 
Emotionally Bulletproof - Scott's Story (Book 2)

### The Three, Twelve, and Seventy

By Brian Shaul and David Allen
Copyright

Emotionally Bulletproof Scott's Story - Book 2

The Three, Twelve, and Seventy

By Brian Shaul and David Allen

Copyright 2014 David Allen and Brian Shaul

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.
Acknowledgements

We want to thank certain individuals who have embraced the Emotionally Bulletproof principles.

Thank you to Joel and Ashlee Starn, for the word-smithing they did for this book series.

Eric and Angela Carlson for the months of helping refine these ideas.

Thank you John and Marlys Hall, for their assistance in editing the original manuscripts and openly sharing these ideas with so many people.

Thank you Janette Riehle for your advice and editing expertise.

Thank you Tim Carrick for being Pastor Tim.
Table of Contents

Seek First to Understand

Discussion Questions

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

More From The Authors

Worksheet One

Worksheet Two

Worksheet Three

Worksheet Four
Seek First to Understand

Hello, my name is Scott. Before the authors tell my story, I would like to share with you what has happened so far.

I spent about a year in the Marshall Islands, teaching children at a mission school. I loved it there, but I was forced to leave by the board of directors after an infection in my foot almost cost me my life. My best friend, Janet, had died just weeks earlier in a shipwreck. Both experiences caused me a lot of emotional pain.

I spent a couple weeks in Guam with Chaplain John, who gave me a journal. In it, I learned the first of three lessons that made me the successful life coach I am today: the three legs of trust. People cannot be fully trusted unless they have integrity, can get the job done, and have your best interests in mind. With any of the legs missing, a person's ability to be trusted is compromised. It is a deep lesson that deserves its own separate study, which is why the first book in this series is dedicated to this concept.

After I returned to Alaska, I felt lost, not having anyone with whom to discuss the important issues. Years before, my uncle Matthew connected me with Tim, a pastor. If it were not for him, I would have been really stuck. In this story, I intentionally start developing an inner circle with whom I can discuss my hopes and fears in a safe way, and avoid making the same mistake that may have cost my uncle his life.

What You Need to Know About Your Inner Circle

A person is a person through other persons - Archbishop Desmond Tutu

My story took place in the early nineties. Back then, most people had somebody with whom they could talk about most anything. The authors told me there was a study published in 2006 by the _American Sociological Review_ , about social isolation. Did you know that most people in 1985 had three people who they could talk to about life plans, major decisions, and receive fair, honest criticism?

For many of you today, over seventeen years after my story, that might sound like a luxury. We may know hundreds of people by face and name, and many more through social networks on the Internet, but how many people can you trust to get the job done, have integrity, and have your best interests in mind? Can you talk to anyone comfortably about what matters most to you?

According to that same study, most people in 2006 only had two people, and nearly one out of every four people had nobody. Not one.

I believe that everyone has a great work in them that they cannot do by themselves. It doesn't matter who you are, where you come from, or what you believe. You have that great work inside of you. How can you move forward and do the things that feed your soul and add value to the world around you if there is no one to guide and support you along the way?

There are two problems with the networks we have in our lives. The first is: Too few people to rely on.

The second problem is that some of us are blessed with many people we could turn to: How do we prioritize who we rely on, and how do we spend our time with the many people in our lives who want our attention?

As different as these problems are, both problems lead to the same solution. They were solved by a man who lived in Roman-occupied Israel two thousand years ago.

Few people stirred up so much interest from such humble beginnings as Jesus of Nazareth. He created a legacy that, two thousand years later, has over a billion believers, including myself.

First, He knew His mission: To offer the choice of eternal life to every human being.

Jesus had twelve people He could rely on for most things.

This, however, was not the only group of people He had. There were two more. The first was in Luke 10, where Jesus sent out seventy people into the towns He was about to visit. These people were willing to go out and travel, talking to people and donating their time to support Jesus.

There were several times when Jesus would travel with only three people, leaving everyone else behind. These three were Jesus' closest friends: Peter, James, and John.

What I see happening today is most people having a 70, yet now technology allows us to make that number much larger, sometimes even into the thousands. The problem is with the three and twelve. Most of our three and twelve are circumstantial, and we have those people around us as a result of convenience, lack of preparation, or even blind chance. This doesn't mean everyone in our three or twelve are bad, but it does mean that we have a choice in who stays in our three and who stays in our twelve.

If you could take anything from this book and just run with it, I would pick for you these five lessons:

**Put high trust people in areas of high responsibility, and low trust people in lower areas of responsibility. -** People who don't have all three legs of trust should not be in your three. If you have access to many people, fill your twelve and seventy with high trust individuals. To avoid conflict, slowly move low trust people from your three down to your twelve, then your seventy, and if possible, out of your life. Doing this in a step by step process will make it more natural, which is how most people get their current three and twelve anyway.

**Find mentors who are of a higher trust than you, and study with them. -** You may often find that higher trust people do not naturally gravitate towards you. That is normal. Everyone has blind spots in the three legs of trust that require the insight of someone else to bring awareness to them. Find a mentor. You may be surprised how much time high trust people spend looking for other people who want to improve their lives. If this makes you uncomfortable, you can get a life coach. Life coaches are basically lifeline relationships for rent. They can temporarily step into your three and give you the insight that you may be missing, in exchange for payment for their time.

**Know where to find high trust relationships -** Study concepts like these in groups of people who also want strong networks of trustworthy people. Volunteer organizations are also great places to build relationships like this.

**Become somebody people can rely on -** One of the best ways to learn is to teach. Start a group of people who want to learn about trust. Giving a helping hand to someone else is a very fulfilling thing to do.

**Constantly re-evaluate your three, twelve, and seventy -** Choosing who you spend time with and who you focus your energy on is an ongoing process that continues throughout your life. Evaluate using the three legs of trust as a guideline, remember what you want to do in life, and adjust at least every three months.

Here are key points in your life when you will need to look at your three, twelve, and seventy:

Changing jobs

Moving to a new location

Going to another church

Changing positions within an organization

When tragedy strikes

Before I let the authors tell my story, I wanted to leave a gift with you, which you'll find at the end of the book. The authors worked with me to develop some worksheets, which I am proud to present to you. After you read, you can fill out the papers or make copies so that you can use what I learned to improve the quality of your own life.

By learning about trust, then using the three, twelve, and seventy as a context for your social life, you will gain a strong group of supporters who will be there to pick you up when you fall and celebrate when you have your victories. That's why this book was written.

Enjoy the story, and God bless you!

\- Scott Calloway
Discussion Questions

These questions can be used to start discussions after reading each chapter in a weekly book study.

In your life, has your inner circle of friends been a positive or negative influence?

As you have learned more about the three, twelve, and 70, what will you do differently in the future?

In this chapter, which characters benefited because of knowledge of the three, twelve, and 70?

In this chapter, which characters suffered because of a lack of knowledge of the three, twelve, and 70?

How often should we review our Three, Twelve, and 70?
Chapter One

Scott beat his fist on the steering wheel of his red pickup truck. The sun was setting as he drove away from his parents' house. He knew where he was going, but the realization of how messed up home had become was hitting him hard.

"It seems all my dad cares about is that jerk, Owen. All I did was ask about Matthew's old boat. We were just talking about going fishing. If anything, I was doing exactly what I was told; trying to be social." After several miles, he reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a mix-tape of some of his favorite songs from years ago. As the voice-boxed guitar intro of Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer" kicked in, he let the loud blaring of music overlap the chaos in his head.

He had just returned from a whole year teaching at a mission school in the Marshall Islands. After his girlfriend's death, and after a minor infection grew into a life-threatening situation, the board of directors for the mission school forced him to leave.

When he thought about it, getting kicked out of his parents' house gave him what he wanted. "I guess it's not so bad," Scott said, attempting to reassure himself.

He rolled down the driver's-side window and allowed the cold breeze to brush past his face. He still had not adjusted to the change in temperature, as he had only left the islands for Alaska two days earlier. The wind dove in through the window and blew his red afro.

_It has been so long since I've been surrounded by spruce trees,_ he thought. The only trees that he saw the last year were tropical island trees, and he had many good memories of both the Marshalls and Guam. His mind replayed the past week's events that occurred before coming home: his near-death swim with sharks, meeting Laura, the lessons he learned reading Uncle Matthew's diary, and his conversations with John. Scott remembered that John had invited him to return for more snorkeling.

Right now, that sounds great.

Just a few days ago, John was convincing him that going home was part of God's plan. "Something about learning to embrace your pain instead of running away," Scott said to himself. Getting kicked out was painful. Living at home was painful. "Is there a painless option, God?" he asked, glancing at the sky so anyone up above could see the serious look on his face.

The mix tape changed to Def Leppard's "Armageddon It." "Take it, take it, take it from me, I got an itchy finger following me." Scott stopped mouthing the words mid-song. A lot had changed since he put that mix-tape together. He turned it off. It sounded like a sad reality. He had just gotten over the feeling that God had taken everything away, and that problems just continued to follow him wherever he went: his girlfriend Janet died, he almost died, and he got kicked out of his parent's house. It all kept piling up.

As he thought about what his Uncle John had said, that God had a plan for him, he realized something. "Every time something bad happens, it points the way to a tool to help me next time."

If he hadn't been forced to leave the Marshalls early, he never would have read Matthew's journal, and he never would have learned the truth about Owen -- the truth about Matthew's murder. Scott was sure his Uncle Matthew didn't just fall off a roof. There must have been foul play involved. If the journal was right, that foul play came from Owen.

Just that day at his parent's home, Scott had seen Owen screaming at Tiffany, who left the dinner table in tears. Owen stormed out after her, continuing to harass his wife until they drove away. His whole family blamed Scott, ignoring Owen's role in the fight. All Scott could do was watch in amazement. Scott's father, Robert, made a choice between his best friend and his son, by asking Scott to leave. "How on earth can Dad still be friends with that guy?" asked Scott. "Owen can't be trusted."

_Speaking of trust,_ he thought. _If I hadn't met John in Guam, I never would have met Laura or learned about trust._ In the diary, he relearned about the three legs of trust: getting the job done, having integrity, and having other people's best interests in mind. Scott now understood the life lessons Matthew had tried to teach him before he died.

Scott felt very weak. _Still, How can I 'embrace my pain' or 'be a better man' when the source of my pain won't give me a chance to fix it?!_ He couldn't learn to deal with his parents if they kicked him out.

Scott slowed as he came to a four-way stop. Across the street to his right, a gas station stood alone. A suburban was parked behind one of the pumps. He made his way there to fill up his tank and get something to drink.

As he pulled into the station, he heard screams. Scott recognized the familiar voice. He looked towards the suburban and saw Tiffany and Owen coming out of the gas station. Owen staggered to the front door, carrying a 12-pack of beer in his right hand.

Scott hesitated, remembering John's warning to be careful around Owen. Still, he hated to see his aunt yelled at like that.

"You don't need another drink, Owen, just calm down and let me drive," she begged. "You really don't know when to shuddap, don't you? If you're in such a hurry to get away from me, then stop telling me what I need and don't need!" Owen's face was red and the sweat coming off his face mixed with whatever was spewing from his mouth.

"You're drunk, Owen. You can't drive home like that!"

"Ooh, really Tiff?" Owen spat curses that seemed to shake Tiffany as she heard them. "Yer ignorant. Don't dare question me again!"

He stumbled into the Suburban parked by the gas pump and started the car. Tiffany tried to get in on the passenger side, but the door was locked from the inside. "Please, Owen! Stop!" She was choking back tears now.

Scott couldn't contain himself any longer. He jumped out of the truck he had just parked and ran to Tiffany. By the time he got there, all he could do was pull Tiffany off the sideboard as the vehicle lurched forward. They both fell down when their feet met unevenly with the concrete below. As Scott scrambled to his feet, he could see Owen slumped forward with one eye half-closed, looking straight at him, with an irrational grin on his face. Owen then made a crude hand gesture and hit the accelerator. Scott heard a loud, scraping noise as the concrete pipe protecting the pump left its mark along the vehicle's left side.

The screeching continued for several seconds before the vehicle took to the road, barely missing a Jeep that sped by.

A middle-aged attendant wearing a flannel shirt and blue jeans ran out, looking very nervous. "Are you two alright?"

Tiffany could only nod.

"Yes, but that man is drunk, you've got to call the cops," Scott said.

"I will. I thought he was trouble when he was threatening you back in my store. It's a relief that no one got hurt here. Can you guys stay until the cops arrive?"

"Sure thing."

About ten minutes passed. Scott had time to brush off the scrapes on his knees, talk to the attendant, and fill up his gas tank. Tiffany had stood up and began pacing back and forth, able to talk, but still shaken. By the time Scott paid his bill, two cars with flashing red and blue lights showed up at the four-way stop. One sped past in the direction Owen had driven and the other pulled into the station.

A tall, serious-looking officer got out of his parked car and made his way toward Scott and Tiffany. He had a huge, dark mustache and a pistol on his right hip. The policeman extended his hand. "Evening, young man. I'm Officer Solomon Fisk. Another officer is already in pursuit of the intoxicated driver. I have questions for you, you, and the attendant inside. Please stay right here."

"Yes, sir," Scott said.

The officer entered the convenience store. Scott's mind was moving in many directions, both excited and a little nervous about what had just happened. It wasn't long, however, before Officer Fisk emerged from the store and approached him again.

"The attendant informed me of what happened in his store, that you tried to keep him from driving while intoxicated, then he threatened you, is that right?" Fisk looked straight at Tiffany, who nodded her head.

"He...he did...I'm scared." Tiffany still hadn't calmed down yet, but she was very cooperative.

"We have a video of part of the fight that took place in the gas station, and..." A voice was heard from inside the car. "Just a minute." The officer ran to his car, Scott overheard the police radio, mentioning DWI and several number codes that he didn't understand.

Solomon Fisk returned to Scott and Tiffany. "We have the man detained on the side of the road. The vehicle still seems in good condition except for the scrape, and he'll be spending the next several nights in jail. Could you follow my vehicle in your truck, young man?"

"Yes, officer," Scott said.

"We need you to come, too," stated Officer Fisk, looking at Tiffany.

"Do I have to?" she asked.

"You are his wife, right?" he asked.

"Yes..."

"Typically, the vehicle would be impounded, but in this case you can take the vehicle home if you want to. In the meantime, your husband will remain in our custody for several days, and it should be for much longer if there's proof he threatened you. Follow me."

Scott and Tiffany climbed into the red pickup truck.

The two followed Officer Fisk past the gas station and through several miles of forest. It wasn't long before they saw flashing lights behind Owen's Suburban. Fisk passed the two stopped vehicles, parking in front. He then motioned for Scott to pull over further ahead.

The first thing they noticed was that Owen was against the side of the car, having been handcuffed by the other officer. Owen glared to his left and saw Tiffany, who looked straight back at him.

"You idiot! Phoning the cops on me! Do you know how much this will cost?!" Owen yelled as the officer opened the back door of the police car.

Owen resisted at the last second by refusing to bend over, hitting his head on the roof of the car. Officer Fisk smiled, watching the younger officer's struggle.

"Get off of me, you pig." Owen raged, the pain of hitting his head adding fuel to his anger. "Tiff! You better learn to shut up when it's best for you!"

Tiff seemed more confident, watching Owen beat himself up from a distance. "Oh yeah?" she replied, still a safe distance from him. "You're crazy if you think I'm ever speaking to you again!"

Owen finally got pushed into the car. From the back seat and through the open front door, his screams were just as loud as if he was still outside.

"Speaking?!" Owen yelled. "I'll shut you up for good, you nagging woman. I've done it before with your last husband. You know I can do it again! Get me..."

The front door slammed shut, and the young officer approached Scott, Tiff, and Fisk. "Drunk people get so crazy sometimes," he said. He was still catching his breath from his struggle to detain Owen. "That last bit got onto our recording device in the vehicle, so that should be evidence enough to keep him locked up much longer."

"How long?" Scott asked.

Fisk explained. "No less than 90 days, possibly more than a year if he's found guilty of threatening. It sounded like he may have killed someone too, so if he's convicted of that, he's looking at a life sentence. Of course, for threatening and for murder, we would need more evidence." Fisk turned in Tiffany's direction. "In the meantime, it would be best to get a restraining order."

Tiffany remained silent for several seconds before looking up at Fisk. "How soon can I do that?"

"I can help you with that first thing tomorrow morning, if you come into the station."

Tears of relief came from Tiffany's eyes. "I'll do it, then."

"In that case," Scott said, "I have something I need to show you. I just found it last week."
Chapter Two

Scott knocked on the door of Pastor Tim's house. It had been a long day, and he had nowhere else to go. All he had with him was his backpack, and a suitcase. Tim opened the door, the one person Scott knew he could trust. It was 9:30 p.m. and Tim was still wide awake. A smile brightened his face.

"Scott! Good to see you! I didn't expect you until tomorrow." Tim seemed to project positive emotion the same way a candle chased away darkness. Even Scott felt energized. "Come on in." Tim motioned with his hand and Scott entered.

Scott looked to his right, where a dark brown couch was positioned across from a fireplace on the other side of the room. Scott went to the couch and sat down, tempted to fall asleep, but hoping to talk a little and stay awake.

