Changing Fortunes (closed)

[Scuttle Buttin']

Until the moment it had all gone horribly wrong, Thomas Walcott was the happiest he'd ever been. Stretching towards his mid-40's, he'd never yet married but was anticipating, with each passing day, the time when he would be able to change that. Through a combination of skill and more than a little good luck, he'd amassed enough wealth that he was able to retire early, travel at his leisure by either his private Gulfstream or his exceptional yacht, and live a life so many could only dream of.

It was during this period that he met the woman he knew, from the moment his eyes first happened upon her, that he wanted to marry. The idea of being tied down, at least figuratively, to one woman for the rest of his life had never much appealed to him. The speed with which she had changed his mind astounded him, but it was undeniable. Scheduled to leave the little port city two days after his arrival, he ended up spending three weeks with his boat tied to the dock, happily paying the fee to spend more time with her. When he finally left, she was with him. They'd been all but inseparable since.

The two were so wrapped up in each other that the question of immigration and visas and proper documentation never came up until some time after he'd brought her back to his estate, and the pair began to talk about marriage. She, rather reasonably, worried about her immigration status, but he assured her that once they were married it would no longer matter, and she'd be as legal as he was. Eventually, he was able to calm her fears, and the couple settled into a quiet routine together. She rarely left his grounds, always afraid somewhere in the back of her mind that INS agents were waiting just on the other side of the wall to snatch her up and send her back home, and without her he found little reason to venture far. She was beautiful, the sex was amazing, and it would only be a few short months more before they were married and off on their honeymoon, sailing the beautiful waters of the world again.

The aneurysm, however, had other ideas.

Thomas Walcott didn't live to see his wedding, his 45th birthday, or even the arrival of the ambulance his fiancée called when he collapsed. Her fears changed when he fell to the ground, and without a second thought she went with him in the ambulance, crying the entire time they tried, in vain, to save him. The realization of her position didn't occur to her until after she was informed he was gone, and arrangements had to be made. She couldn't claim the body, couldn't access his accounts, couldn't even be told what it was that had taken him from her. It was only the kindness of a night nurse that allowed her to see him before his body was taken, and say goodbye.

In all their time together, he'd never really spoken of his family. His parents were gone, she remembered, and he'd had one older sister who died in a terrible ski accident over a decade ago. He never married, never had children, and hadn't thought to update his will in nearly 15 years. Everything he owned, and the responsibility of making his final arrangements, fell to a nephew she didn't know he had.

Alexander Oxlade.

To call him estranged from his family would be to put the situation mildly. He'd never quite fit in with his immediate family, and after his mother's death, he'd had no real reason or desire to see his uncle again. As his father drank himself into oblivion, Alex turned into something of a drifter, moving from town to town until his welcome had been thoroughly and vigorously worn out in one and it was time to find another. While never really in trouble with the law, he'd flirted with it enough that it seemed only a matter of time until he was wearing orange for a stretch of time.

The death of his father brought an unexpected end to his wandering, and as the only child it fell to him to deal with the modest estate. He resented his father for his drinking, and found it a struggle some days not to set fire to his childhood home and never look back. The fact that it, along with a small collection of money in the bank and the clothes on his back, were his only real assets kept the firebug at bay.

It was when things were beginning to grow desperate, the little money he'd inherited and anything that could reasonably sold in the house long gone, that a lawyer came knocking. Dressed in a suit that cost more than all of the clothes Alex owned, put together, he was certain the man simply had the wrong house. It took nearly fifteen minutes before the realization that the subject they were discussing was his uncle's estate - and thus that his uncle was now dead- really sank in. The press for details began, and upon hearing the man's net worth at the time of his death, Alexander nearly vomited right there.

At a meeting in the lawyer's office the next day, the necessary papers were signed and funeral arrangements were quickly, and quietly, made. Alex would not be attending. For a man of his wealth, the funeral of Thomas Walcott would be rather quiet and sparsely attended.

The lawyers were aware, in a very off-the-record way, of the presence of Thomas' fiancée at his estate, and were all rather relieved to have found Alex and been able to pass off the problem of what to do with her on to him. It was the final thing the lawyers informed him of, after accounts and property was all transferred into his name. The final, legal, nearly two decade-old wishes of Thomas Walcott had been fulfilled.

Returning to his childhood home, Alex packed little, a single duffel bag with a few items of clothing to get him by until he was able to use his newfound wealth to replace the worn out shit in his closet. And piled on the floor outside of it. And hanging off the foot of his bed.

Sliding into the driver's seat of his father's grey '94 Nissan, he made the nearly five hour drive to his new home in just over three and a half hours, and then found himself sitting outside the security gate for a few more minutes as he searched for the scrap of paper he'd written the gate code on. Cursing, he stabbed the numbers in on the silver keypad and then watched as the gate swung open to allow him entrance. He was practically hard just looking at the size of the place.

Pulling in to the center of the half circle drive, he killed the engine and leaned over the passenger seat to take another look at the large house. Whistling low, he stepped out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition - go ahead, he thought with a grin, steal the fucker, you'll be doing me a favor - and made his way to the front door.

The sun had made it's way below the horizon and the dark blue of evening was just settling in as Alex opened the front door and stepped foot inside. He didn't know when his uncle had made his fortune, couldn't even recall right now what it was that he'd made his money doing, but right that moment, Alexander couldn't be happier that he did. It was a lifesaver, perhaps in more ways than one.

