Mick glanced at the large clock by the police receptionist’s desk. Another twenty minutes had passed since he’d stuck Sarah in a taxi. How long was he expected to wait for Detective Kostas? He’d been feeling perfectly fine sitting there, but now agitation had started stewing in his stomach, an unexplainable sensation of foreboding. As if an unseen danger was lurking just beyond his view. He stood and walked over to the receptionist. “Do you have any idea how much longer Detective Kostas will be?”

“No idea.” The receptionist didn’t even bother looking up this time. His face was like a brick wall.

“Oh, okay.” Mick returned to where he had been sitting, but his seat had been usurped by a man in a hoody, who grinned at him cockily.

“You snooze you lose,” the guy said, flashing a gold front tooth. The guy’s oversized crony sitting next to him cackled. The Mick fresh from the scrabble-hard deserts of Nevada would have enjoyed cracking their heads together, bloodying their noses, and then tossing them out of the front door on their insolent asses. However, experience had taught him that acting on those impulses was one thing when one was young and broke but quite another when one had a high net worth and was in the public eye. Mick had no intention of having his photo splashed over the tabloids and putting up with the inconvenience of another drawn-out lawsuit so some greedy bastard could claim a hefty cash restitution. There was an empty seat across the room. Mick took it and ignored the high five the two bozos gave each other. When Mick made his first million, the world had changed around him. Even people who he had considered friends ceased to see him as human. Looked at him more as an ATM, resented him when he loaned or gave them money. Got angry when he refused. Cash. Screws things up. Look at Sarah and what she’s gone through. Caused Kevin to force her into marriage, to stalk her when she ran. Did he love her? Or was it all about money?

The woman in the seat next to him looked as if she were homeless. She smelled of urine and had very bad BO. Mick stayed put. Didn’t want to hurt her feelings by leaping out of his seat and racing to the far end of the room. He clicked on his cell phone, opened an email from his production manager, Andre Burns, and skimmed through it.

So, I’ve been putting the budget together for FREEDOM. It’s coming in around 5.6 million high. Either you return to the backers and get them to ante up some more cash, or you’ll have to cut the stadium and chase sequence. All those stunts and damned extras are as expensive as hell.

Andre