"A lot has happened today," Scott said. "I had dinner with my family. That's how it all started. From there it went to a big fight between Owen and Tiffany. I got kicked out of the house, and I ended up calling the cops on Owen, who was driving drunk. Now he's in jail for drunk driving, for threatening his wife, and for bragging about murdering Matthew."

"Owen is usually a very smooth talker. I'm surprised he would say something that outrageous," Tim said, pulling a chair from the dining room and setting it in the living room across from Scott.

"He was really drunk."

Scott reached into his backpack and pulled out a hardcover green book with the word **Journal** etched into its front. "I may have to turn this in to the police station tomorrow as evidence." He handed Matthew's journal to Tim, bookmarked at the most incriminating parts.

As Tim leafed through its pages, Scott told him how Matthew's brother, John, had found it in a storage unit a few weeks earlier. John took it with him to Guam, then gave it to Scott to read. Inside, it talked about Owen; how Matthew had suspected him of stealing supplies from his company, and how Matthew was sure his wife was having an affair with him.

"I was worried about Matthew's wife marrying Owen so soon, especially because of the talks I had with Matthew before he died," Tim said. "Tiffany rarely attended my church before Matthew's funeral and after that she stopped completely. I never got a return call from her when I tried to contact her."

Scott then told Tim about having to go to the police station with Tiffany the next morning.

Tim's son, Mark, emerged from the hallway to the right of the fireplace. He was just a few inches shorter than his father, making him about 6 feet tall. He had short brown hair that looked like it was trimmed with an electric razor. His face was clean-shaven.

"There you are, Scott! Dad told me you were back. I was wondering when I'd see you over here."

"Just got back from the Marshalls a few days ago. It's been a long night." Scott yawned, yet didn't want to look disinterested in talking to Mark. In high school, Mark had been a local sports hero, captain of their football team. While on Ebi, Scott had wondered several times what he was up to; whether he'd won any more Taekwondo competitions, what mountains he had climbed, or how far he'd gone selling cars. As far as Scott could see, Mark looked tanner and had more muscle than before. Tim and his son looked vastly different from each other. Tim had a long beard, Mark did not. Tim had a wardrobe of mixed quality, and Mark looked like he was born in an upscale New York clothing store.

"Alright then. We've got to talk later. I'm sure you have lots of great stories. I gotta go right now, though. Our friend from school, Sam, is getting married tomorrow and I was just on my way to congratulate him at his bachelor party."

Scott remembered Sam. He was on his school's swim team and had gotten baptized just before Scott left for the Marshall Islands. "I'm too tired right now for celebration, but tell him congratulations for me."

"Of course." Mark was already out the door.

Scott sighed. "I wish I could have known earlier, but even if I did, I'm just too tired."

Tim looked back at Scott, sympathy on his face. "You guys do have a lot to talk about. While you were in the Marshalls, Mark spent six months at a Christian school in Italy, helping to teach physical education while learning Italian. He got back just about two weeks ago, and Sam asked him to be the best man in his wedding. He's been working on that ever since he got back."

He ran a hand through his silver beard. "You've had a crazy night. It's late and you're probably tired. Are you able to sleep right now?"

Scott thanked him, needing no second invitation. Tim disappeared behind a door in the hallway and then reappeared with several blankets and a pillow. He tossed them to Scott. "You can use the couch for now if you want, and if you plan on staying longer than tonight, let me know tomorrow and I'll see if I can break out the inflatable bed."

Scott took the blankets. A broad smile spread across his face.

"What's in your head, Scott?" Tim asked.

Scott laughed. "I never even had the chance to unpack at home."

Tim wished him goodnight, and within minutes, Scott was asleep.

*****

The next morning, Scott dragged himself off of the couch, alarm blaring on the lamp table next to his backpack. It was 7:15 a.m. Tim must have placed it there, as Scott had forgotten to take an alarm clock when he left his house. He blinked several times as he adjusted to his surroundings. He still had all his clothes on from the day before.

Today was the second half of what Scott would later call the "Owen incident." Luckily, he would not need to talk to Owen or see him from now on. It was just him and his aunt. With that thought in mind, Scott left a note thanking Tim, asking if he could sleep there for a week, and walked out the front door.

As he left the house, there were no cars in the driveway. Mark was still out, preparing for the wedding that would take place today, and it looked like Tim would be performing the ceremony at the church he pastored. Despite his disappointment about Janet's death, and the few days that ended awkwardly in Guam with Laura, Scott would have liked to attend the wedding instead of going to the police station. He sighed as he got into the truck.

"Duty calls," he said to himself.

The Wasilla police station was right across the street from Cottonwood Creek Mall, the only large shopping center in town, which was anchored next to the supermarket. As Scott pulled into the parking lot, he could see three police cars parked by the entrance, and right next to them was Tiffany's scratched Suburban, parked backwards into the parking space. Tiffany emerged from the vehicle as soon as she saw Scott.

After parking, Scott approached her, with Matthew's journal in his hands. "Did you sleep?"

Tiffany shook her head. "No, but I think I might take a nap after this. I'm not real tired though. What is that?" She pointed at the book in Scott's hands.

Scott proceeded to tell her about the journal, what it said, and where he had found it. When he had finished, it was Tiffany who spoke first. "Before we go in, can I read it?"

The lighted sign next to the mall flashed the time and temperature before advertising the latest deals on smoked salmon. "It's only 8:30. We aren't expected for another half hour. Let's get into your car, Tiff. It's warmer in there."

Tiffany read the contents of the journal for the first time. Scott could tell by watching her that she felt closer to Matthew now than she had since before he died. "I...have something to say to you, Scott."

He looked up from the journal.

"About those new age books I gave you after Matthew's death. They weren't his. They were mine and Owen's. Owen suggested I give them to you."

Scott remembered those books. They looked almost brand new. They looked much too new to have been read as much as the ripped-up edges of Matthew's journal and the Bible that he had always had with him. He remembered reading the books, liking almost all of what they said, but seeing all around him the results of their message. He thought instantly of Tony, who was so intent on bending everyone to his will that he wouldn't admit fault, even to a crazed mob of machete-wielding islanders. If Tony had only listened to those around him and had their best interests at heart, the mission boat wouldn't have sunk and Janet would still be alive.

"That's way back in the past, Tiff," Scott said reassuringly. "You don't need to worry about that now."

Tiffany ignored him. "Matthew talked about trust all the time. He would go to Tim's house and study several times a week. Then he would always think of how he could have others' best interests in mind, and that usually meant making a little less money. I hadn't seen him think of others like that since he was dating me. He didn't love me less than before, but I got jealous and started disagreeing with him because of it. Even when we were making more money, I still fought with him. When Owen started working for Matthew, Owen and I just talked a lot for several months. Then our financial situation just got worse and I kept blaming it on Matthew... All I am saying is, if I had just humbled myself for a second and had listened to Matthew and what he tried to show me, I wouldn't have made so many mistakes. If I had understood where the materials and money were disappearing, I wouldn't have blamed Matthew. When Owen started seeing me seriously, I would have recognized the lack of integrity he had and would not have put more trust in him, just because I wanted Matthew to be wrong."

Scott gave her a hug. "Tiffany, you didn't kill your husband. Matthew knew Owen couldn't be trusted either, and didn't deal with it for several months. It just took longer to learn about the three legs of trust because you were deceived. I made the same mistake for several years after reading those books. If I had someone like Owen around me so much and read as much as you had, I may not have remembered anything of what Matthew taught me. This journal helped me remember better, and it helped you learn, too. That's what Matthew wanted. Having trust can change people's lives. His lessons are still alive even years after his death."

A knock was heard on the window of the Suburban, causing Scott to turn around and look outside. Officer Solomon Fisk stood outside the window. Tiffany motioned for Scott to roll down the window.

"Thank you, Officer. We'll be inside soon. We just need a minute."

"Very well, ma'am." Officer Fisk glanced down at the now-closed book. "Is this what you wanted to show me?" He pointed.

Scott looked at Tiffany, who answered. "Yes it is, Officer. In fact, we're ready now."

Fisk headed for the doors. "Let's go inside, then."

The process took several hours. Officer Fisk asked questions of Tiffany and Scott. Scott delivered the journal, which was admitted as evidence. They talked on the phone by conference with a prosecuting attorney to discuss future actions. Soon after, Officer Fisk faxed the restraining order from his office to the courthouse. He informed both Scott and Tiffany that usually the restraining order would be temporary, but since Owen had threatened her and was a murder suspect, the severity of the case had created a need for a more permanent restraining order.

"Owen will stay detained by the state of Alaska until his court date, with a very high bail, until convicted or exonerated," Fisk said. Lastly, they met with a detective named Thomas Hoffman, who told them he would be investigating further into Matthew's death and that if they had any more information, they should tell him as soon as possible.

By noon, Tiffany and Scott were walking out of the station into the parking lot.

"Thanks for helping me out with this, Scott," Tiffany said.

Scott smiled. "I'm glad to be done with it. I'm sure you are even more relieved. You can finally get some rest."

"Well...not really." Tiffany hesitated.

"Why not? What's the matter?" Scott asked.

"I still have to pay one of our employees who didn't get paid last week, and he's coming over to my house in a few hours. On top of that, well, Owen left several big jobs unfinished, and I can't pay my mortgage without those jobs getting completed. I don't know anything about how to build. I don't suppose I can ask you to manage the employees and make sure they get those jobs done?"

Scott stared at Tiffany, hardly able to believe what she was telling him. "You want me to manage Owen's company?"

"Owen can't anymore. I know you probably don't want to, but you don't have a job right now and I can pay you. Right now, a little more than half of the money from the jobs goes to pay the employees and keep the business going. I only need a third to live on right now, maybe less, now that I'm living on my own. You can keep the difference of whatever income the jobs bring in."

Scott didn't want to manage Owen's business. _However,_ he thought, _when I worked for Matthew, I made decent money. The only other alternatives right now are working part-time at the grocery store, doing sales jobs, which I hate, or depending on my dad for money. Fat chance of that ever happening._

Scott made up his mind. "Okay, I'll visit you tomorrow after you've rested so we can talk, then you can tell me what I need to know."

"Thank you, Scott. It's a lot of pressure off of my shoulders. I knew I could count on you."

"Sure. I'll see you later, then." As Scott got into his truck, and drove away, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The moment felt so strange. He was now foreman of Davis Construction and Renovation, a company owned by a man in jail for drunk driving, threatening, and maybe even murder. The 'Owen incident' had extended in time far beyond the foreseeable future, yet the new turn of events made it seem more manageable.

*****

That evening, Scott's dad, Robert Calloway, received a visit from Detective Thomas Hoffman and was ordered to come to the police station the next day for questioning. His best friend Owen had been too talkative and now he was in trouble, too. He ate dinner in an awkward silence and failed to maintain the normal, rational mindset that he thought came naturally to him as a psychologist. Feeling that the day's events were too overwhelming, he decided to go to bed early so he could have a fresh mind the next day. He called his secretary at her house and told her he would not be taking any appointments; he was taking the day off. As he hung up the phone, he started upstairs to the bedroom. Before he made it up, there was a knock on the door.

"Not again." Robert made his way back to the door and opened it. His sister, Tiffany Davis, was standing at the entrance. "Hey sis, come in." His words were inviting but his tone was forced. It was all he could manage.

"Is something wrong?" Tiffany asked, walking in and taking a seat on the couch. Robert sat down as well.

"I'm taking the day off tomorrow. Even though I don't have the money...I need it anyway."

"Did I come at a bad time?"

Robert forced a grin and sat up straight. He was running on energy he was borrowing from his already tired body. "It just feels late to me, that's all." He leaned forward in his chair. "Would you like some coffee, Tiff?"

"Sure," she said.

Robert walked to the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. "I still feel bad about what happened here when you and Owen were having dinner with us."

"Yeah?" Tiffany seemed surprised and a little cold.

"Why now?"

He took a deep breath. He didn't know what to expect from his sister. He had let similar situations, shouting matches, and bullying behavior pass by without saying anything for five years, and it had just continued to get worse.

"Circumstances have made a change recently," he explained. "I realized I may have put you in a bad situation, and I don't want to inconvenience you any more than I already have. I am just learning the hard way that permitting horrible things to occur around me indirectly makes me just as guilty."

"That's not true, Robert."

"Maybe it isn't, but perceptions are important. They affect reality. You already know that. You've read about it. The reputation of our whole family is at stake. People talk, and I can't control it all. I can't hold it all back. Even if I don't care what others think, it's important to this whole family and to my practice that I uphold a certain image. Of course, I don't blame you if you want space to deal with all of it."

That was as close as Robert was going to get to an apology. Tiffany understood that. Watching him suffer gave her a sense of justice, which seemed rewarding, but she had other things to say to him that would ease her brother's anxiety, and those were more important.

"Thank you, Robert. Thank you for reminding me that you care. Owen is in jail, you know. He is going to stay there until he meets bail or until his court date. Then he may be locked up for much longer."

Robert knew. He hadn't told her about the police visit, but was sure she could guess how much he knew. "It was an inevitable reality and I should have prepared us all. Maybe now we can start putting it behind us."

"Not yet, Robert," she interrupted.

Robert looked at his sister, hating not being in control but glad she came to visit him. _Time to face the music,_ he thought. Just as he thought he was going to get a lecture, she continued.

"There are things that need to be done before that happens." She opened up her purse and pulled out a check, handing it to Robert.

Robert stared at the check, with Owen's company letterhead on it. His eyes widened. "Two hundred thousand dollars?!" It was almost as much as he made in a year. "Your husband goes to jail and you give me two hundred thousand dollars? Why?"

"This isn't a gift, Robert. Owen borrowed that much from you the first year he took control of the company. He needed it to keep the company going," she continued. "Earlier today, I had to unlock the desk in my husband's office. I needed his checkbook to pay one of our employees who showed up at my house for his check. Usually the keys are always with Owen, but since he's in jail, I had to take care of it. What I didn't expect to find was two different checkbooks, each to a different account. The account I just discovered had five hundred thousand dollars. The deposit was all on one ledger line dated on September of last year."

Robert could hardly believe it. "Owen had that kind of money just laying around for almost a year, and he didn't pay me back this entire time?"

"The ledger said, 'estate of Patricia Davis,'" Tiffany said.

Robert recognized the name. "His mom. I knew she died, but never bothered to ask questions about it. Owen acted like he was too uncomfortable to talk about it, so I thought it best to leave the matter alone."

If Robert had any reluctance to testify against Owen, it was fading fast. "Thanks, Tiff. Even if it's not a gift, it still is a reminder of who I should be more loyal to," he said.

"I know you're tired, so I'm going to leave you alone. I'm sure you have a busy day tomorrow." Tiffany closed her purse and headed for the door.

Robert gave a small laugh. "You know it." She opened the door and was about to leave when he spoke again.

"One last thing, Tiff. You've seen my son recently. I know you have. Keep an eye on him for me. Make sure he pulls his own weight and doesn't act like a freeloader. He needs to grow up and manage himself. I still hope one day he can achieve the independence that Phillip has."

"Scott?" Tiffany smiled. "I think he'll do alright. He's actually my favorite, you know that?"

Her reaction surprised him. Robert shrugged it off and waved goodbye to her. "Alright, see you later."

After the stress of the day, Robert felt that two hundred thousand dollars was a good way to end it. He closed the door and walked upstairs.
Chapter Three

It was early when Robert arrived at the police station. He entered and saw Hoffman waiting for him with another officer.

"Mr. Calloway. I've been waiting. Please follow me." Hoffman made his way down a hallway. Robert walked close behind him with the second officer following. _This is uncomfortable, being followed by a cop into a room by myself,_ he thought. It was certainly the nightmare of many people, and he imagined all the news stories he had seen on TV of police brutality, and people admitting to things they didn't do, just out of fear. _I won't say anything I don't want to_. _They can't make me._

Hoffman opened the first door on his right and ushered the two men inside. Robert's expectations did not meet what he saw. The room had tan vinyl tile. The chairs had arms and there were several on each side of the wooden table. An incandescent light hung over the room, spreading its warm glow across the floor. It was nothing like the gray-walled room with the long, double-sided mirror he had expected to see. He wasn't even cuffed. As Hoffman motioned for him to take a seat closest to the door, Robert's nervousness subsided. They had no intention of bullying him. As he thought about it, he was the one beating himself up the most.

"How fast this goes depends completely on how you choose to answer, how much you want to cooperate, and how ready you are to leave this all behind you," Hoffman stated plainly.

Robert leaned forward. "Ask what you want. I'll answer."

"Very well." The officer handed Hoffman some paper and a pen, then sat down next to him, leaning backward and watching Robert from across the table.

"First off, how long have you known Owen Davis?" asked Hoffman.

"Since around 8th grade. We grew up in this town, and it was smaller back then. Most people could end up knowing everybody if they tried."

"Next, did you know of any animosity existing between Matthew Tanner and Owen Davis?"

"Owen told me that he and Matthew disagreed on issues of philosophy, but from what I could see it never stopped Owen from doing his job. Matthew never told me anything, either."

"Did you, during the time of Matthew's death, gain any financial interest in his company before Owen started acting as CEO?"

"I gave Owen several loans a few years ago. He had been CEO for about half a year by then."