Distantly, he heard the unintelligible sound of a television or radio, and remembered then that he wasn't here alone. The lawyers had exchanged a glance when they finally told him about the fiancée, and he wondered not for the first time what he was about to be confronted with. A washed up old whore with one too many boob jobs and a sense of entitlement? A young and stupid piece of arm candy? He didn't remotely know his uncle enough to make any kind of real guess.

"Hello?" he called out, in the general direction of the sound. "Is anyone here?"

His bag had been forgotten in the car, where it stood a good chance of staying forever as far as he was concerned, and so empty-handed, dressed in a simple white t-shirt, faded jeans, and old, worn down cowboy boots, Alex began to make his way in the direction of the noise. Given the size of the place, though, it may be sunrise before he found where it actually was.

"Hello?"

 

[Britwitch]

It had never been about the money, although that was the hidden accusation in every glance that had ever been thrown their way. It had to be about the money.

When people looked at them they just saw an older man with a younger woman and going by her skin tone and accent she was foreign so she was obviously desperate to get out of whatever country she had been born in and was using her charms to wile her way into a visa.
All of which was wrong. Totally and utterly.

Yes, Farah was younger than him, but age was just a number and he was fitter and healthier than lovers she’d had who had been half of his age. Plus it wasn’t as if she was a mindless teenager either, she had her own career and had celebrated her thirty-second birthday a few months before they met. When she saw him she didn’t see his age, she saw the man she had fallen in love with. That he’d experienced more than her and travelled to more places in those extra years just made her a little envious.

No, she wasn’t American, she didn’t want to be. She was proud of the dual heritages she could claim as her own. Egyptian from her father and French from her mother. She had her father’s dark features and her mother’s lilting voice. They had left Port Said for Marseilles when she had been tiny, her mother having been offered a position at the prestigious University there teaching Archaeological History. Farah had always loved reading and had been studying to follow in her mother’s footsteps ever since. Farah Durant had been on a trip back to Egypt to do some ‘field work’ when her path and Thomas’ had crossed. She wasn’t running away from anything in the slightest. After her time in the Suez area she was planning to go on down the Nile to see some of the more historic sites of her homeland for herself. That all changed when she bumped into the millionaire from America.

He was witty and charming and made her laugh so much it hurt. The fact that she thought he had the handsomest smile she’d ever seen was just a bonus. He’d been lost in the twisting streets in the centre of Port Fuad and she’d offered to help him find his way back to the quayside. He offered to thank her with a meal and the rest was history. It was the epitome of a whirlwind romance which was so out of character for her. She was never spontaneous. Everything she did was meticulously planned and rigorously checked. That he had swept her so entirely off of her feet spoke volumes about the level of love she felt for him.

The fact that he had money, and so much of it, was only revealed to her after she’d agreed to go with him across the Atlantic to start a new life together. The numbers he spoke of terrified her, the figures higher than anything she could ever have hoped to earn in her entire lifetime. But that he loved her enough to trust her with that information helped. She was sure he’d been pursued for his fortune in the past, he told her as much himself, and she didn’t blame him for keeping his circumstances quiet until they were sure about what they had together. He could have been a pauper and she’d have still wanted to spend her life with him. Love was about the person not their personal details.

Everything felt right, as if it was meant to be. So right in fact it was only when they were on their way to the US that she realised her passport might prove problematic. Egypt was hardly a tourist destination with the recent problems and everyone knew the reputation Americans had for paranoia at their border control. Thomas had calmed her fears, telling her to use her French passport on a tourist visa and the rest? They’d figure out later, when they were married. She believed him. She trusted him.

But now he was gone.

Farah was trapped. True her prison was a beautiful one. A rambling mansion like house, decorated tastefully, but it was a place she was too frightened to leave. She’d been in the US for too long, her own funds were running out and she daren’t step outside the high walls and gates in case someone had reported the ‘foreigner’ living illegally in the Walcott house.

She was surviving on take away food and getting deliveries from stores that would accept cash on delivery. She knew she couldn’t stay forever but she was at a loss to find a way out. If she went to the airport she’d be detained for being there in the first place, never mind that she was trying to get out of the country and get home. If she tried to find work she’d have just as much trouble.

After a day of trying to come up with a possible solution via the internet and the advice of friends back in Europe, she’d taken a swim in the pool at the rear of the house and had just showered off the chlorine when she thought she heard a car outside. Quickly towelling off her curves she pulled on jeans and a vest, hair still damp as she cautiously padded barefoot from the master suite and towards the living room where she’d apparently left the television on.

As she rounded the corner and was about to reach for the remote to turn it off, she realised she was not alone. Frowning she glanced at the stranger, he seemed as bemused as she did and while his clothes had seen better days, there was something slightly…familiar about him. He was taller than her but then, so were most people. Her mother’s frame was the one she had been blessed with and while that meant she looked good without having to worry too much about what she ate or how she exercised, she would never be able to reach things from the top shelves in a kitchen without help.

“Who are you?” She asked bluntly, clicking off the tv and shifting a hand on a rounded hip and head tipped slightly to the side, causing long, dark brown waves to hang down over one shoulder. “And how did you get in here? This is private property.” She tried not to sound frightened and she tried not to sound foreign.
She knew she didn’t do a very good job on either count. “You can’t just come wandering in here. Who are you? What do you want?”