The poor vs the rich
Myra and Gilbert Dankworth met in the study of his house.
His butler showed her into the brightest study she had ever been in, and then disappeared.
She looked up at the skylights in wonder as she walked toward the white upholstered seats facing the hard wood desk at the end of the room.
The wall behind the desk chair was pure glass that looked out to the garden and on both sides were wall-to-ceiling bookshelves.
“It surprises everyone.”
Myra blinked and turned around to see Gilbert Dankworth standing by the door.
She nodded and said hello.
He always had a way of creeping on her, and she was one to hear even the faintest footsteps.
He gestured to a seat, and she moved around to stand in front, waiting till he took a seat first and then she sat down opposite him, placing her white purse on the seat beside her.
“What did you mean?”
The man looked up and smiled, “No one expects to see a bright study at a congressman’s house.”
“It was tastefully done,” she commented genuinely as she looked around again.
“Oh, thank you.” The man placed his hand to his chest in heartfelt gratitude, then he gave her a brief scrutinizing look, and turned sideways.
She heard the sound of an opening drawer, and then he gently slapped a leather bound book on the table.
“This is the end of your mission.”
Myra raised her eyebrows, “What?”
The man gently pushed the book on the desk towards her, and took his hand off.
She reached for it, and as she opened it, he said, “Tyson Shaw asked you to find answers. He had a preconception and was banking on a particular outcome, but still, even he would be unable to turn away irrefutable evidence.”
Myra stared at the printed-out pages of the pictures she had taken of Valentina’s diary.
What the man said made sense, but knowing her father the way she does now, he might try to pull out some last-minute tricks.
She realized now that from the get-go, the police chief never hoped to find any evidence of Cal’s wrongdoing.
He wanted to create evidence of it. And this worried her.
Because if he somehow got knowledge of Cal’s beachfront property and all that happened there, he would have the upper hand again.
“But I lost the original diary. It might be difficult to prove to the judge that this was truly from Valentina's diary.”
Gilbert Dankworth waved dismissively, “I agree that getting her DNA all over the real diary would have been gold, but forensics can still prove that this is Miss Steel’s handwriting.”
Myra sighed heavily and relaxed, hardly believing that it had all come to an end, and she would be free from now on even though she would be quitting her job in the process.
“So when should I turn it in?”
“Not so fast. Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Myra frowned.
“Cal still does not know who you are. Your vengeful father would destroy your reputation if you close this case like that.”
“I could go to internal affairs,” she said,
Gilbert Dankworth shook his head. “Why do you think Tyson Shaw is doing all this?”
“He wants to win the public's favor for his next election,” she said without hesitation.
Gilbert Dankworth smiled fully at this and stood up.
“That’s only part of the reason, Miss Shaw.” He walked towards the glass wall behind him, and sunk his hands in his pocket, staring outside. “Tyson Shaw’s main goal is to weaken my influence at the congress.”
“Why?”
The man turned to her and walked back to his seat, “I will tell you something now that only a few people know.” He said, and Myra nodded, listening attentively.
“The election this fall may well be the last free election in this country.”
She frowned, confused about what politics and elections had to do with any of this.
“The people that get in this fall will determine the type that will get in, in future years, and just what type of government we will have from now on.
She stared at him, still confused.
“I know you don’t understand any of this, and I’ll explain. “Do you know what separates us from the Third World?”
She shook her head because she was quite certain anything she thought she knew was probably the wrong answer.
“We have more middle class than the rich or poor,” he said, and she blinked, thinking about it.
“Here, you do not have to be wealthy to live a comfortable, fulfilling life, and if you apply yourself you will always have a roof over your head, food for your children and a car in your garage.”
She was watching him as he spoke, forcing her mind to listen to the words instead of wondering why he was telling her this, and what exactly this had to do with the case.
“There is general contentment with this system. But the laws that put this system in place are not exactly favorable to the ultra-wealthy who want to stack their riches to the high heavens.”
She thought about her family, and her father, her grandfather, the Dankworths, Quills, Erringtons and all the other billionaires back at the complex.
“If these people have their way, they are going to manipulate the system to make them richer, and all that gold is not going to rain from the sky. They are going to take and take from the middle class till we have just poor vs rich.”
The man tapped the table and as Myra stared at him, she realized that she had at last found someone willing to eradicate injustice as much as she did.
Not even her colleagues back at the precinct understood her extreme hate of injustice and oppression.
“No one likes to be poor. Without money to pay for gas or provide proper nutrition for their children, it would become a race for everyone to become millionaires and billionaires. When that happens, cops like you will get overworked and witness the most heinous crimes.”
Myra felt a shiver down her spine as mental images of crime scenes she had been to in the past flashed through her mind.