Hoffman took some notes, then continued. "Does Owen have a history of domestic abuse or anger issues?"

Robert took this opportunity to distance himself. "I've never seen or heard of him hitting my sister, but his problem with alcohol has gotten worse and the verbal fights are worrying both me and my family."

"Did you know during the time of Matthew's death whether or not Owen Davis was present at the job site?"

"Owen told me himself, sir. He told me that he saw it happen."

"Are there any suspicions you may have had suggesting that foul play was involved in Matthew's death?

Robert took a second to think. "Yes...there were several. Owen made several sexual references about being with my sister before Matthew died. I thought he was joking, even though I was offended. I confronted him and he apologized, but within days he had too much to drink when we went fishing and did it again. Right about the time Owen became CEO, he celebrated at the house of one of his friends, and I was invited. At the party, he spray-painted a circle on the driveway, laid a watermelon on the circle in the gravel, and took a broken skill saw onto the roof. He bragged he could smash the watermelon by dropping the skill saw on it from two floors up. He did. It was a shameless act of foolishness and not the best party trick he'd thought of, due to how Matthew had died and with Tiffany being at the party. Luckily, she was inside and didn't see it, but it gave me chills. He then climbed down, grabbed half and bit right out of the center, and gave the other half to me. I had to leave about that time, because I noticed one of my sons had been sneaking alcohol and getting sick. I wasn't proud of that, but I was relieved I had an excuse to leave early."

As Robert thought back over the series of questions and how he had answered, he realized that his answers didn't reflect very well on him, and that he had not distanced himself much from Owen. Owen was placed at the site when Matthew died, and Owen had a motive to murder Matthew. Other than that, all that could be pinned on Owen was that he was a crude, politically incorrect man while intoxicated, which wasn't a secret.

"Owen was definitely there when it happened, showed very little remorse about Matthew's death, and proved in front of several witnesses that he was capable of committing the crime, even while under the influence. That's what we have so far. Can you name some of the people at the party?"

"Yes, sir." Robert gave the names of three people who had been there. "Is that all?" he asked.

Detective Hoffman finished writing and handed the paper to the other officer, asking him to make copies. He then turned to Robert. "No. We're about half done, and we would like you to help us get a confession from Owen."

An hour later, Robert found himself in the back seat of a police car, with Hoffman in front and another officer driving. He wasn't cuffed, and he reminded himself he was only being chauffeured to the Palmer correctional facility, not incarcerated. The car made a final turn on the paved road leading through the woods and arrived in front of a large building surrounded by razor wire fence. A few orange-vested inmates were raking leaves under close supervision of security guards as the car entered the parking lot.

"Now remember," Detective Hoffman explained, "the visitors room is going to be bugged for sound. What we are looking for is proof that Owen was on the same floor of the building as Matthew was before the fall, whether they were arguing during the time of the accident, and whether they were alone at the time. If you can obtain a direct admission from Owen that he knocked the piece of plywood into Matthew, causing his fall, then we got him for sure. With the skill saw hitting Matthew on the head after the fall, his death was clearly murder and not involuntary manslaughter."

"I still don't know how I'm going to do this," Robert said. "How am I going to probe him like that without him getting suspicious?"

Hoffman smiled. "You're a psychologist, aren't you? Shame him, anger him, analyze the heck out of him. I really don't care. Just use what you've got and you will walk away from this."

Robert felt nervous. If he failed with a client, he might get a phone call from an angry mother or another session of billable hours, but this time his reputation would be seriously damaged if he didn't perform and deliver. He breathed slowly, reminding himself to stay calm. One of the reasons he got along with Owen so well was because he could make Owen feel whatever he wanted him to feel. Unless, of course, Owen had too much to drink.

Hoffman escorted Robert through the visitors' door, where they had already been given authorization to get into the visitation room. Robert had seen the prison before and had in the past convinced several judges that a mental institution was a better home for several convicts than the confines of a prison cell. While Hoffman and the other officer stayed out of view, Robert walked into the room. It was the same as it always had been. There were no phones and glass, just a simple room with several semi-comfortable chairs. Soundproof glass walls separated the room from the hallways that contained the inmates. In the middle of the room was a table that sat low to the ground.

Robert waited. After several minutes, a guard escorted Owen into the room. The guard uncuffed him and left the two alone. Owen half-smiled, giving Robert a sick feeling in his stomach. _This guy doesn't understand a thing, does he?_ he thought.

"Look at what they've done to me now," Owen said.

"Rough stuff," said Robert.

"I'm glad you're here, my friend. I have something I need to tell you, and it's best you come closer to me to hear it. I don't know how much others may be listening or watching, but it should be fine if you just don't touch me."

"Touch you?" Robert came closer, until he was a foot away from Owen. Trying hard not to be serious, he laughed and slapped Owen on the shoulder, causing him to flinch in surprise. "Touch you? I'm married! Don't be trying any weird stuff on me."

Owen smiled, too nervous to laugh. He glanced around, searching the room.

"Chill out, Owen. I've been to this place three times already. I've seen exactly how they are in the back rooms. They read newspapers, only checking an alarm clock every now and then to know when your time's up. You could threaten the Pope and no one would care. Have a seat and tell me what you need to."

Owen sat down in one of the closest chairs and leaned forward. "Tiffany was overreacting, calling the cops on me. It's understandable from Scott's perspective, and he can easily get people acting a certain way. He's never been in a serious relationship before, never got the control aspect that is always in play. You know about it; you've always seemed to have it down. You'd think Scott could learn more from your fine example."

Robert hated himself. He knew something was seriously wrong for the two of them to be in this situation, yet he couldn't help but agree with him about the situation with Scott.

"Scott will come around sooner or later. What's the bail amount, Owen?"

Owen smiled. "That's just the thing, Robert. Its fifty grand, but you wouldn't have to pay a dime of it. Last week, I received an inheritance from my mom's estate...half a million bucks, Rob! You've received power of attorney ever since you loaned me that money a while ago. Just transfer fifty grand to pay for my bail and in the process take the money I still owe you. I know finances have been a pain lately, but I'm starting with a clean slate this time, and I want you to be taken care of straight off."

"That's all well and good. Thank you. I'm glad you worked through your mom's death enough to talk about it. I, however, still want to know what's going on about those threats I've been hearing about."

Owen looked down and away from Robert.

Robert could see his friend's stress, but he couldn't help but feel he deserved it for lying to his face about his mother's estate money. _Still_ , he thought. _Owen thinks I'll bail him if he cooperates, so all I need to do is wait. After this, I don't think I'll be spending any more time with this man._

"You know I've always been talkative, Rob. Things like saying I drove a hundred miles when I drove 10, saying the salmon was THIS big when it was really this big. It's one of those, you know the words, coping mechanisms."

Robert nodded and allowed Owen to continue.

"Well, I was drunk and did that again, saying I killed Matthew to scare Tiffany away from Scott, and I was also mad that she called the cops. You know I'd never hurt her."

"What really happened back then, Owen?" Robert asked.

Owen shifted in his seat, visibly not wanting to answer. "I don't remember that well, Robert. I haven't seen a man die in front of me since 'Nam. Even then, you only remember flashes every now and then. You were in college, though, lucky guy. Looking back, I wish I could have chosen that instead."

"Owen, I know for a fact you didn't plan a murder. If it was an accident, my lips are sealed. You know how I feel about giving my word. I kicked my own son out of the house just because I said I would."

"That's real honorable, Rob. All I remember is Matthew yelling at me. We were about to go down the stairs and leave for the day when Matthew started accusing me of stealing money from him. I didn't, of course, but I apparently misplaced a lot of stuff and didn't know how to tell him without it sounding terrible."

"Was this before he fell?"

"You've never been curious about this before." Owen was getting suspicious.

"You've never been in jail before, Owen. My sister is scared and she needs to know for sure if it was an accident."

"Robert, I can't believe you're playing along with this game, after how long you've known me!"

Robert just sat there. He was stumped. It seemed there was little more he could do to push the matter. _Unless..._ he thought. _The only way to get to the truth is to scare him into thinking he'll lose me forever._

"I've known Tiffany since the day she was born, Owen. I didn't know you until I joined the basketball team in 8th grade and we started winning games together. I'm not going to lose my sister. She's too important, especially since all you have to do is say it was an accident and give me a two-minute explanation. For all your admitting of fault every time you screw up, you don't seem to be doing anything different. If you can't do this for me, then I question whether I can afford to keep covering for your screw-ups."

"Fine, then." Owen was done stalling. He finally had to pick the lesser of two evils. "I hit him with some plywood. I expected him to just fire me, he already saw me as the devil as it was. I didn't even hit him hard. He stumbled backward and fell. I didn't expect that to happen. He fell right out the side of where the window would be. I didn't mean to, I swear!"

"See, getting through this stuff is good, Owen. It will help you to stop exaggerating so much. Just stop scaring my sister like that, okay?"

Owen pretended he could only nod.

Their conversation changed back to milder things, like football and hockey, but the emotional intensity remained the same. Robert felt like he had cut the cord of friendship forever. _Friendship with Owen has been expensive,_ Robert thought. _If all friendships cost so much, why would anyone get involved?_

When the visit had ended, Owen was escorted back to his cell by a prison guard while Robert regrouped with Hoffman and the police. _Owen probably thinks I'm bailing him out._ Robert closed his mind to the sympathy he felt for Owen. He got into the squad car and they headed back to Wasilla.

Afterward, Hoffman congratulated Robert. Getting Owen to admit being on the same floor as Matthew and causing Matthew's fall was all he needed. No one would toss a skill saw at someone's forehead after "accidentally" pushing him out a window, and the jury would know that. Robert knew that Hoffman would probably get off work and celebrate with his own family. As for himself, however, he saw his friendship with Owen as the biggest mistake of his life, and it made him miserable.

Robert was driven back to the station where his car had been parked. All he wanted to do when he got home was sleep. Before he exited the police car, however, Hoffman asked him another question.

"Did you know about the money? The half million?"

Robert knew it would look bad. The cops thought Owen had acquired it only a week ago and he considered how it would look if all the money was gone just days later, whether it was taken by Tiffany or anyone else. "I...was already paid back by Tiffany. That happened just hours after your visit last night. Tiffany had just discovered the money that day." Robert sat thinking for several seconds. "If Owen told me he had money, and then he realizes it's gone days before or after telling me about it, I could be in trouble. Especially since I don't plan on ever bailing him before his court date."

Robert had complied with everything he was asked to do, leaving Hoffman with no desire to antagonize him further. "Are you scared, Robert?"

He nodded slowly. Hoffman got out of the car and Robert did the same. "Your sister filed a restraining order. You should do the same."

*****

It was mid-afternoon, and just a half-hour's drive away from Robert and the police station, Scott was having lunch with his Aunt Tiffany at her house. She had made grilled cheese sandwiches and poured some lemonade, and they were talking about how Scott would complete the jobs Owen had left unfinished.

The shelves in the living room had pictures of Owen in uniform during the war, trophies won playing basketball in high school, and a picture of himself, Robert, and Phillip on the beach in Seldovia, holding up a large halibut.

"Scott, I just found out something that should ease this process for you." Tiffany poured him a glass of lemonade. "I just found out about the estate of Owen's mom, which was something Owen did not tell me about. He still hasn't told me."

Scott took a sip from his glass. "So...that's good then?"

"I'd say so. If you decide after several months that the job is too much, we can hire someone else. There's no sense in you spending a long time on something you feel trapped in. I just want you to go in with that in mind. I transferred all of that money into an account in my name. Now all we need to do is deliver on the projects so we don't get sued."

"So as long as we finish the jobs, you'll be fine, right?"

"Pretty much. So, are you still up for it?" Tiffany seemed more confident ever since finding the money.

Scott could see it was the perfect challenge. It was a huge opportunity, and also there was enough room for error for him to learn without harming his aunt's financial security. Scott nodded in agreement. "Absolutely, Aunt Tiff. What do I do?"

She smiled. "You are only foreman, unofficially. It would be best if I keep it that way, and you'll see why. I can't tell you about the jobs until you know about the people working for us." Scott listened closely. "The first job," she said, "is the remodel of an apartment building here in Wasilla. Wait here." She got up from the table and disappeared behind a door. The click of a lock was heard, and within seconds Tiffany emerged from the room with three manila folders. "I'll make copies of these for you after you hear me out."

Scott was pleased to see that there was information available. Apparently Owen kept better track of what was going on and what was being spent than he ever did while working for Matthew. Until Owen was hired, Matthew usually had all the information in his head except material lists and invoices. These folders were too thick for just that.

"Things have changed quite a lot since you worked in this company. It used to be just Matthew, you, and several workers for each of you. Now, there is you and me, side by side at the top, with three different project foremen, and two to three employees under each of them. The operation is bigger, but not hard to figure out. Now, for the Wasilla job, the foreman is Viktor... Viktor, well, you read the name here." Tiffany opened the front folder titled _Mountain Vista Tenements_ and pointed to a name. It read: **Viktor Lebedev**. Tiffany explained. "He's Russian and I've only met him two times, one of which was yesterday when he showed up for a paycheck. Owen forgot to pay him. I don't know much about him, but he's been working with us for a year-and-a-half. I've never heard any complaints about him not getting work done, so he should be consistent. He speaks pretty good English compared to other Russians I've met."

"Interesting. Who else do I need to know about?"

"Mainly just the other two foremen. The next project is a four-plex that is half-finished on Mirror Lake. The owners are two high-ranking Air Force officers who are partners and who want to rent it out once it's completed. The foreman of that project is Alan Fisher. He's a tall man with a mustache, who has been working with Owen for about two years. He does what he's told, and seems pretty accepting of whatever happens."

Scott recognized the name. Robert still had a framed picture of him, Owen, and Alan on a hunting trip, standing over a moose. Last time he saw it, it was in his dad's office. In his mind, Scott could still picture Alan standing behind Robert and Owen with a thick hunting vest on and a relaxed look on his face. He stood a full head taller than Owen and about four inches taller than Robert. "I think I've seen him before. No problem."

Tiffany organized the last folder so it sat neatly on the top of the pile. "This last job is for a large house in Big Lake, just twenty minutes north of town. The owners are a husband and wife; the husband works on the North Slope every other week with one of the oil companies. If any of the projects truly needed help, it would be this one. The house is huge, and two months behind schedule. They are still working off of a generator. The foreman's name is James Rogers."

Scott had seen the man before. Around five years ago, when Owen became CEO, he had a huge party and his dad dragged him and his brother to it. The party was at Rogers' house. Robert knew the guy but he never had him over for dinner or went anywhere with him. He always wore a black snowcap on his head. Scott quit working for the company once Owen took charge of it, and hiring Rogers as Scott's replacement was one of Owen's first decisions.

"I don't care much for him," Tiffany stated. "Reminds me of Owen too much. Owen and him were always close, and I don't know what he knows, or how much they talk. Either way, it is best that you are unofficially foreman for now until we see what happens. If anyone asks what you are doing, just say you are working for me to make sure projects get completed on schedule and to let me know if anyone needs anything. Do you understand?"

Scott nodded. "James might not have the three legs of trust, right?"

Tiffany smiled. "That's right." She sat down again and bit into her sandwich.

"I am here to help you keep track of the projects and tell you if anyone needs anything," Scott said, winking at his aunt.

"I'll be in charge of finances, so if you find anything that's needed that hasn't been budgeted for, let me know and we'll make that decision together. Same thing with hiring and firing."

"When do I start?" he asked.

"If you can be here tomorrow morning at eight, that would be perfect. In the meantime, I could give you directions to the Big Lake house and the Wasilla apartment and you can visit them tonight when the employees aren't there. I'll give you keys. Then you will be able to go to either place without getting lost and you will have an idea of what needs to be done."

_So, I would have a say over who keeps their jobs,_ Scott thought. This was true power. All his life he had made choices, but rarely felt his choices amounted to much. When he wanted to do something, and his dad wanted something else, his dad's word was law every time. The few times that this hadn't happened was when he rebelled as a teenager, right after Matthew's death; the final phase of that rebellion was expressed productively in spending more time with Tim and deciding to go to the Marshalls. In all those situations, he felt that if he could only choose who lived and worked with him, everything would be different. He imagined how much better everyone's life would have been if he had the power to fire Tony back on Ebi when he demonstrated a lack of trustworthiness. How different would he be if he could have surrounded himself as a child with empowering people like Tim, rather than his dad? He could have been really cool, like Tim's son, Mark. _Life isn't fair, but being a boss with that kind of control would be my chance to start making everything right,_ he thought.

*****

The Wasilla apartment was easy to find, yet a comfortable distance from the highway so that the noise of the traffic wouldn't bother tenants. As he pulled up to the driveway and opened the door, Scott could scarcely hear the sound of cars at all, even in the open air. _This is a great location_ , he thought.

Scott assessed the situation. The brown paint on the outside was chipped, and some of the paint chips had fallen from the walls all along the back. The left apartment already had someone living there. A Lincoln Town Car was parked in front of the door and the lights upstairs were on. Scott thought it best to leave them alone; renovation was loud enough during the day as it was.

