passwords and account information. Her younger brother Michael, the “black sheep” of the family, had taken it a week ago and was essentially blackmailing their Father to get it back. Michael was always pressuring the family for money. He had gambling debts and a big drug problem.

Michael had threatened to mail the book to their father’s biggest competitor, Ludden Industries. They probably would have just returned the book, but there was a chance that they might have logged into some of the accounts. Either way, it would have taken hundreds of hours to sort out. At a minimum, all of the passwords would have needed to be changed, which was no small undertaking.

“So you see,” Susan concluded, “You’ve just saved us potentially hundreds of thousands of dollars, not to mention the aggravation. And by keeping it private, we’ve avoided any negative press.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Vicky responded. So was glad that she had listened to her little voice. She retrieved the book from her purse and held it out for Susan to take.

Susan rose from her seat and retrieved the book. She absent-mindedly flipped through the pages. “My Father really should have a better way to keep track of this information. But he’s very old-school.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Vicky was feeling a little awkward now. She was trying to come up with something to say when the older gentleman returned to the room.

“Call for you, Ms. Tanner.”

“Of course, I’ll be right there George.” Then she directed her attention back to Vicky. “Can you wait here for just a minute?”

“Sure. No problem.” Vicky stayed seated while Susan left her alone with George.

“I hope you weren’t injured in that nasty accident last night,” he offered.

“No. It was a solo spinout. I was just the first person on the scene.”

“Good. Now, if you will excuse me, Ms. Tanner should be back momentarily.”

It was less than five minutes before Susan appeared again with a small white envelope in her hand. “Here. Please take this as a small token of our appreciation.”

“You really don’t owe me anything,” Vicky objected.

“Nonsense. Honesty needs to be rewarded. I insist.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Vicky took the envelope and put it in her purse. They shook hands, and Susan walked her to the door.

“Thank you again. Have a wonderful rest of your day.”

Vicky got back in her car and went about the rest of her errands in town. Her head was buzzing. It all seemed surreal to her. All that wealth, and still they had such family drama.

She was back at home and changed into her sweats before retrieving the envelope in her purse. “Probably a thank you note with a gift card. Or maybe tickets to a show,” she mused. “Only one way to find out.”

Yes, there was an elegantly engraved thank you card inside the envelope. But no gift card, and no tickets. There was, however, a company check. It was made out to her, in the amount of $20,000. She closed her eyes, shook her head, and looked again. Yes, it was definitely $20,000. Apparently, it was a much more serious matter than she could possibly have imagined.

It was then that she remembered to call her friend Jan. Better report in that she was back home and safe. This time she didn’t get the machine.

“Hey there, girlfriend,” was Jan’s good-natured response. “What’s new?

“You’ll never guess in 20,000 years!”