Cash Stash, Part 2 of Doppelganger

Cash Stash, Part 2 of Doppelganger

After giving Marjorie her father's cash stash of $37,360 which I had been given by a friend of her late father who had mistook me for him because I was his doppelganger, or he was mine, whichever, I became curious as to how her father had come upon that money and why it had been secreted away. How I came to be in possession of the money I described in my journal under the heading Doppelganger, and won't repeat myself here.

So, inasmuch as I am not a cat fearful of dying from my curiosity, I proceeded to look into the matter. I could imagine no circumstance involving me that would necessitate Marjorie and her family needing to return the money to another claimant. It was simply that I was curious about where it came from. It could be Texas Hold 'em winnings, payment for illegal drugs, a small lottery winning, a gift from a paramour, money belonging to the mob, whatever. I wanted to know because of personal interest, and planned on sharing what I found out only in my journal, not to his daughter or anyone else.

From what I knew and had seen so far, it was clear that the money was a total surprise to his daughter, and that while searching through his personal possessions and records might produce clues, I was determined to not involve his daughter. Her memories were her memories, and I had no interest in doing anything to corrupt those memories.

The man who had held the money for, let's call him Sam, was also a nonstarter. It was pretty clear that he was just doing his friend a favor by storing a box for him. Whatever story Sam told him, would not help solve the riddle.

Like any modern information search. I started with a Google search on his name. The search turned up his address, confirming the one I already had for him, and the fact that he had a Facebook account. I searched for his Facebook page and found it still active. A well written obituary was posted on his page, and along with noting his death from cancer a few months earlier, it identified his family, his age, his church affiliation, friends who served as pallbearers, and the highlights of his career.

It was his career that I found interesting. He worked in the finance office of AID, the office in the State Department that actually cuts the checks or makes the electronic transfers of U.S. aid to foreign countries, or to companies or contractors who provided goods or services to those countries. It looked like Sam may have been in a job that dispensed money.

In Washington circles, it had long been speculated that AID was used by the CIA to clandestinely fund agents and sources when needed. If so, it was also speculated that because of the secrecy involved, that tracking and accounting for those transactions might be close to impossible, and therefore vulnerable to skimming or other misuse.

To my mind, his job was a good bet as to being the source of the money.

I googled one of the pallbearers who was identified as a work associate of Sam's. Finding a phone number for him, I left him a message identifying myself as Sam's doppelganger and because of this, a nominal friend of Sam's daughter who I had met at our local library. I asked if he would be amenable to having lunch. The doppelganger angle hooked him and he agreed to lunch at the Outback in Aspen Hill because it was mutually accessible. I started to tell him how he could recognize me, but he interrupted me with a laugh saying, “If you look like Sam. I'll have no difficulty spotting you. I'll see you at the restaurant as close to 12:30 as I can make it.”

Even so,” I said. “I will be the only guy in the restaurant with a bouquet of marigold flowers on the table that I am picking up for my wife at the flower stand around the corner from the restaurant.” “That should do it,” he laughed and ended the call.

The next day I was seated at my table, my bouquet to the left of the Fosters pint that I had already ordered. My dinner appointment arrived right at 12:33, and I mentally awarded him points for punctuality. He was middling tall, about six feet, a full head of salt and pepper hair, and attired in what appeared to be a bespoke suit beyond the reach of most bureaucrats. Frankly, he looked like a spy on a European assignment to Westminster.

I stood to shake the hand he extended as he approached. “Damn, you are a dead ringer for Sam,'' he said. "Marjorie told me you were doppelgangers, but I had no idea you would look so much alike. I do note, though, that you are drinking beer and Sam would have a Dewars Scotch in front of him.”

We ordered lunch. I had their Ceasar Salad and coconut shrimp and he had Scotch followed by a 12 ounce ribeye with a baked potato. We both declined their blooming onion.

After a “Who are you?” and other initial conversation bits, he pointedly asked, “I assume you would like to know where Sam got the money you delivered to Marjorie?”

“Well, yes, but just for curiosity's sake. I have no ulterior motive. I called you because I didn't want to do or say anything that might upset Marjorie.” “Not to worry,” he said. “ She knows all about it. Though she did have a bit of fun with some of the family by claiming Sam's ghost delivered the money, especially since she had you on her doorbell camera video.”

“Well. Where did he get the money? And why did the cook at the restaurant have it?”

“It's pretty simple actually. I can tell you this since Sam is dead. Sam's job entailed occasional personal delivery of payments to intelligence assets where paper trails are not desirable. In this instance Sam left the payment at the restaurant, telling the cook that someone with the proper code should pick up the package within a week, but that if he didn't show, that he, Sam, would come back and pick up the package himself. Well, the guy didn't show, and Sam went into the hospital and died there. Then you showed up at the restaurant, and the cook assumed Sam had returned for the package.”

“Marjorie returned the money to the office, though she enjoyed the theatrics of saying Sam brought her the money because she needed it. She didn't need it, by the way. Sam left her well provided for”.

We finished our meal and left together. As I was getting into my car. He said to me, “You know. You could pass for Sam with anybody. You could probably have a job with us if you wanted. Would you be interested in pursuing that?"

Hmmm. Let me think about that.