The other two apartment spaces were uninhabited. One of them had a plastic covering stapled to the doorframe. He unlocked the one on the far right and went inside. The walls and ceilings had brand new paint, but the electrical outlets still needed to be covered. The bathroom upstairs only had pipes, no flooring, baths, toilets, or sinks. The stairs themselves had carpet ripped up, and spiked tack strip lay stacked along the side of the floor. The deck was old and in decay; it would have to be replaced. The other two decks seemed in similar condition.

_The tenant may need to be moved so we can renovate his current space,_ he thought. He made a list of everything he saw that was unfinished, and made his way to the house on Big Lake.

After leaving town, he passed a large pond cradled by pine trees. He continued to drive and watched the street signs become more and more scarce. The road suddenly made a sharp curve left, but Big Lake road itself continued onto a more primitive gravel road straight ahead. Several minutes passed, and Scott began to wonder, _Just how far out of the way do people want to be?_ Finally, the place he was looking for came into view. It was a tri-level home. As he looked to his left toward the house, he saw three cars parked in the driveway.

"That's odd. It's eight at night, the house isn't finished, yet there are three cars sitting there."

Two of them were fairly new four-door Honda Civics, and the third was a large, black Ford Explorer. The SUV was parked in front of the two cars. Scott could see a floodlight was on in the house, and several people inside, standing around in a circle.

Scott pulled in the driveway, then backed out to go return to Wasilla. He got the feeling they were in the middle of nowhere for a reason. As Scott backed up, he saw a man jogging from the house in his direction. He was large and was carrying a flashlight that shone bright light straight into Scott's eyes.

"Whoa! I gotta get out of here," Scott said out loud. He turned his truck around, then stepped on the gas, cutting his steering wheel hard to the left so he wouldn't hit any trees getting back on the road. The man was only 20 feet from the truck before Scott got away. _Thank God!_ he thought. He was finally on the road back to civilization. _Who were those guys?_

Adrenaline was pumping through his veins. It wasn't until he was back in town that he realized he was gripping the steering wheel tightly. Calming down, he decided that if they didn't want to be seen, the people there wouldn't be around when construction was happening.

_It would be best to finish that one as fast as possible,_ he thought. _It's late already. Tim is probably wondering how my meeting with Tiff went, so I should go back to his house for the night. I got a lot to do tomorrow._
Chapter Four

Scott's mind was racing as he pulled into the driveway, which was empty except for Tim's truck. Scott was looking forward to uninterrupted time with him. As Scott walked in, he could tell that Tim had been cooking again. He watched as Tim pulled a pan out from the oven.

"What are you making?" Scott asked.

Tim turned around with a flat tray full of bread-like food in his hands. Over his front was a black apron with a pattern of red chili peppers. Tim moved quickly to open one of the drawers in the kitchen, taking out several pads that kept the hot tray from burning the table. Balancing the tray in one hand, he threw the pads onto the table and quickly set it down.

"Pierogies, Scott. It's a Russian dish that manages to combine pasta and potatoes into one dish." Tim was talking fast, with a forced smile on his face. Suddenly he flipped off the oven mitt on his right hand and ran to the sink. He turned on the water and buried his hand under the faucet. "I burnt my hand on the hole. Shouldn't have done that. It already happened once!"

"You alright, Tim?" Scott approached the kitchen, wondering how he could help.

Tim turned off the water and showed him the damage. "It's just a little red, that's all. It did hurt, though."

Scott had almost forgotten about Tim and his cooking; he hadn't eaten there since he left for the Marshall Islands. Several times a week, Tim would be cooking some ethnic dish from an ethnicity that clearly wasn't his own. It perhaps wasn't as good as a local would do it, but Scott would never turn down a home-cooked meal from Tim.

"I got these mitts as a gift from my mom when I was in college. I really should buy some more," Tim said, smiling. "Anyway, I didn't know what sauce to use, so I made the type of gravy used on breakfast biscuits and that's what's cooking on the stove. The recipe said sour cream sauce, but I figured it would be best to just put a container of sour cream on the table and let people mix what they like."

"It does smell good," Scott said. "How did the wedding go yesterday?"

Tim put several pierogies on a plate and handed it to Scott before helping himself. "It went very well. Sam and Natalie are very happy." Tim tried out his newest creation. "These two are a bit small. They were supposed to be three times this size. I could barely fit anything in them!"

Scott tried one for himself. They seemed fine to him.

Tim took off his apron. "By the way, Scott, I just got in touch today with the man I told you about. The man who makes the artificial limbs. He says he would be interested in working with you for a couple of months, show you how the business works."

Scott shook his head. "I'm sorry, Tim. I forgot to tell you. It's just that...I'm working for my aunt right now. She has several jobs in the construction company that Owen left unfinished, and she said she would pay me to act as the main foreman overseeing all of them. I need to take care of her business until those jobs are done. I'm sorry, I forgot."

Tim smiled. "Ah, it's not a problem. Family comes first, I understand that. I'll have to call him back and tell him, though. You would have made good money there, too."

Scott set his plate down. He would have liked to do that, but how could he turn down his aunt, especially with the opportunity she gave him?

Tim was curious. "So, Scott is boss of a construction company. Matthew's old business. I would have taken that job, too. This sort of opportunity doesn't come around every day."

"I've already seen two of the places. The apartment looks like there's a lot to do, but nothing complicated, but the house in Big Lake had something that freaked me out."

"What was that?" Tim asked.

Scott sat down after finishing off his meal. "Earlier tonight, I drove to the half-finished house I'm supposed to complete. There wasn't supposed to be anyone there. I saw two cars, an SUV and several people...at least seven. One of them saw me in the driveway, but I think I got away before he was close enough to find out who I was. I couldn't tell who they were."

"Do you know anyone at the company?" Tim asked.

"Tiff told me that there are three foremen now, one for each project. I know one of them is still loyal to Owen, so I was warned by my aunt not to even tell him my job title. I'm supposed to be just a helper around that project who can see the big picture, and not appear to be anything more than that. He's the guy who's supposed to finish..." Scott saw the pillar of steam rising from behind Tim. "The stove, look!"

At Scott's warning, Tim quickly spun around. The gravy was beginning to boil over. He rushed to the stove and turned it off. Combining both potholders in one hand, he dragged it to the other side of the stovetop. "Yikes! Thank you, Scott. Well, the sauce is done, so help yourself to seconds if you want. There's still plenty." Tim smiled. "So, the man in charge of finishing that house seems untrustworthy. Right?"

"If he's anything like Owen, he has very little integrity, does not have other's best interests at heart, and has no desire to get the job done for me until Owen is in charge again. I believe he has none of the three legs of trust. I don't know if he's responsible for all those people at the house, or for what they are doing, but they did not want to be seen."

"I'm glad you remembered the three legs of trust, Scott. They have helped many people in my church to be successful, as well as your Uncle Matthew. Well, before, you know." Tim sighed. "I wish he could have known what I do now." He took a deep breath. "I've got to let it go, you don't need reminding, and it's unhealthy to dwell on the past too long."

"What did you learn?" Scott asked. As soon as he asked, he noticed Tim's eyes gleam slightly. Scott knew the look, as he had learned lessons from Tim before and he knew this was important.

"This is important, Scott. Too important to leave you unaware. I'll have to bring your uncle into my explanation, so I hope it doesn't bother you."

"Go right ahead," Scott said.

"Matthew learned all about the three legs of trust, and it helped him a lot. He knew what decisions he needed to make by asking about getting the job done, integrity, and having other people's best interests in mind. He never cheated anyone, he loved his wife, and he made good money. He was so excited about his life that he shared what he learned with you and others around him. The church was packed at his funeral; there were so many who missed him.

"After he died, I thought a lot about what happened with him. People die, and that is the truth. It is a consequence of sin and the bad decisions made in the beginning by mankind, but God gave us an example to follow in Jesus Christ. I started looking and found this in His life. Let me show you." Tim walked back to his office, which was behind the wall with the fireplace. He came back with a piece of paper and drew several circles on it. A small one was drawn inside a medium-sized one, and those two were in a third larger circle. In the middle of the small circle he colored in a large dot. "The dot in this case is Jesus." In that circle, he wrote three names: Peter, James, John. "These are Jesus' three." He then wrote another two words in the middle circle. "These are Jesus' 'Twelve Disciples.' Are you following me so far?"

Scott nodded. "I think so."

In the last circle, Tim wrote a number and explained what it meant. "This is the number '70.' In Luke Chapter Ten, Jesus sent out seventy men to preach the gospel."

"What does that have to do with Matthew?" Scott asked.

"Here's the thing: Jesus shows that He had different circles of friends. The three were the people He trusted most. He took only those three with Him to the garden of Gethsemane. He also had twelve, the disciples, who were around Him almost all the time. Finally, He had seventy. These people followed Him, but He didn't depend on them for the same things He would from the three or twelve. You see?"

"So Jesus trusted some people more than others?" Scott asked.

"You're getting it. You need to know this if you want to get the job done for your aunt. Matthew didn't die for not knowing the three legs of trust. He died, more than likely, because he knew someone wasn't trustworthy, but that person was kept in a position that only someone in his three should have held." Tim seemed like he had been waiting to tell Scott about this for a long time. "Look at the situation now, Scott. Your company has three foremen. Those guys tonight may not have been involved with the foreman in charge of the house, so try to figure out for sure where he stands, and when you do, make a decision quickly. Move him from your "three" in the job site, to your "twelve." If he proves problematic even then, get him out of your "twelve" and out of the company altogether. It would be a tragedy for you to be betrayed like Matthew was, just because you didn't act quickly. Understand?"

Scott nodded. "Don't put people who aren't trustworthy in your 'three' and don't keep them around in your 'twelve' if you can avoid it. What about Judas, then?"

Tim folded up the paper and handed it to Scott. "That's a good question, and the subject of many interesting sermons. I would like to hear the answer from Jesus Himself someday, but until then I'll explain what I understand. Scripture explains that Jesus would be betrayed. If Jesus did not fulfill scripture, how would people believe He was who He said He was? I would also ask another question. What about Tiffany? Did Tiffany have the three legs of trust for Matthew?"

No, but she's different now. I've seen the change," Scott replied.

"Good, then! I'm happy for her. Still, think about what I said. We'll talk about that later."

"I will." Scott was still taking in what he had learned. _Three, twelve, seventy. Watch for misplaced trust, get the untrustworthy person out,_ he thought.

Tim spoke again. "By the way, I just got out the inflatable bed. It's in the second room on the left with your suitcase. The blankets and pillows you had on the couch are now in there. Just try not to wake my wife next door. Good night, Scott."

*****

The next morning, Tiffany was listening to the radio and drinking a cup of coffee when Scott knocked on her door. She got up from the blue armchair she was sitting in and invited him inside.

"Good morning, Scott." Tiffany was wearing jeans and a jacket, and was already prepared to leave.

"Morning, Tiff." He stepped inside. Both Tiffany and Scott had ideas on what to do next, but didn't know what to start on first. They stood facing each other for several seconds. "This sounds bad coming from a 'foreman,' but for a helper it works fine. Where am I going today?" asked Scott.

Tiffany laughed. "All three jobs have to get done."

"I know," Scott said. "I'll drive you to each of the sites and introduce you to the guys."

"The Wasilla apartment is closest. Let's start there."

"We'll take my car. We have to talk to the tenant and arrange a way to work on his apartment. We just need to make sure he's aware of that."

"Sounds good, Tiff. Do you have any tool belts lying around? I don't have any right now."

"You can use Matthew's," Tiffany said.

They left the house. Tiffany stopped before getting into the Suburban. "Wait." She said, getting out and rushing back into the house. Scott waited in the passenger seat. _Did she forget something?_ Scott thought. Tiffany returned to the car, holding a metal box with a clipboard attached. On the clipboard was a yellow legal pad with notes scribbled on the front. She opened the door and got in. "Here," she said. "It's much easier when you take notes with this, and keep receipts and important papers in this box."

Scott recognized it. Matthew had never left home without it. "Okay," he said, grabbing a pen from the coin tray and attaching it to the clipboard. "Let's go."

Within minutes they arrived at the apartment. The Lincoln Town car was still parked in front. Next to it were three trucks.

"Looks like Viktor and his workers are all here," Tiffany said.

They got out of the car and Scott followed Tiffany to the tenant's apartment. A worker carrying supplies looked at Tiffany, and then to Scott as he walked inside to where he was working. Scott and Tiffany approached the tenant's door and rang the doorbell.

An older man answered. He was wearing a sweater and khakis. He peered through the square rims of his large glasses at the two of them. "Hello Ma'am?"

"Hello, Mr. Greenberg?" The man nodded and Tiffany introduced herself. "I'm Tiffany, and I'm with the company remodeling the apartment, and this is Scott, who is helping me for a few months."

Mr. Greenberg shook both their hands and stepped outside, shutting the door. Scott could hear the barking of a small dog, and barely glimpsed the black and gold fur of a Yorkshire Terrier before the door shut.

"Your landlords, Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, told us that they had talked with you about living arrangements during the renovation," Tiffany said.

The man smiled and nodded. "I have. They said while they were working on my apartment, I would have to move, but I could have first pick of one of the renovated spaces as soon as it became available. The owners even said they'd help me move. Is there anything else?"

Tiffany shook her head. "That's what they told me, too. I just wanted to make sure you knew about it so it wouldn't come as a surprise."

"That's not a problem," Mr. Greenberg said. "I retired last year, and I'm usually around most of the time, so if you need to tell me anything else, you'll know where to find me."

"Thank you," Tiffany said. The man nodded his head and contentedly returned to his apartment. "Let's go meet with Viktor."

"I'm ready when you are," Scott said.

Tiffany and Scott went to the middle apartment, which still had the plastic covering over the entrance. Scott moved the plastic to one side, allowing Tiffany to enter. Once inside, Scott could see one worker tearing up some old carpet in the living room, and near the kitchen, a Russian about Tiffany's age was working on a drawer next to the sink. He wore thick brown Carharrt pants with a gray T-shirt, both of which had occasional spots where white paint had landed on them. Over his T-shirt was a dark blue zipped-up jacket.

"Viktor," Tiffany called as she and Scott approached the kitchen.

He looked up, putting his tools on the countertop. "Thank you for giving me my paycheck, Mrs. Davis."

"No problem. I am sorry we didn't give it to you when we were supposed to. Viktor, I want you to meet Scott." Victor turned and looked straight at Scott's eyes. He then extended his hand and Scott reciprocated. The handshake was very firm. _Almost bone-crushing,_ Scott thought, trying not to show pain. Tiffany spoke slowly, pointing when necessary in an attempt to communicate more clearly.

"Scott is here because of Owen's...being gone. Scott is my nephew and he will be checking on things, helping with what needs to be done. If you need anything, let him know, and he will tell me so we can get it for you."

Viktor let go of Scott's hand and nodded. Scott moved his fingers around to help blood flow return to his hand.

"I understand," Viktor said.

"Okay, then," Tiffany said. "Scott, write down anything the workers say they need, and then meet me back at the Suburban, okay?"

Scott held up the clipboard. "I got it," he said.

As Scott talked with Viktor, he couldn't help but be impressed with his English. Tiffany was clearly underestimating his ability to understand. The conversation was simple. "I need this. I need that. I need this, too." He talked with the other two workers, and copied what they needed as well.

_I can do this_ , Scott thought.

Before long, Scott and Tiffany were back in the Suburban and headed for the Big Lake house. Tiffany said nothing, focusing on the highway in front of her.

"Are you nervous?" Scott asked.

"Just a little," Tiffany said. "I haven't been looking forward to this conversation."

Scott thought about the group of people camped out at the house the last time he was there. He thought it best not to add any unnecessary fear to her worry, and mentioned nothing about what happened the night before.

"I drove around there last night, and know what it looks like," Scott said. "You're not alone, Tiffany."

As they pulled into the driveway. Scott saw several vehicles there. The only one he recognized from the night before was the Ford Explorer, which was now parked in a different place. This time it was to the left of two Chevys.

"James is here. There's his truck on the left," Tiffany said. "Remember, Scott. Say nothing about your position around here. Walk behind me and be polite, nothing more."

Scott nodded and they got out of the car. _So that was James' truck,_ Scott thought. _This means that he was here last night._

They entered through the hole where the door would later be. Two employees, who were unraveling some wire, stared at Scott and Tiffany as they entered. On a ladder, a Russian was working on a lighting fixture for the ceiling. He continued working and didn't acknowledge that they were there.

"Where's James?" Tiffany asked.

"Down the stairs, behind that wall." One of the employees who was unwrapping the wire pointed further into the house.

At the bottom level, the house was not as complete as the floor above. The frame was still visible and insulation had just been installed, with thick plastic stapled to the wall to hold it in. Several stacks of drywall were in each room, and in the largest room a man wearing a black snowcap was talking with another employee.

Tiffany cleared her throat. "Good morning, James."

The man with the snowcap turned around. He was wearing tan overalls, a red flannel shirt and steel-toed boots. He had a well-trimmed beard that just covered his chin.

"Aye, Tiff. What brings you here?" He walked towards her and Scott. The talking stopped and from behind the wall two Russians wearing long coats appeared near the doorframe. Scott hadn't seen them with James and his other employee, who also looked Russian.

"James, who are they?" Tiffany asked, trying to show only curiosity. She pointed in the direction of the two coat-wearing Russians, who faced the three of them with emotionless faces.

