Second Chance

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

She sat in her bedroom and looked out the window. Up for an hour, awoken by a truck’s backfire, she couldn’t return to sleep. She was nervous. Her prom was this evening. She was apprehensive, unsure of how Micah Vaughn will be.

Antoinette De Fiore met him two years ago while both were at Thompson’s Lake Campgrounds, she with her family, he with an aunt and her friend. From the start, their relationship was different, by her choice. They were together, almost inseparable, the first three days, spending the time getting to know each other. She realized that he was someone special, someone that she wanted to be with, but really would make it impossible.

Fifteen miles separated their homes, but it might as well have been 1500. Neither of them drove. She didn’t live on a direct bus line. They could meet at a mall midway, but that wouldn’t leave them with much privacy. It was her idea for them to be “boyfriend/girlfriend” for the few days they had left at the campgrounds then become friends. She added they could date during holidays and school breaks, an idea with which he whole-heartily agreed.

Antoinette felt Micah was special, different from the other boys she’d dated. She felt he was different that first weekend at camp, and as they spent time together over the years, his actions confirmed her thoughts. Micah was considerate, understanding, and there when she needed a shoulder to cry on, even if it were over the phone.

When her grandmother passed two months after they met, she spent hours on the phone with him. He let her speak; let her get out all the emotions she had inside. When he didn’t turn the conversation around to him, let her get it all it, that’s when Antoinette realized he was someone special.

She asked him to her prom, to escort her, in March. It wasn’t a difficult decision. Antoinette had several boys ask her, but she declined all offers. She knew she wanted Micah to be with her on her special day.

“But what if he’s disappointed in my gown?” she told her mother the previous night. “He told it didn’t matter that I wasn’t wearing an expensive one, but still, I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“Oh, he won’t be,” Antoinette was reassured.

She smiled, remembering how her mother’s words made her feel. She was right, of course. Micah wouldn’t mind. She was just being foolish.

“My God, he doesn’t know many people,” she thought. “He’ll feel like an outcast.”

Antoinette thought for a moment, thinking of his interaction with her friends. He didn’t meet many, just a few of her girlfriends when they met up at the mall. She smiled: he was courteous and laughed with them. She sighed heavily: Again, she was worrying over nothing.

Antoinette blushed. The instant image of him trying something she didn’t want to do - wasn’t ready to do - flashed into her mind. She was a teenage girl. She was a good Catholic. She would think of these things. It was only natural. She knew he wouldn’t do anything against her will, wouldn’t push the boundaries, but she still thought it. Again, she thought she was acting foolishly: she had no worries. Micah was a perfect gentleman around her, not even attempting to touch or ask her to do anything remotely naughty.

She could see the dark clouds off in the distance. They looked like rain was coming. She opened the window and inhale, as Micah taught her. There was a faint smell of rain. She smiled, forgetting all her worries. The rain will help her wash away all her fears and anxieties over tonight.

Antoinette stood and grabbed her bathrobe. She looked at the time, knew that Micah would be back from a morning run. She contemplated calling, but thought better of it. Hearing his voice might calm her, but their talk could cause her to worry all over again.

She headed down stairs to the kitchen for breakfast.

*****

He sat alone, in a back booth, two thick brown file folders in front of him, handed them yesterday as he left the office, given to him by his longtime secretary. Originally, he planned to read them last evening, but decided to wait until the morning. Reading in coffee shops and cafes was what he did as a college student, and he wouldn’t stop now.

Kiliaen Van Rossum was born into privilege and prestige. The Van Rossums were one of the first families to come to Schenectady, having first settled in New Amsterdam before coming north, where they found success as fur traders and merchants, with only the Van Rensselaers having a larger fortune. When the English claimed the colony and renamed it New York, the Van Rossums transitioned well, being able to keep much of their wealth.

During the Revolutionary War, the family lent the New York colony money without hopes of recovering any. The lost half of the wealth, but were fortunate to prosper in the post-War era. The succeeding generations, however, were not so successful, losing all by the good name of Van Rossum. Wealth didn’t return to the family until the mid-1870s, when Johannus Van Rossum was able to sell his small railroad to Cornelius Vanderbilt’s New York Central. With that profit, he invested into companies that worked closely and directly with the railroad monopoly.

Servants and nannies raised Kiliaen, when he wasn’t off to New England boarding schools. Because of this, he grew to have a sense of entitlement and have an heir of arrogance. He graduated from Union College and attended the State University of New York at Albany, leaving before earning a Master’s, having the opportunity to go into business, joining boarding school pals in purchasing a struggling business machine manufacturer. In less than a year, they turned the company around, earning a good market share, enough so that IBM offered to buy them out for $675 million. His portion was $305 million, which he immediately put to use in diversified companies.

In 1980, he returned to Schenectady. He had been working out of New York City, but tax breaks and other incentives, such as a new trade center, from the city and county lured him back. His corporation, Van Rossum and Company, took the two top floors of the Beverwyck Trade Center building number one. With all wealth and power, he could have Saturday breakfast at his manor in Loudonville, but he chose to be in downtown Schenectady, appear to be one of the people. In truth, he couldn’t care about others, but he loved the croissants and coffee the Woodland Café offered. Van Rossum also loved to read in public, especially in cafes. He felt he retained more information that way.

He opened the smaller of the two files and began reading it. Van Rossum personally hired the private investigator, a man that came with impeccable credentials and glowing recommendations as a person that can find the impossible. Gregory Phillips spent 15 years in military intelligence after graduating from the University of Chicago. It was during this time where he made contacts with law officials from New York, contacts he used to garner the expensive information Van Rossum now had before him.

Phillips’s report began with an overview, detailing the events that took place on October 31, 1923. Van Rossum knew them already: he’s heard it told and retold every holiday. What he wanted were the names of the suspects and details of their lives and those of their families since that night. He flipped through the introduction and stopped at the list of suspects.

In 1963, Van Rossum’s uncle, Nathan, commissioned a report, wanting to know how the authorities at the time could not catch the perpetrators, or recover the only item taken, a 17th century painting of an Indian village. That first report noted all the suspects had passed away, most died within a year of the robbery. Van Rossum wanted to know about the families of the suspects, and if there were any others.

Phillips was thorough. He researched the initial reports, along with reading the private notes of the detectives. He found additional names, some of whom didn’t meet with untimely demises. The private investigator also researched the families. Van Rossum fingered through that part of the report and saw nothing interesting. Disgusted, he closed the file and tossed it to the other side of the table.

“Miss, can I have more coffee, please?” he asked as a redheaded server walked past with a half-filled pot. She smiled and poured the hot black liquid into his mug. He thanked her and placed the cup back on the table. He opened the second file and smiled.

This one was less expensive, compiled by his staff and two local historians. Van Rossum wanted to know where possible locations of the painting could be, where rumors had placed it. Family legends said it could be anywhere, from back at the mansion from its original place to be in a closet in the New York State Museum. He wanted a list of them all, all the places where legends and rumors have it. With the locations known, he could narrow it down to plausible places, and then could formulate plans to search for it.

He took a sip of coffee and opened it. He was disappointed. It wasn’t what he expected.

“I know all of these places.”