Chapter 3 - Into the Swamp
Donovan tore through the heavy tropical foliage, the thorns ripping his four-thousand-dollar suit to shreds. The sound of sirens was deafening now. He could hear helicopters chopping through the night sky, their searchlights sweeping the immaculate lawns he had just fled.
He reached the back perimeter wall, scrambled over the wrought-iron fence, and dropped into the muddy, mosquito-infested mangroves that bordered the intercoastal waterway.
He waded waist-deep into the swamp, the foul-smelling water soaking his Italian leather shoes. He pulled out his gold-plated smartphone, his hands trembling violently.
He dialed Chloe, his twenty-four-year-old fiancée. She was supposed to be at their penthouse in Brickell.
"Chloe, babe, listen to me," Donovan gasped as soon as the line connected. "The feds are coming. You need to grab the go-bag from the safe and meet me at—"
"Donovan?" Chloe’s voice was icy. "I saw the news alerts. The SEC just froze all your accounts."
"Chloe, please, I have a backup wallet—"
"I'm not going to prison for a broke fraud, Donovan. I’m leaving the country with the jeweler. Don't ever call this number again."
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The line went dead.
Donovan screamed, throwing the gold-plated phone into the swamp. He was entirely alone. He waded through the muck for three miles until he reached a desolate stretch of highway. He flagged down a weary truck driver, offering him a soggy, hundred-dollar bill for a ride into the darkest, most rundown part of Miami. The king of Palm Beach was now a fugitive in the gutter.