James Rogers laughed. "Oh, right. I haven't introduced you to the new subcontractors for the electrical work." Scott looked at them. They didn't look dressed for work at all. They were both wearing gray dress pants and freshly polished black shoes.

James looked at Scott. "Who's this kid?"

"Ever since Owen...took a break," Tiffany hesitated, but she rehearsed the line at the apartment and it came out better. "I need someone to travel back and forth and run errands for me. He's just going to be my eyes and ears when I can't check on things myself. You know, letting me know when each step of the project gets done. If there's anything you need, you can tell him and he'll get it for you."

"Is that so?" James said.

Scott reached forward to shake his hand, but James pretended not to notice, so he transitioned into rubbing the back of his own hair. He looked at the walls and then to the back room. The Russian construction worker was glaring at him.

"Do you guys need anything?" Tiffany asked.

"We don't need anything."

Scott kept his head down, ready to leave as soon as Tiffany was finished. "Tiff," James said. "If Owen isn't coming back anytime soon, I know you and I will have to sit down and figure out how to run the company until he gets back. I've been here longer than anyone else here, and I know what to do."

"I don't think that will be necessary, James. The jobs need to get done, we both know that already. You have a good day." Tiffany turned to leave.

James called out after her. "Just let me know if YOU need anything, Tiff."

Tiffany then headed for Mirror Lake. The drive was about half an hour, and Scott could tell that James made Tiffany nervous.

"You did good back there," Tiffany said.

Scott looked up from the list on his clipboard. "It was strange, there are more people there than at the apartment. I thought you said each foreman only had two or three people."

"James always has more people at his job sites than just himself and the workers. Alan and Viktor never seem to do that. I've told Owen about it a couple of times, but he always told me not to worry about it.

"So it's always been like that?" Scott asked.

"Yeah. Let's go get some lunch here, okay?"

Tiffany merged into the turnoff lane and crossed the overpass into the nearby town. Along the way, she noticed a cafe. She slowed down to park close by. Scott noticed she looked more relaxed and he decided she was able to listen to what he had to say about last night.

"Tiff? Last night I drove to the house James is working on and saw his car, along with several others, still at the property. I don't know who they were as I couldn't make out their faces, but I'm sure James was there along with at least six others." Tiffany turned off the car and looked at Scott. "I didn't tell you about it earlier because you were nervous, and I didn't want to make it look like you knew something he didn't want you to know."

"Thanks Scott. Still, I didn't know he was holding meetings at our job site after hours. For all we know, he may have been doing this for a long time."

The inside of the cafe was completely made out of wood and polished logs, including the tables and chairs. On the wall was the pelt of a giant brown bear, its arms spread out as if it was stretching.

Scott continued his conversation with Tiffany as he worked on a fresh hamburger and she sipped from a bowl of vegetable soup.

"One of Viktor's cousins works with James. He used to work for Viktor, but Owen, at James's insistence, separated them. He was the man working on the ladder before we went downstairs," Tiffany explained.

Scott swallowed before speaking. "James has a lot of Russians working for him, which is weird because I thought Viktor would be more like that."

"They've worked okay with us, but I don't know what to think of the Russians. They never smile, they rarely talk about anything to anyone outside their circles, and James's group seems to always have people loitering around, not doing anything. I would be more forceful with James, but those stone cold faces staring at me make me very uncomfortable. I think James knows that, too.

"Yeah, me too," Scott said. "I learned something last night, though, and I think it's something we can try."

"What's that?" Tiffany asked.

He smiled and told Tiffany what Tim had hold him, but simplifying it to sound more businesslike. "You can have more than one circle of friends. A small group of three that you trust a lot, a larger group of twelve that are still trusted but not as much, and also a large group of people, like 70, that you know but don't identify with closely. Where would you place James and the Russians?"

Tiffany savored the carrots in her soup and thought about it. "I don't know about the Russians. Viktor seems okay, and maybe his cousin, but the others I'm not sure about. James is definitely not in any three or twelve, or whatever. He makes me nervous."

Scott agreed. "That's what I've been thinking, but who have we been depending on to get that house done? That job is too important to leave in the hands of someone you wouldn't even put in your twelve. Is it any wonder we're both so nervous?"

"You have a point, but what should we do? Fire him?" she asked.

Scott thought about it. "I really want to," he said, "but I don't think our problems will go away completely by doing that. Besides, who are we going to replace him with? We need somebody we can trust; all three legs of trust, if possible."

"Scott, I think we should make a decision on this soon. Why don't we continue today with meeting Alan Fisher at the last property, and then get the supplies we recorded. Your next task will be to spend time at each site, looking for someone to replace James. Today's Thursday, so you have until Friday of next week to decide who. We'll have it fully enforced soon after."

It only took a few minutes for Tiffany and Scott to make it to Mirror Lake. From the lake, Scott could see mountains just behind the spruce trees, with snow starting to collect at the top, beginning winter's slow conquest over the landscape. The shore of the lake had several other houses, but few were as large as the one they were working on.

Scott was right about Alan Fisher. He was a giant. As Scott made his way upstairs to where he was working, Alan gave an easygoing smile. "Hey, aren't you Robert's kid? Yeah, you are. Oh hey, Tiffany, what's going on?"

Tiffany was close behind Scott and both entered the room he was working in.

"This is the master bedroom right?" Scott asked.

"Sure is," he said. "It's taking a while to get it done, though. I still got two more bedrooms to complete," Alan said.

"It looks like you've met Scott before," Tiffany said. "Since Owen isn't able to do his usual rounds, Scott will be helping me. If you need anything, tell him and we can get it for you. He will also check on the status of each project and help out with some of the work."

Alan nodded.

Scott made his way back downstairs with Tiffany and they looked over the rest of the four-plex. Most of the downstairs seemed done already. It looked as if this one would be completed before any of the others.

_Alan was so laid back,_ Scott thought, _he reminds me of an old hippie._

Tiffany and Scott returned to Wasilla and stopped at Spenard's Builders Supply, picking up everything they had written down. Once everything had been loaded up, they returned back to Tiffany's home.

As they pulled into the driveway, Scott wondered what was next. It was Tiffany who spoke. "I made copies of the three folders. Come inside with me so you can get them."

"Sure thing," he said.

Scott waited for her to get the paperwork together. She soon returned with copies of the project folders in a used packing box.

"Here. These should help you with what we talked about earlier. We need to decide who should replace James, and I'd like to have that done Friday of next week."

"I'll do that. When I was working with a crew during the summers with Matthew, we could do much more than what he is doing. I can't believe James is trying to take over the company," said Scott.

The office phone rang. Tiffany went back and answered it. Soon she returned with a hastily written note.

"Copy this onto your clipboard and date it too," she said. Scott got up and put the box on the table where he left the clipboard. Tiffany laid the note on the table and he began writing. "Sometimes this will happen, Scott. I just got a call from a previous client. She says that in their house the baseboards around the kitchen wall weren't set. Her kids tore the vinyl off the floor at the edges because it was loose and there wasn't anything to hold the edges down. We need to get the baseboards laid. Since we already did the job and got paid, we can't get paid for these repairs. It's our fault. Now we have to send someone who is working on a paying job to fix it. Let's try not to have too many of these things happen on your watch, okay?"

"Okay," Scott said. More than ever, he became aware that there would be times in his job where he would have to pay close attention to what had been completed. "Tiffany, James seems to have a lot of extra people, it sounds like a job for him."

"That was his job, but he has a habit of leaving stuff undone. You should check it out, because he'll just offend the customer. I'll get the address and directions for you tomorrow. We're trying to phase out James, not make him the face of our company."

Scott took the box. "Alright. See you tomorrow, then?"

Tiffany nodded in agreement. "Tomorrow. Same time."
Chapter Five

"Hey Mark, how are you?" Scott had just sat down for dinner at Tim's place when Mark joined his family at the table. Tim and his wife, Tracy, were seated opposite Scott.

"Okay." Mark sat down next to Scott. "Today was my last day at the car dealership. I didn't know they were going out of business when I was in Italy. I just helped them move the last of their inventory to another dealer, who bought them out."

Mark grabbed a plate and loaded it with macaroni. "All my business classes are at night, three days a week, so that leaves the entire day open for finding another job."

Scott thought about his own work. It had been five days since Tiffany asked him to find a replacement for James, and he still had nobody. He knew Mark couldn't do it; he'd never worked construction before.

"Too bad you don't know construction, Mark. I could have you busting your back on one of the apartments I'm working on," Scott said jokingly. "Besides, I'm looking for another foreman. I talked with my Aunt Tiffany, and she wants to replace one of them, a shady character who's loyal to Owen."

Tim finished drinking his glass of water. "I wish I could help you with that, Scott, but all the contractors and construction people I know already have jobs. Well, at least all the ones I'd feel comfortable recommending." He looked at his wife.

"I don't know of anyone else either," Tracy said. Since she had already finished eating, she got up and washed her plate. "You can just leave the dishes here in the sink when you're done, Scott. I've got a women's study group to attend."

Tim stood up and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. "Enjoy yourself!" He left his dishes in the sink, then turned toward his office. "I've got a sermon to get ready for this upcoming church service, so I'll be just in the office if you need me."

Scott wanted to help Mark. He always wanted what Mark had, the sense of unshakable confidence that seemed to infect everyone around him. Scott knew that for the past five days he himself had been driving around doing errands and not getting the projects done. On top of that, dealing with past clients and their incomplete jobs took time. All he needed was to have someone else run errands while he did what he knew had to be done.

"Hey Mark, I got a job for you after all, if you want it."

"What do I need to do?" Mark asked.

"Just help foremen on three projects get stuff they need to keep working. On top of that, we can send you to talk to previous customers who still have unfinished work. Show them we have their best interests in mind, confirm what needs to be done, and work with my aunt to schedule those duties. From there, we can see how things go."

"How long will the job last?" Mark asked.

"Probably just a month. It will give you something for now until you can find something more permanent. Basically, I just want to complete the projects, but I can't make serious progress and deal with distractions at the same time."

"So," Mark seemed eager to start, "do I just go with you in my car to your aunt's place tomorrow morning?"

Scott nodded. "It's not for sure yet. I'll have to introduce you to Tiffany and talk about it with her."

Scott felt really good. He had helped someone he admired, the son of one of his favorite people in the world, and he had found a way to avoid going two steps forward and one step back every day.

_Now I just need to get one project done, and it wouldn't even matter if I found a replacement for James. Well, at least it wouldn't be an emergency,_ Scott thought.

*****

The next day Scott, Mark and Tiffany met for an early breakfast. Scott promised his aunt that within three days, he would have come to a decision about what to do with James, especially if he had someone else handling all the distractions.

After she decided hiring Mark was a good thing, Tiffany filled him in on the details, while Scott made his way over to the apartment Viktor was working on.

When Scott arrived at the apartment, he saw Viktor working outside on a ladder.

"Good morning, Scott. Today I finish the deck on this apartment space. After that, I am finished with this one completely."

Scott thought it best he finish those as soon as he could. He put on his tool belt and helped him.

"Tiffany says you need an extra foreman. Is this true?" Viktor asked.

Scott grabbed a board, then handed it up to him. "Yes. We would like to give another employee a shot at getting the job done. We aren't making the kind of progress we would like with one of the jobs." Scott almost thought he made a mistake, saying something like that around one of his current foremen, but luckily Viktor had no doubts about himself.

"My cousin works on the other house. He is good. Always works hard."

Scott had noticed Viktor's cousin. While working at the Big Lake house, he learned that the man's name was Dmitri. Scott had tried speaking to him, but even though Dmitri seemed to understand, he usually just nodded. Scott couldn't speak Russian, and though he loved the man's focus, he wasn't sure if Dmitri could communicate with Tiffany or any of the clients.

Scott answered his foreman. "I want to, but I've never heard him speak English. Tiffany and I need to be able to communicate with him to have him in that position."

"He only doesn't talk because his coworkers don't want him to. He thinks James will get him fired if he talks too much at work. Don't worry, he speaks okay. You should come and eat dinner with me, Dmitri, and my family. You will see."

"Okay." Scott was surprised by the sudden offer, but he wanted to know Viktor better.

"Scott, he thinks you are like Owen. He thinks you'll treat him like Owen would. I know you are different. You work different. You don't tell bad jokes. People don't talk after you leave, like they did when Owen was here. Come and eat. Tomorrow, 7:30, at my home."

"Okay, then."

_Plus, I could maybe understand what James was doing with all those people_ , Scott thought. He made a mental note to pick up a book about Russian culture at the library, not wanting to mess up this opportunity.

The two worked until mid-day, when Scott left Viktor to finish up his work on the deck. At the library, he chose a large book about many different cultures because he couldn't find a Russian culture book, and he didn't want to read a lot of large history books.

At the end of the day, Scott drove back to Tim's house. As he opened the door, he could smell curry drifting in from the kitchen. He followed the smell towards the stove, where Tim was stirring ingredients in a mixing bowl.

"Hey Scott." Tim's gaze darted from Scott, to the bowl, and back to the stove, where vegetables were boiling in a pot. "Where's Mark?"

"Right now he's working with my aunt. I hired him for the month so I can get projects done without distraction."

Tim smiled. "Really? That sounds good. He likes to travel around and talk to people, so I think you made a good choice. What about you? How goes your hunt for anew foreman?"

Scott moved over to the stove, offering to watch it for Tim so he could focus on mixing. The strong scent of the curry opened up his nostrils as he got close. He sneezed, looking away from the kitchen at the last second.

Tim jumped in surprise, causing some yogurt to fall from the bowl. "God bless you," he said, then continued on as if nothing happened.

Scott stood back far enough to avoid sneezing again. "Thanks, and I'm sorry about the yogurt! Anyway, I haven't found anyone yet, but my Russian foreman, who seems to be one of the better employees, is inviting me to dinner with his family tomorrow night. I think he's doing it because he wants me to promote his cousin, who works with James but not 'for' him, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, I understand. Have you found anyone better yet?"

Scott looked down. "Not yet. The guy works hard, but I haven't seen him speak English. Not once. Viktor keeps telling me that he can and, well, I just want to make sure I choose right."

Tim checked the pot on the stove. "I hear you on that. You've learned about the three legs of trust and the three, twelve, and seventy, now it's just a matter of using them, right?" He looked at Scott, who nodded. "Anyway," he continued, "from what you've told me so far, almost anyone would do better than James. Just keep in mind what you've learned when you go visit Viktor, and try to stay in a place where he can trust you."

"Sure thing, Tim. I'll be right back in a second." Scott went back to his truck and retrieved the book he had borrowed. When he returned, Tim was hovering near the stove with a wooden spoon in his hand. "I checked out this book from the library. It's about culture and I was hoping it would help me identify what Russians see as trustworthy."

Tim looked at the large book in Scott's hands. "It looks like you're already a step ahead of me. Why don't you read it and I'll call you when I'm done cooking." On the way to his room, Tim stopped him. "Scott, it's good that you hired Mark. He can be helpful. Just remember that he is still young, okay?"

So far as Scott had seen, Mark always had the three legs of trust at a high level. Then again, Scott had never hired anyone before. "I will, Tim. Let me know how that curry turns out."

*****

On his way to work the following morning, Scott knew that he had to make the decision. _Will I promote Dmitri, or someone else in the company?_ James's days with the construction company were numbered. Scott told himself that by midnight that night, he would choose.

When he entered Tiffany's home, Scott saw Tiffany and Mark going over some paperwork. She greeted Scott as he took a seat.

"Good morning. Mark and I were just going over how we are going to handle customer complaints."

Mark explained. "Tiffany, just to make sure I heard you, I'm going to each place and seeing what hadn't been done, and scheduling a worker to repair it, and then letting you assign it while I find whatever materials are needed." He seemed glad that his job actually had a description, since he had been hired without really knowing what he was going to do.

"Sounds good, Mark," Scott said. "Aunt Tiff, is there anything you need me to do before I work on the apartment?"

Tiffany held out a piece of paper and gave it to Scott. "Show this to James today. It's about the floorboards that we didn't set for that client from a couple months ago. Tell him I had someone else complete it, so he can focus 100% on the house, and that the owner of the house he's working on is really putting the pressure on us to get it done faster. We're two months behind, and we're not catching up."

"Sure thing, Tiff, I'm on my way now."

The highway still had frost on it from the night before. Luckily, it was still warm enough for it to melt as the sun beat down. As he drove, Scott was thankful for Mark, because his help allowed everyone to make real progress.

As he turned down Big Lake Road, a thought crept into his mind. _When I showed up at night, someone saw the truck I was driving. This truck. Hopefully that person doesn't work for James, or else he will find out it was me who came by._ Scott tried to reason with his doubting mind. James couldn't afford to draw attention to himself by doing anything rash. Scott knew that all James wanted was for Owen to be free so he could keep doing as he pleased. "James shouldn't be any trouble today."

The road changed from pavement to gravel, and Scott could see the house from much farther away, unblocked by the now-fallen leaves. Several feet away from the driveway, he parked his truck at the side of the road, hoping no one would recognize it; hoping that James and his workers were all inside.

His hopes were intact. Scott entered the house, which now had a door, and saw everyone inside. Dmitri was installing a vent near the wall and looked up as Scott passed through. _No sharply dressed subcontractors in sight. Just Dmitri and the others,_ he thought. He ducked his head to walk under some scaffolds towards the kitchen, where James and two others were working on the cabinets.

