A Chaunce of Riches

He was sitting in the large den feigning patience while waiting for his new assignment to show up. The room was expensively and garishly decorated and Ben wondered about the owner who lived here. As far as he was concerned, the room was merely a boastful display of riches that screamed, 'I think I'm better than you' to all who entered. Ben knew by the address his employer had given him that he was going to be spending some time in the wealthier section of town, but he still had to curb his cynicism when a butler answered the door. People with money had always bugged him ever since he was just a little kid looking, and looking, at all the rich kids' toys.

He thumbed his way through the file he was carrying again. Even though Ben had already read about the case multiple times, it gave him something to do while he waited for the widow of the late Julian Chaunce to make an appearance. He was growing more disgusted by the minute and he silently fumed that she was so inconsiderate of another person's time. But then, as far as Ben was concerned, people with money always thought they were the only thing that mattered anyway.

Chaunce had been a very successful tycoon and was renowned in the publishing world. The trade magazine that had started his company, Chaunce Publications, was still out there and very much alive in the roofing industry. He had sold it years ago and used the tremendous profits to establish new magazines that were all equally successful. Even the security agency Ben worked for had a Chaunce publication delivered to their main office every month. The magazines had called him a self-made man but Ben was convinced that he must have help from somewhere.

Only in his fifties, Chaunce had died suddenly while using a treadmill at a private gym. He left a wife and son and loads of business rivals behind. Now someone was sending threatening notes to the company and the house. Flipping through the folder, Ben frowned and shook his head. The family had tried to keep themselves isolated from the public, probably in an attempt to protect themselves from the same kind of journalists their own publications paid on staff. While there was an occasional headshot of Julian Chaunce, Ben had seen no pictures of the family. He was expecting to see a bland middle-age woman when the door finally opened.

"I am so sorry to keep you waiting. My son was having a bit of a crisis..."

She stopped short as Ben stood up from his chair and turned to face her.

After seeing him her face drained of color. Other than that, he could only think how young she still looked in her light blue slacks and the tailored striped man's shirt she was wearing. Her hips were a little wider, a little womanlier, but she was still as lithe as she ever was. His gaze traveled up to her face. It had been years since he had seen those eyes staring back at him.

"Sam?" His lips felt parched as he managed to say her name.