James looked up from his work and glared at him. "What are you up to, kid?"

"Just checking to see how you are doing with the electrical work, I haven't been here all week," Scott said. James's two Russian employees stopped their work and stood on either side of James.

"It's done. We get a lot done without distractions."

"Good." Scott scratched his head. "We've been getting pressure from the owner about why it's taking so long. Also, we've been contacted by the Johnsons about the baseboards not being laid at your last job. We've sent someone else to fix it because we need this house done, but please be more careful next time."

James signaled to the employee at his left, who resumed working while the other walked with him closer to Scott. "Who's this 'we'? You don't own this company, Owen does. From what I can see, Tiffany doesn't really know what she's doing, hiring you and that other kid to be her errand boys." James made no attempt to conceal where his loyalty lay. Scott knew what he was saying was false. Tiffany inherited the ownership of the company from Matthew when he died, and Owen had been acting as manager after she married him. Although he co-owned it with her, he acted as if it were all his.

James continued. "I've talked with Alan, too, and he doesn't think Tiffany knows a bleeding thing about building. I'll call a meeting with her tonight and set things straight.

Of course, I don't know what you'll do after that. I don't appreciate the fact that you are talking foolishness about my boss. Owen told me all about you, you know."

"I'm sure there are others who disagree with you," Scott countered.

The Russian at James's right stepped forward, but James stopped him with his hand. "Not now, Grigory. Break time is over." The Russian looked at James, nodded, and returned to the cabinets to help his coworker.

"Almost half of the workforce is Russian, and no one else knows them like I do." James pointed in Grigory's direction. "You've gone and made him mad because you don't know the nuances of how they work at all." He laughed. "By disagreeing, you were probably talking about that Viktor fellow. He doesn't know the meaning of teamwork. Won't work with anyone but a select few. Knowing how to work with all kinds of people is key to being in leadership, Scott. Talk to him if you want, but he won't get you far in their community. He's got none of what they call 'svyasi.' He won't even let his son be a part of the Russian community. Viktor will get you nowhere fast."

A loud bang echoed in the cavernous living room. James and Scott both looked and saw Dmitri next to an upside down toolbox with tools still rolling around.

"It must have been the toolbox. Probably fell from the scaffold," Scott said.

James glared at Dmitri, screaming something in Russian. Scott didn't understand, but it sounded harsh. Dmitri lowered his head, mouthing something under his breath as he picked up the tools. James refocused on Scott.

"You're distracting us, kid. You've done your job, so leave. You'll be fired as soon as Owen comes back." James waved his hand in Scott's direction as if swatting away a fly.

Scott thought it best not to tell James that Owen would be in jail a long time.

"I'm going," Scott said, "but before I do, let me tell you the owner stopped by several weeks ago to check on the property. He said he saw your vehicle here with several others at night. If you're going to stay after hours, that's no problem. Just make sure if he sees you again, he sees you working. That makes you and Owen look good."

Scott left the house, shutting the door behind him as he left. _At least this project is moving forward,_ he thought. As he got to his truck, he noticed a Honda Civic speeding down the gravel road toward the house. As Scott stepped into his truck, it slowed. The window rolled down and Scott could see several well-dressed Russians staring at him as they passed. One of them made eye contact with Scott and started talking fast to the driver in Russian, who accelerated and turned into the driveway of the house.

"Maybe they know it was me who was there at night," Scott said to himself. He quickly started his truck to turn around. The Russians who just pulled in had not gotten out and Scott could see they were both having a heated conversation. He sped away in the other direction.

Scott was almost convinced that James was right about him. He didn't know about Russians. _Today, I'll be changing that,_ he thought. The previous evening, he only had time to skim part of the sections relating to visiting a Russian house and business protocol. Before stopping at the apartment, he had reread as much as he could in twenty minutes about dining.

The sun was setting and the air became cool as Scott completed his day at the apartment. Viktor had completed all the decks, and one of the apartments was finished. Scott couldn't wait to tell Mr. Greenburg that he would have a better place to live tomorrow. Viktor closed the door to the middle apartment, locking it shut.

"Follow my car, I show you my house. We eat." Viktor motioned for Scott to follow closely.

Scott followed Viktor down a road that led out of town. As buildings became scarcer, leafless trees became more common. Several minutes later, after Scott had passed a gas station, he stopped seeing buildings altogether. As he drove, he spent his time trying to remember what he had learned, like dressing nicely when first meeting.

_I left my nice jacket at Tim's house,_ he thought. It was too late to go back. Scott had never been this far out Knik Goose Bay Road before, but he had heard that many Russians lived in that direction. The locals in Wasilla called it KGB road, and Scott couldn't help but laugh at the irony.

Finally, Viktor made a right turn onto a gravel road, which led over a series of easy hills. At the bottom of the second hill, Viktor turned left onto a driveway. Scott followed him several hundred feet until he saw a house with the lights on. It was about the same size as his parent's house. An old truck with a snowplow on the front was parked backwards at the end of the driveway. Viktor parked to the left of the truck and Scott parked behind him. He opened the door to the friendly welcome of Viktor.

"Welcome, Scott."

Ten pairs of shoes sat on a rug to the left of the front door. Seeing Viktor remove his own shoes, Scott thought it best to follow his example.

The place was large. A stone-inlaid fireplace was on the right. Charcoal and several large logs crackled inside it. The mantle above it had several wooden figurines of what looked like Russian saints. Scott looked up. He could smell leeks, potatoes, and beef cooking at the other end of the house. At the dining table, a pair of candles were burning, and two older Russian men sat facing each other, deep in conversation.

Viktor made his way to the kitchen. As Scott followed him, the smell of the food grew stronger. Three women were busy preparing food. One was several decades older than Viktor, and two were young and seemed close to the same age as each other.

"Scott, I would like to introduce you to my mother, Alena."

Scott shook the hand of the older woman, doing so firmly but not hard. Viktor spoke Russian to his mother, who smiled and nodded at Scott.

"She does not speak English. She makes the best food in the world, though. You will see this." Viktor then introduced him to the two older men sitting at the table. One was smoking a pipe and the other was drinking coffee. "This is my father, Alexander." The man with the pipe smiled and shook Scott's hand. He used the same hard grip that Viktor used when first meeting him. "Over here is my Uncle Boris, who we helped move from Atlanta." The man stopped drinking coffee and shook Scott's hand.

"Nice to meet you."

Viktor continued his introductions. "This is my manager at work, Scott. He also knows your Dmitri." Boris seemed to understand. "Take a seat, Scott." Viktor pulled out a chair at the foot of the table and Scott sat down. Viktor then walked over to one of the younger women. She had long, light brown hair down to the middle of her back and was wearing a bright blue dress that looked handmade. As she was on her way to the stove, Viktor gave her a hug and a small kiss. "This is my wife, Svetlana. And the woman in the green dress with the plates is Dmitri's wife, Valentina."

They both said nothing, but clearly understood what he was saying. Scott felt awkward. Here he was in a domestic environment that was more foreign than anything he had experienced since the Marshall Islands and he was alone. _A wife would be nice to have right about now,_ he thought. It looked like everyone had somebody in this warm, friendly home, except for him and Boris, the two bachelors.

Two bachelors turned into three, however, when a small child in a red sweater and black pants ran out from a room and hugged Viktor's leg. He had light brown hair, and looked about three years old.

"And this is my son, Nikolay Viktorov Lebedev. I have an older son as well, but Sergei is at the college taking night classes."

Viktor and his wife got out a high chair for Nikolay while Valentina set the table. Viktor's mother opened the oven and pulled out rectangular blocks of beef and what looked like a pie with potatoes and meat.

When everyone had been seated, Viktor's father led them in prayer, which lasted for about a minute. After prayer, Scott looked around the table. He saw the meat and potato pie. Next to the pie was an assortment of mixed vegetables; carrots, cabbage, leeks, and cauliflower, all of which had trails of steam rising upwards. On another pan were several cubes of broiled beef marinated in black pepper. In the middle of the table was a large pitcher full of brown gravy to pass around.

Scott waited, having learned that the head of the house usually invites the guest to eat. He didn't know whether that was Viktor's father or Viktor himself. Viktor received a nod from his father.

"Go ahead and eat, Scott," said Viktor. As soon as Scott began, so did everyone else.

The first part of the conversation sounded almost like a press conference at the United Nations. Viktor's parents asked questions, mostly in Russian, and Viktor translated between them and Scott.

"How is your family?" The first question to come in Scott's direction was asked by Boris, who used a sharp knife to separate the squares of meat on his plate.

"My mom and dad are fine. He's a psychologist here in Wasilla and my mom takes care of the house, occasionally taking classes at the community college. My brother, Philip, is working in Anchorage. Right now I just sleep and work, so I haven't spent as much time with them as I should."

Viktor translated to his parents, who nodded.

"Boris, Dmitri is your son right?" Scott asked. He wondered why Dmitri wasn't here.

"Yes," said Boris.

Viktor explained. "I told you that Dmitri would be here. He will be a little late. James usually keeps him around longer than the others. Sometimes he is held up another two hours."

That seemed unfair to Scott, and encouraged him all the more to replace James.

"Is this all of your family?" Scott asked.

"No. Just those who live here. We have cousins in Wasilla, as well as a few more cousins in Homer. Several times a year, we go to Whittier and use our sailboat to go to an island for deer hunting. Do you hunt deer, Scott?"

Scott had gone hunting with his dad once a year until Matthew died. His last trip was several years ago, when he went with his dad, brother, and Owen. He never hunted with them again. "Yeah," Scott said. "I've done some hunting. Tell me about the island."

Viktor told Scott about Montegue Island. Later in the fall, he planned on taking his cousin out to the island on their boat, hiking up to the higher areas of the island and bringing back enough meat to make the trip worthwhile. Wanting to contribute to the conversation, Scott related his close encounters with sharks in Guam, as well as his experiences hunting them in the Marshalls.

As Scott explained how the islanders baited the water with guts, then shot spear guns to hook the sharks, the door opened and Dmitri entered. Viktor smiled at him. Dmitri did not reciprocate. Instead, he looked back and forth from Viktor to Scott several times. As he approached the last empty chair, Valentina got up to fetch his food, which was being kept warm in the oven. Dmitri sat down and looked at Scott.

"Good day." His accent was much rougher than Viktor's, but Scott still understood him.

"Good evening to you, too," Scott said. "Viktor was just telling me about deer hunting. Do you go often?"

"Yes. Yes, I go two times a year for last two year," Dmitri said.

"Dmitri used to work for me all the time, side by side, until Owen split us up," Viktor said.

By now, Scott was sure Dmitri could do better than James.

"There is one thing that has been bothering me. Who are the other Russians I always see with James?" Scott asked. Dmitri looked at Viktor, appearing very displeased. Viktor reassured his cousin that Scott disliked James as much as they did.

"Scott, they are subcontractors. Most of them are in the Koronov family, or work for them. They are a group of Russians I do not like. I would not make friends with them." Viktor would go no further in explaining, as he did not want to make his cousin feel uneasy.

"That's good enough for me. They make me nervous as it is," Scott said.

From then on, Scott began to relax. He resumed talking about shark fishing, and Viktor translated so that his parents could understand. Dmitri asked questions about whether Scott was in a relationship, joking about hooking him up with one of his cousins. Nikolay stared at Scott in fascination, and despite Svetlana's repeated attempts to clean him, his face kept getting half-covered in potatoes and gravy.

At the end of the visit, Scott drove home with a sense of accomplishment. Despite several small errors, he had navigated through dinner with a culture he was just beginning to understand, and had found a suitable foreman. He was going to call Tiffany as soon as he could to let her know his decision. By now, James was out of a job, and Scott could only wonder how he would take the news.
Chapter Six

Scott attended Tim's church that Sunday, inviting Tiffany to come along. She thought she didn't like church and just wasn't that kind of person, but she still benefited indirectly from Tim's lesson on the three legs of trust.

Sitting in the back row, Tiffany and Scott listened to Tim's message about Judas. Tim explained that Jesus provided opportunity for Judas to learn for years, continuing to do so until Judas's own actions prevented Him from giving anything more. Scott couldn't believe the timing of the sermon; even Tim didn't have that kind of foresight.

After dropping Tiffany off back at her house, Scott returned to Tim's house to rest. He went to his room and collapsed on the bed.

*****

Scott woke up to the sound of a shutting door. It sounded as if Tim had just gotten back from church. He checked the clock: 6:00 p.m.

He got out of bed and went to the kitchen. Tim was reheating a dish his wife had made for church. Scott walked to the refrigerator. "Is there room in the oven for my plate as well?" asked Scott.

"There sure is. By the way, I was glad to see Tiffany at church. I talked with her after the sermon."

Scott put his ceramic plate of chicken with rice and vegetables in the oven. "Yeah, she's thankful for our help, so she was really open to spending the day with us in a non-work environment." Scott checked his watch again. "Hey Tim? It will be about twenty minutes before it's ready. Is it all right if I call my Uncle John in Guam? I haven't talked to him since I got back and I'll pay for the long distance charges."

Tim nodded. "John? Sure, go on ahead, and tell him 'hi' for me. I'll get your food out when it's done."

"Thanks, Tim, I'll use the office phone if that's alright."

Within minutes, Scott had the address book from his room and was in Tim's office, calling John. _It should be about 6 or 6:30 a.m. over there,_ Scott thought. _He's always awake on Monday at that time._ The phone was answered after the third ring.

"Hello? John speaking..."

"John. It's me, Scott." The other line had a delay of about half a second.

"Scott. It's you!" John laughed on the other end of the line. "What have you been up to?"

Scott told John about everything that had happened since his return to Alaska. John seemed pleased. "See? You seem to be moving past the pain you experienced after all."

For a second, Scott didn't understand.

"About that," he said. "Am I moving past it if I'm not really living with my parents? I don't even see them on a daily basis."

"Scott, God doesn't want us to suffer all the time, but He doesn't want us running away, either. You went back to Alaska. You returned to live with your parents. Since then, everyone involved has been receiving the consequences of living by or against biblical principles. Your problems may not have gone away completely, but even as new challenges come your way, you have demonstrated a willingness to learn. Now you're at Tim's house, and God probably decided you would learn more there than you would with your dad."

"You still don't know the half of it," Scott said. "This is going to blow your mind!" Scott told John about a new lesson he learned from Tim, a lesson that added nicely to the three legs of trust. "Tim showed us how Jesus trusted a lot of people, but some He trusted more than others. He demonstrated this by having three people He trusted a lot, twelve He trusted consistently, and seventy He could depend on for lesser things. Jesus made sure not to give a high trust task to a low trust person, unless He was doing it on purpose to teach others."

Scott could tell John was smiling. "It looks like He didn't have to knock you off a two-legged stool like I did," John said jokingly. Scott remembered how he had learned the hard way about the three legs of trust; that a stool could only be trusted if it had all three legs intact.

"Honestly, John. I don't know how many people attend your church. If you feel you need to do the same with everyone, then maybe attendance has gone down?"

John laughed. "No, attendance has gone up, even though I've had to do more than that with people your dad's age. Most still keep coming though, praise God. So, how is the quest for a wife coming along?"

Scott was silent. He hadn't even seen anyone near his age since returning to Alaska. He couldn't remember the last time he talked to any girl who fit the description he was looking for: his age, give or take five years, and single.

Scott answered. "I've been so focused on work, I don't know if I'm ready to date right now. Today was my first day off in two weeks, and after church I just passed out asleep."

"Don't worry about it, Scott. One day you'll meet someone who can keep you awake."

Quickly evading a birds and bees conversation, Scott took a religious turn. "Thanks, John. Keep praying for me."

"All right, Scott. I got to go to work. Pray for me as well, okay?"

"I will," he said.

"And keep calling me, I don't want to lose track of what to pray for."

Scott laughed. John always knew how to keep people in good spirits. After hanging up, Scott returned to the kitchen, where Tim was now eating his wife's potato casserole. The buttered chicken and curry with rice sat on a different plate on the dining table.

"You'll want a lot of water before you eat that, Scott. Those vegetables with rice are spicy. So, how is John these days?"

Scott took a bite of the rice. "He's fine..." His face turned red. Breathing fast through his mouth, he ran to the sink and poured himself a glass of water. "What did you put in there?" he asked.

"I said it was hot. I accidentally put cayenne pepper in there instead of the paprika I wanted to add. It was all really unnecessary; the vegetables were hot enough with all the curry."

After downing his second glass of cool water, Scott returned to the table. "John's fine, by the way. He mostly just asked questions about me, but from what he's told me, his church is growing in size as well as in the quality of people there. Why don't you call him some time? I have his number and he'd love to hear from you."

"I'll do that," Tim said. As Scott copied the number down on a napkin, the phone rang again. Tim excused himself and went into his office to answer. "Hello."

Tim listened to the voice on the other end. "Scott, it's for you. It's Tiffany."

Scott quickly bit into the last of his chicken before crossing the kitchen to the phone. "Hello, Tiff?"

"I know it's late, Scott, but I need to have a meeting with you. Can you be here in twenty minutes?"

Scott was surprised. "Uh, yeah. No problem, but can I ask why?"

Tiffany was breathing hard. "It's Owen. The police told us he got bailed out by James Rogers."

"Bailed out? Isn't his bail like fifty thousand dollars? I'll be right over." Scott hung up the phone.

"Trouble?" Tim asked.

"Owen got bailed out of jail by the foreman we're trying to replace. This is bad. It couldn't have happened at a worse time."

Tim went back to the kitchen and covered the rice with plastic wrap while Scott got his shoes on.

"I've got to go to a meeting with her now. Thanks for everything," Scott said.

Tim nodded. "You do what you need to do, and don't take chances with those two men; you don't know what they're going to do."

Scott slid on his coat and quickly rushed out the door.

"We're firing that guy. That's it." Scott had plenty of time to get angry at James by the time he arrived at Tiffany's house. As he pulled into the driveway, he saw a cop car parked next to her Suburban. Scott was reminded very quickly to calm down. He looked up as he turned off the ignition. "You're right, God. I need to calm down," he said. _Tiffany is probably more nervous than I am._

Tiffany opened the door. As Scott entered, he saw Officer Fisk and Detective Hoffman stand up from the chairs at the dining table.

"You're here. That's good. Lets explain the situation." Detective Hoffman seemed ready to get started.

"All right," Fisk said, "James Rogers, a drinking buddy of Owen's, came in today and posted bail for Owen, using this address in Big Lake as Owen's living address." Detective Hoffman handed a paper to Scott.

As Scott read the report his eyes widened. "145 Big Lake Rd.? That's the house we're working on."

"Yes, well Rogers has ignored all attempts on our part to contact him after the parole officer confirmed the house wasn't his to use. Due to the nature of what Owen is on trial for, we made him wear an ankle bracelet that tells us where he is, and he's not at the job site right now. He's at James Rogers' house," said Officer Fisk.

"We would normally visit him in person and warn him to give us a proper address for Owen, but we want them to think we don't follow up regularly," Hoffman said.

Tiffany understood. "You're trying to get more evidence to put him away."

"That's correct."

Scott was glad the police knew what they were doing. Owen was surely planning something. He dreaded that thought for several days after the arrest.

"We need to fire James. We were planning on doing it tomorrow, but that was before he bailed Owen out. We just don't want to take chances with our safety trying to do it," Scott said.

Tiffany agreed. "We don't want him to come to this house, and we don't want to go over to the job site, or worse, to where Owen may be staying."

"Don't worry, Ma'am," Officer Fisk said. "With your permission, we've already wire-tapped the phone in your office, in case Owen makes any threats by phone. We'll remove it after this mess is cleared up. If Owen tries to escape, things will look really bad for James; aiding and abetting will put him behind bars for a long time. On Monday, I can be with you while you contact him at a place of your choosing to get him out of your business. If anything, you should hope he's dumb enough to try something in front of me."

"Thank you," said Tiffany.

"Let's get going. I have to make another stop," said Hoffman.

Fisk saw no further reason to stay. "Well, good night to you both. You have my number, and I'll meet you here tomorrow at ten to deal with James." The officers left, leaving Scott and Tiffany alone in the living room.

Tiffany gave Scott a hug. "We seem to be doing alright, now. I was really worried back there." She seemed stiff, only pretending to be fine.

"Would you like me to stay the night here? More than likely, nothing will happen, but I can at least make you feel safer. Worst case scenario, my being here could keep Owen from paying a visit."

"That would be great, Scott. I'd really appreciate it."

Tiffany got out sleeping bags and that night the two of them camped out in the living room. The kitchen light and bedroom light were kept on because Tiffany felt it would help to keep unwanted visitors away while they slept.

"Scott?" Tiffany whispered next to him.

"Yeah?"

"On Friday, when you were having dinner with Viktor, James came over and tried to convince me to make him manager of the construction company. When I said no, he got really angry and said I was making a huge mistake. After that, he said I would regret it." Scott listened, saying nothing as she continued. "You know what? Even with Owen, the police, and all this stuff that's happening. I don't regret hiring you. Not even for a second."

The sounds of chickadees in the birch trees outside caused Scott to wake up. Tiffany was already in the kitchen making breakfast. Scott rubbed his eyes and rolled to his side.

"You sleep alright?" he asked. Tiffany expertly flipped a pancake to its opposite side. "Surprisingly, yes. Thanks for staying over."

"The policeman said he'd be back at ten, right? What time is it now?" Scott asked.

"It's eight-thirty now. I called Tim's a half-hour ago, so Mark should be pulling in any minute. If there's anything you need to do to get ready, best do it now."

"Okay, I guess I'll take a quick shower. Be back in ten minutes. Those pancakes smell great."

Scott made his way to the shower. He had forgotten to bring his things, so he rinsed himself off as best he could. "That will have to do for now, I'm hungry," he said to himself.

When Scott was dressed again and seated at the dining table, Mark came in. "Hey Scott. Tiffany told me that some bad stuff happened, so I got here as soon as she called."

Mark had never met Owen, so Scott filled him in briefly while Tiffany finished making several more pancakes.

"Alright everyone, the police will be here in an hour to help me get rid of James. He has several guys loyal to him, so I don't know what they will do, which is why Officer Fisk has volunteered to accompany me and Scott. Mark, I need you to go to the apartment and help Viktor, as he's almost done with his job. We'll be needing Viktor's help working with Dmitri on the Big Lake house once we've cleaned it up."

"I'm on my way. Is that alright?" Mark looked at Tiffany.

"Finish breakfast first. It's going to be a long workday." Tiffany looked toward Scott. "You'll be coming with me, but you will stay behind the cops and me, watching to make sure nobody leaves the site with expensive tools. Once James leaves, you'll be in charge of moving all tools over to our vehicle and any extras will be given temporarily to Viktor, so he'll have everything he needs. By mid-afternoon, I want you at Mirror Lake, talking to Fisher and double-checking everything at the four-plex. He says everything is done, and when you confirm it, you will receive your first paycheck. I'm sure you'll like that."

Scott did like that. He hadn't received a dime from work up to that point, and was surviving off of what savings he had for the past several weeks. _Thank God for Tim and his hospitality,_ he thought.

"Sure thing, Tiffany. All we have to do now is wait for the police."

Ten o'clock arrived, and Officers Fisk and Hoffman arrived on the minute. Scott told them about the 'subcontractors' who always loitered around, so that they would be prepared.

Scott rode with Tiffany while the two officers followed in their car. When they arrived, Scott could see that James' Ford Explorer was parked there, as well as several cars that belonged to the employees and to the 'subcontractors.' There were a lot this time, more than Scott had seen at any time.

The officers walked into the house first, followed by Scott and Tiffany. The first person they saw was Dmitri, then Grigory. Upon seeing Scott, Dmitri walked toward them. The cops shifted their gaze toward him, but Tiffany touched Fisk on the shoulder and told him that he was on Scott's side. Grigory, the tall Russian employee who was always with James, rushed downstairs as soon as the cops entered. Seeing no one else on the ground floor, the group descended the steps.

When Scott reached the downstairs, it was different from the last time he saw it. Each room had already been dry walled. Doors had been installed at the entrance to every room. Only the hall was visible, with closed doors on each side. Fisk and Hoffman waited at the bottom of the stairs for Tiffany's direction. She motioned for them to go forward. Scott was thinking that James would be in the room at the far end. A light slipped out from the crack beneath the door.

When Fisk knocked on the door, they could hear a shuffling of feet in every direction. Hoffman ordered Tiffany and Scott to stay close. Before they had time to plan their next step, the door opened and James was facing the group. Next to him was Grigory and the other Russian worker.

_Where are the others?_ By the time Scott could finish his thought, several doors opened closest to the stairwell and a group of six other well-dressed Russians ascended the steps, taking only a moment to acknowledge the officers before walking away.

"What is all this?" asked James. He must have known; nobody Scott knew was that dumb.

"You bailed out my husband. He threatened to kill me, that's why he was in jail to begin with. You're fired. I'll be on my way to get a restraining order against you too. I cannot trust you any longer around me or my employees."

"This is all that kid's fault, Tiff. He's clouded your judgment," James snapped at her.

"James! You're not a good worker. Even 'kids' can see that. You'll receive your last paycheck in the mail this Friday. These officers are only here to make sure you understand that. Now leave, and good luck on your future endeavors." Tiffany wanted to slap the man, but she was being as cordial as she could.

James scanned the eyes of all those watching him. Grigory backed up. The other worker looked at James, waiting for his response.

"Fine," James said. "You go ahead and do what you want to do. You're really on your own now."

The officers, Tiffany, Dmitri and Scott all entered the room, giving James space to leave through the hallway. James shuffled past them, followed by Grigory and his friend. Scott couldn't believe that both employees would leave their jobs just because James was leaving. _They must have known him for a long time,_ Scott thought.

As James reached the foot of the stairs, Scott heard Officer Fisk speak. "You're treading dangerous water, Mr. Rogers. The Koronovs have a reputation around Alaska. I know who those guys are."

"Pff. Yeah?" James continued walking, not even turning around to acknowledge Officer Fisk. The three men turned the corner in the stairs, and disappeared.

By the time Tiffany, Scott, and the police were back in the driveway, the Koronovs had already left. James got into his vehicle and drove away, taking his employees with him.

"Looking back," Tiffany said. "It's probably for the best that Owen is staying with James. If he wasn't, James would have less reason to leave without causing problems."

"Well, there you go," said Hoffman. Scott was also glad it had been so simple. Tiffany shook hands with the officers. As Fisk got back into his car, Scott heard him whistle a tune that sounded like the theme song from _Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood._ Tiffany re-entered the house with Scott and Dmitri to assess what was left. There was a lot of drywall, and boxes of tile. Several rolls of carpet were pushed up against the wall, wrapped in plastic. Dmitri offered to stay and work if someone from Viktor's crew could come over and help him.

Once the extra tools were packed into the Suburban, Tiffany drove Scott back to his truck, so he could help Alan complete his job.

When Scott arrived at the four-plex, the job was indeed complete. Scott checked everything, being as thorough as possible. During the check of the last room, Alan told Scott what happened between himself and James.

"James wanted to run the business. I was cool with it only if Tiffany felt she couldn't do anything."

Scott listened, saying nothing.

"I really don't care who runs the thing, as long as I have steady work. Anyway, you've been doing a good job, Scott. It looks like we're going to be alright."

"Thanks. Alan." Scott shook his hand.

"No big deal. Hey, how is your dad? Is he still riding your tail about going to college?" Alan asked.

Scott laughed. "Every time he sees me," he said.

By the time Scott got back to Wasilla, it was already 3:00. The gray clouds began to dump an early snow, blanketing the earth in white. The snow was tossed around by the speeding cars so that the road retained its gray color. Undeterred by the change in weather, Scott drove to Tiffany's house in anticipation of his first paycheck.

When he arrived at Tiffany's house, he didn't see her at first, although her car was in the driveway. As he took off his boots at the door, he heard her voice. "Tiffany?"

She continued talking without responding to him. As he rounded the corner of the living room and kitchen, he saw Tiffany in the company office. The phone was pressed to her ear, and she was writing quickly.

"It will take a few days? Can't it go any faster? No? Okay then, let's do that. This is terrible... Alright then, 'bye." Tiffany's voice was tense.

"Who was that?"

Tiffany looked up at him, as if she had just realized he was here. Her face was red underneath her eyes, like she had been crying.

"Owen took the money."

"What? I thought that the money was moved to an account in your name!"

Tiffany shook her head. "The money from my mother-in-law's estate was, yes. I'm talking about the business account. No one else could have taken it."

"How much was there?" he asked.

"A hundred thousand dollars. To be accurate, he took seventy-five thousand of it, and then borrowed the maximum he could from our line of credit. He must have done it today because I checked the account on Friday and it was just fine."

"Won't that violate his parole?" Scott asked.

"No. His name is on the account. He had legal authority to withdraw money. I just assumed he couldn't because he was in jail. Now that he's out..."

Scott hated to see this happen to his aunt. She could take it as a punishment for trying to do the right thing. The reality was that she was still paying for a bad decision she had made years ago.

"How do you feel, Tiff?"

"A little angry, but it's not like this is the end of the world. I still have the other money secure, and I could move some of that to a business account completely in my name, however, the bank told me it would take a couple days. I guess we'll have to just tell Alan, Dmitri, Viktor, and James that \-- well, let's not tell James. Anyway, let's call them and tell them to take the next five days off. If we can't buy supplies, everything will come to a stop."

It was demoralizing for Scott. With one project done and two to go, everything had to stop, killing the momentum that had been building. He was really looking forward to working with Viktor and giving Dmitri a shot at finishing the Big Lake house. It had all come to a halt.

"I'll call Alan and tell him. When you get back to Tim's house, tell Mark he has the next five days off, too. Call Viktor and Dmitri as well," said Tiffany.

"No problem. They both live in the same house," said Scott.

*****

Tim looked relieved to see Scott return. Tim asked what had happened, and Scott told him everything.

"I have mostly good news. The police are expecting Owen to make a mistake, so they're giving him a few days to stay with James and easing up on the pressure to see what he will do. It looked like James knew better than to cause trouble with the cops when he's letting someone on parole use his house. He just left the job site, taking two of his employees with him."

Scott reassured Tim that he hardly looked like a ringleader to James, and instead appeared to be just an errand boy with no say or authority on anything.

"As an extra announcement, one of our projects is officially completed! That means I'll be getting paid. I can finally pay back some of the kindness you've shown toward me."

"Scott, you don't need to pay me. Just seeing you do well with the lessons God had given to me is reward enough. On top of that, you helped Mark out, so that's a wonderful thing you've already done for our family. You've even ate my cooking!"

Scott laughed. "It's not that bad."

Tim sat down on the couch and relaxed. "So, when do you get paid?"

Just then, Scott remembered. "Owen stole money from my aunt. He even took a loan on company credit."

Tim looked like he had expected something bad like that to happen. "How much did he take?" he asked.

"Seventy-five thousand dollars, plus a large loan on top of that. Tiffany owned the account but Owen had his name on it too. She hadn't changed it, so Owen basically took as much money as he could. He was probably still mad about his estate money being moved to an account belonging to Tiffany, and was doing it for revenge."

"I see." Tim scratched his beard. "I'm guessing that if someone in Owen's position gets money, a lot of it, he's going to use it. Even if the police don't know about it, they probably expected something like that happening."

"Revenge or not, Tiffany can't start another business account with only her name on it without delaying everything for several days. It's annoying having to stop now that James is gone and one of our projects is completed, but it looks like Mark and I have some time off." Scott remembered Tim asking about payday. "Oh. And I'm guessing I'll get paid when all that is sorted out. Tiffany told me to call Viktor and Dmitri and tell them the news, so I'll need to use the phone."

"Okay, I'll be in here reading. Thanks for letting me know what's going on." On the phone, Scott told Viktor that James was gone and that the money had been taken. After that, the conversation turned more casual. "So, what are you going to do now that you have time off?" he asked.

Viktor responded almost instantly. "I go hunt deer. You want to come, too?" Scott answered. "Yeah, that would be great. Mark has time off as well, and he does great with outdoor things. You want me to invite him?" Viktor agreed. Scott peered out of Tim's office, and saw Mark talking with his dad. "Hey Mark, you want to go deer hunting with Viktor?"

Mark was excited. "Cool. Let's go for it. Just let me know when and I'll get ready."

Scott passed the message on to Viktor, who was glad to hear it.

"Good." said Viktor, "Now we have five. Dmitri and another cousin of mine are going, and we're sailing out to Montague. Let's start tomorrow."
Chapter Seven

Scott knocked before opening the door to his parents' house. It was very early in the morning, and his dad, Robert, was at the kitchen table having breakfast. "What are you up to?" Robert asked.

"I have been working with Tiffany. We got one of the projects done, but some accounting issues came up. So, until they are solved, Tiffany gave us all some time off and I was just on my way to pick up some gear for a hunting trip."

Robert liked hunting, Scott knew that, so he didn't think it would be a problem.

"Where are you going, then?" he asked.

"My friends are going by sailboat to Montegue Island." Robert stared at him. "Go if you want, you picked a good time. I've been out there before, but I didn't like it."

"Then I guess we'll make it a short trip. I still have work to do when it's done anyway," Scott said.

"Your rifle is downstairs on the table. You can use my pack if you want." Scott had rarely seen his dad act so mellow. It was the easiest conversation he'd had with his father in over a year.

"Thanks," Scott said.

Scott went downstairs to retrieve his rifle. He grabbed it and the hunting pack his dad lent him before heading back upstairs.

As Scott was on his way out, his dad stopped him. "Scott. I know you're working with Tiffany, and that's all right. When you decide you're done with that, why don't you come on over to my practice and help me out over there?"

Robert's suggestion surprised Scott. It was so unpredictable to be kicked out one week and offered a job the next. He didn't want to be at odds with his father personally while working with him professionally, so he spoke his mind.

"There are other opportunities I'm looking at. I've never cared much to do psychology anyway, you know that. See you later."

After Scott secured his hunting and camping gear, he arrived at the apartment that Viktor had been working on. Mark was there too, and they all loaded their gear into Viktor's four-door truck. From there, they began the two-hour drive through Anchorage to Whittier.

The traffic was slow. The largest city in the state of Alaska continued as it always had, not caring whether the people of Davis Construction had the day off. The cars were backed up several miles from the entrance to the city, spitting exhaust fumes into the cold air. The columns of white smoke billowed out of the pipes and traveled several feet before disappearing. The traffic went from a crawl to a stop, causing Viktor to put on his breaks behind an 18-wheeler. Dmitri mumbled in Russian, and Scott guessed it wasn't something he cared to repeat in English. Mark sat in the back seat and was admiring the mountains that were lined up to his left, just beyond a strip of apartment complexes and forests.

Scott closed his eyes. The traffic would clear very soon, and they didn't even need to travel through downtown. He looked over to see how Viktor was doing. Viktor stared ahead with an intense focus, even though the car was not moving.

Soon they reached the road that would take them to the east part of town. The worst was over, and now they had 56 miles of highway separating them from Viktor's sailboat and the port of Whittier.

After they left the city, mountain slopes on their left got closer and steeper while the muddy, flat beach of the Pacific Ocean laid out directly to their right. Damp, large pieces of driftwood were scattered along the beach, half-stuck under the wet, salty earth.

Scott had only swam in the ocean here once before, and that was by accident when he fell out of a boat. He shivered, not wanting to remember the experience.

"Hey, look! A beluga whale." Mark pointed to the sea just ahead and to the right. Sure enough, the large white back of a whale emerged from the water, followed by a smaller one that showed off its tail before submerging.

Just under an hour passed before they arrived at the train stop. As they got in line behind several other vehicles, they waited to board the train.

"I thought we had to drive there," said Mark.

"People drive their trucks onto the train to transport them through the tunnel. You will see," said Viktor.

When it was their turn, Viktor guided the truck up a ramp onto one of the railcars, then followed the guidance of a railroad worker as he continued from car to car until the worker told him to stop.

The train began moving towards the tunnel as soon as all the waiting vehicles had been loaded. Once entering, the railroad continued from within, surrounded by a rounded wall made orange by the lights lining the ceiling. When he was a kid, Scott remembered going through this tunnel several times, each time imagining he was going to enter a secret base, like the ones he saw in the movies.

When they emerged from the two-and-a-half mile tunnel, Scott was no longer romancing the idea of entering a mountain complex escorted by military personnel with codes, number systems, and giant computer maps. What awaited him was far more realistic, and just as special. They were now at the port. Their trip had officially begun.

The train had stopped and they were guided off the rail cars back onto solid ground. Viktor drove his truck to a gravel parking lot just off the road. Deer hunting season had begun a month ago and they weren't the only ones taking advantage. Several other cars were parked nearby, most of which were parked close to the docks.

After several trips back and forth to the truck, everything was unloaded at the dock. They had tents, gasoline, sleeping bags, extra changes of clothes, food supplies, and guns. Everything they needed to hunt deer, or start a revolution.

Viktor retrieved the boat from where he had paid to have it stored for the hunting season. He used his truck to tow it towards the water, allowing everything to get loaded before pulling his truck away. Dmitri and Scott held on to ropes, which they attached to the dock keeping the boat in place. When everything was in position, they waited for Viktor's other cousin, Ivan, who he said would arrive soon. Ten minutes later, a blue Dodge Neon pulled in next to the truck and Viktor greeted his cousin as he was getting out.

Scott was interested in the boat, wondering how it would compare to the _Santa Maria_ , the boat he had sailed on with Janet in the Marshall Islands. It seemed smaller, but much better maintained. The name _Svetlana_ was painted on the back in fine red letters. On the right was an ocean kayak fixed to the boat's side. On top of the cabin, just in front of the mast, was a rubber life raft. Viktor was the first to climb aboard, using metal rungs on the boat's left side. Scott and the others tossed up their luggage before climbing on board.

The supplies they brought on board were moved below deck. Scott moved his dad's hunting pack below and looked around before setting it down. It was a comfortable boat. There was a small bathroom, and a well-equipped galley. On the opposite side of the galley was a table that folded into a bed. Near the bow were several more beds.

Upon returning above deck, Scott admired the large sailing vessels. One large yacht stood out. A family was loading gear into it for a long trip. It was called the _Laika,_ and Scott turned to see Mark gazing at it just as he had _._

When everything had been stowed away, the men put on large, orange life vests. Scott hadn't been on a sailboat since the Marshall Islands, and hadn't worn a life vest since his first day arriving on the island of Ebi. He was tempted to remove it as Dmitri and Viktor raised the sail, but he remembered the last time he allowed himself to be too cocky. That time, he almost got eaten by a shark.

As Whittier joined with the horizon, the wind started to pick up. Scott began to be thankful for the bulky orange life vest, which now served to keep him warm.

"From here, we begin the long part of the journey," Viktor said. "We will go east, guided by compass until we are out enough to turn south."

"How long will it take?" asked Mark.

Dmitri answered. "Last time we got there sundown. No time for the hunt until tomorrow."

Scott could now barely make out the dots that were once large boats when they were on shore. "Some of the boats were huge," he said. "I saw several that were almost the size of commercial fishing boats. Quite a few yachts too. That boat two slips down from us was at least sixty feet long."

"I saw that!" Mark said. "You're talking about the one that had _Laika_ painted on the stern, right?"

Viktor looked back at the dock, almost as if trying to read it from far away.

Dmitri spoke. " _Laika_ is boat of Koronov."

"Huh? Who are they?" asked Mark. Scott had forgotten that Mark didn't know, but Viktor filled him in.

"The Koronovs are a close group of Russian businessmen. They team together and will do anything to further their interests. Dmitri saw them at the Big Lake house all the time, but he never talked with them. He heard them talking about the _Laika_ several times. They do exports with it. That's all I know. My parents left Russia because of groups like them. We went to Atlanta first, but my son fell into a group much like the Koronovs. That's why my family and my son all moved to Alaska. They do business all the time like people did in Russia, having no respect for the law."

Scott had read how business worked in Russia. He read that former soldiers and other powerful men found jobs in crime because of their previous skills, and that they had come to own a large share of the wealth of the country. _It's no wonder they left,_ he thought.

The _Svetlana_ gradually turned south. Despite the cold air, and the wind, there was still plenty of wildlife. In the distance, several whales breached out of the water. Seagulls flew by as they passed the last small peninsula of land separating them from open water. From there, Scott could see it. Montague Island was still far away, but through the sea air he could see the silhouette of a large landmass. For a second, it looked like more of the mainland, and Scott thought it was until Ivan pointed, saying, "That's it."

Viktor and Dmitri took turns driving the boat, along with their cousin, who was feeling a little ill. Luckily, Mark had some pills his mom gave him before he left his house, which he loaned to their cousin to overcome his wooziness.

Scott was still thinking about the day before, when he and Tiffany had fired James. There were almost always several Koronovs hanging around, and he had never found out why.

"What was James doing with people like that?" Scott asked Dmitri.

Dmitri had his hands on the ship's helm, his eyes focused on the island that grew closer. "I think they use construction to hide the money they make from trafficking drugs."

The boat rocked forward and back as it charged into the small waves. Scott went below deck to get out of the wind. Since his return from the islands, he had not adjusted to the cold weather. Before long, the sound of the waves and Mark's conversation with Viktor were drifting out of Scott's focus, as he drifted off to sleep among the bags stowed below deck.

By the time Scott awoke, Mark was holding onto the wheel and being told what to do by Viktor. Dmitri was asleep and his cousin was lying down on the other side of the boat. Most of the clouds that covered the sky had dispersed, and the sun was visible in the west. Scott asked for the time, and Mark told him it was 7:00 p.m.

As they drew closer to the island, Scott could see it in greater detail. The mist in the air had cleared away, and he could see cliffs, forests, rocky beaches, brown grassy meadows, and waves crashing against the rocks, extending south as far as Scott could see.

"I'm looking for a cove I know where we can make anchor. It will protect us from the wind, and the waves will be much smaller," Viktor said. They slowed down, causing Dmitri to wake from his nap. He looked around, trying to see where they would land. Viktor pointed towards a cliff off to the right, and Mark turned the wheel in that direction.

As they rounded a rocky point, Scott could see where they were headed. Small rocks covered the beach in front of him. Cliffs protected the beach from both sides, and beyond the beach was a grassy embankment that sloped upwards into the forest.

Ivan grabbed the anchor as they came into the protected water of the cove. They lowered the sails. After dropping the anchor in about 70 feet of water, Dmitri let out another 150 feet of rope while Viktor started the outboard motor, explaining to Mark how to set the anchor.

Once that was done, Viktor got out the fishing poles to catch fresh salmon for dinner. The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time Viktor's fishing line danced a zigzag pattern in the water. He fought for several minutes until the outline of a salmon appeared near the surface of the water. Viktor quickly reeled it in and reset his line for another. Dmitri also cast his line in the water.

The stars came out, shining brighter than they ever did in town. They were almost as bright as they had been in the Marshall Islands. Scott was having a great time, even though he missed his friend, Jerry, Mr. Henrich the mission director, and even Tia, the fierce-tempered islander who gave Scott a machete as a gift. Scott kept the machete safe in his room at Tim's house, hoping to keep it in good condition; hoping he would one day see the islands again. Even with all the stress that had happened over the last month, it still felt like he had only been home a short time.

Scott retrieved a large pot and a frying pan, and began to cook some rice to go with the salmon. They didn't plan on eating more than twice a day, as they wanted as much time as possible to hunt. The food was more for sustenance than for enjoyment, as most meals were during a camping or hunting trip.

After dinner, Scott crawled into one of the bunks in the bow of the boat. Despite his recent nap, sleep came easily to him.

*****

An eagle woke Scott up as it chased away two seagulls that attempted to steal its recent catch. Scott looked out towards the sea.

_I think I'll take the kayak to explore the coast_ , he thought.

He lowered the kayak onto the glassy water, then climbed down into the kayak using the rungs on the port side. After untying the rope that kept the kayak from drifting away, he rowed around the rocky cliffs, where the two seagulls were perched, awaiting the eagle's leftovers.

For several minutes, his paddle made gentle ripples in the clear water. The sky started to glow in the east, and soon the sun's rays shot outward from the horizon like slow fireworks, officially starting the day. As he began to explore the other side of the cliff, the side that bravely faced the open sea, he maintained a safe distance from the rocks to avoid tipping his craft. The cliff slowly descended into the water, until Scott arrived at a second beach covered with smooth round stones. Knowing he still had time to explore, he visited the beach.

When he stepped out of the kayak, pulling it ashore where the tide couldn't reach it, he saw things that were similar to what he saw on the beach outside of Anchorage. There were occasional pieces of driftwood, shells, stones, and sand. However, in the middle of the beach, he saw something that surprised him.

He broke into a full run. It was in three pieces, all of which lay naked upon the rocks. Scott reached for it and ran his hands over the metal. Digging away at the sand and small rocks, he found that the pieces were connected. "Could it be?" he said, "It would be crazy if this was it." He crawled on his knees to what he now realized was the stern. Scott's eyes widened.

This is it. This was Uncle Matthew's old boat.

Before being evicted from his father's house, Scott found out that Owen and his dad had taken his uncle's boat. They went out hunting when Scott was in the Marshall Islands, and when Scott returned to Alaska, he asked about it. All they told him was that Matthew bought a bad boat, so they abandoned it on the beach, never to see it again.

Matthew always took care of his things. The boat had never been a source of problems for Matthew as long as he had it, and it had given him a lot of joy in his life. He had spent twelve thousand dollars to get that boat. He read the manual and cared for it as much as anyone could.

Scott got back on his feet to survey the damage from all sides. Half the boat was rusted over, and had a burnt look to it. The engine was battered by the frequent outbursts of waves and nature. On one of the larger pieces, Scott could see large holes where a shotgun had been fired at it.

"Any boat would stop working if you shot at it enough," Scott said, clenching his fist.

He remembered when he was 11 and his uncle Matthew had taken him fishing. He had done so every other weekend that summer. They must have gone at least six times in those three months. A few times, Scott's father came along, but he and Matthew had always argued, making Scott fear he would not get to visit his uncle again.

A part of him wanted to put his father and Owen in the same category. Then they could both be bad guys he could push out of his life. _One day, they will regret causing Matthew such undue pain,_ he thought. Now he saw his father as someone who no longer wanted anything to do with Owen, and Scott didn't know what to think. He didn't trust his father, that was for certain. Tears gathered in his eyes.

"I don't need this," he said out loud. "What am I doing working in Owen's construction company? That business really needs a name change!" Tim's offer to set him up working for the prosthetist seemed more attractive by the minute. He rubbed his eyes. "Owen had better not try anything. I don't know what I would do if I saw him again."

He pushed the kayak back into the water. _I'm halfway done,_ though, he thought. _The hard part's behind me. I just need to get this stuff done and I'm free._ He paddled faster, letting the paddle slap and splash at the water. _It's not like I haven't made friends. Look at where I am right now!_ He rounded the cliff face and approached the _Svetlana_.

Dmitri was awake and on the deck of the boat. "Where were you?" he asked.

Scott forced a smile and tied the kayak back to the rope dangling from the sailboat's side. "Just looking around."

Below deck, Viktor and Mark were heating up some rice.

"Where were you?" Mark asked.

"Just exploring," Scott said.

After breakfast, the group began their ascent up the mountainside and into the forest. They hiked through patches of dense trees and patches of tall grass. In the beginning, they saw very little, but Scott knew that hunting took time.

They continued their ascent. The ground alternated in steepness, and each person needed to carry a daypack and their guns while utilizing branches and other shrubbery to keep from slipping on the soft, wet ground.

The sun was almost overhead, but no one had seen any deer yet. Dmitri found deer tracks leading up, but the tracks just seemed to keep going without leading to anything. The trees got smaller and the shrubbery more scarce. By now, Scott's legs were hurting; he had not hiked in a long time. When the hill leveled off, he sat down on a large rock. He really didn't care whether he shot a deer or not. He had come along mainly to distract himself from construction work. Mark stopped next to Scott and pulled some dried fruit from his backpack. It seemed he was just in it for the exercise, and was still full of energy.

Snow was visible up ahead. When Viktor had nearly reached the top of the next ridge, Scott started to catch up. He was within 40 feet from the Russians, when Viktor held out a hand for them to be quiet. He put his gun to his shoulder and looked through the scope. Scott and Mark made sure to step quietly up to where Viktor, Dmitri, and Ivan were. When they reached the top, they lay down on their stomachs and peered over the edge.

Downhill were two large deer, grazing five hundred feet away among the tall blades of brownish-yellow grass. Dmitri whispered to Viktor as he pulled out his hunting rifle and aimed in the same direction, "Raz... Dva...Tree." Viktor and Dmitri both fired their rifles on the third count.

One deer dropped in an instant, while the other convulsed in a death flurry before ending its fatal dance upon the ground.

Once they had gutted and skinned their prey, the group made their way back to the boat. It was then that Mark spotted another one. At Viktor's insistence, Mark shouldered his own rifle and took aim. One loud bang later, and they had their third deer.

"We have luck," Dmitri said.

Viktor finished his thought. "We have enough to go back after only one day."

Scott followed them down to where the third deer lay. It was clear that Viktor and his cousins were there to hunt, and their goal had been achieved. Dmitri smiled at his cousin.

"What Dmitri?" Viktor asked.

"We have time to shoot brown bear," he announced. Mark looked at Viktor, then back at Scott.

Scott remembered he had only told Mark about deer hunting. Scott himself hadn't considered hunting bears on this trip.

Viktor and Dmitri both had bear hunting experience. Last year, they had no time to do it, but this season they had the opportunity. They decided to move to another location once they cleaned, processed, and stored the deer meat.

The next day, Viktor sailed their ship toward a cove closer to port, where their sailboat would have better protection, as it seemed the weather might turn bad. There were clouds in the distance, dark gray ones that looked menacing, but there were no whitecaps on the waves, and the wind was favorable for sailing. Viktor and Scott had been in these waters many times though, and they knew they had to hurry before things got worse.
Chapter Eight

Arriving at the cove, the group set anchor and made for the shore. Steep, jagged cliffs cradled the water of the cove and the sailboat inside. It was here that Viktor and Dmitri had built bear blinds. Viktor explained everything to both Mark and Scott, as they were both new to bear hunting.

"We use platforms in the trees. They are called blinds. We built ladders out of spikes into the trees so we can climb up, then we wait for bear while bait draws them. We can then shoot bear from a safe place."

Scott listened to Viktor's instructions, as did Mark, who never hunted anything before that would dare hunt him back. They took leftovers from cleaning the deer with them as bait for the grizzlies.

As soon as they were ashore, a large embankment faced them. The forest lay beyond. They helped each other up in the steep places, hanging onto trees and using roots sticking out of the ground for stability. Scott was glad he dressed warmly, as he knew he would be spending the day up in a tree.

They reached the granite cliff tops, which dropped steeply to the ocean below. _This view is fantastic,_ Scott thought. From his vantage point he could see the cliff on the other side of the cove, and an island in the distance with similar topography, and he could see several miles out. The wind brushed past him as he looked out at the sea.

On their way up to the blinds, they crossed a small freshwater stream. It flowed down from a waterfall, and continued past them toward the ocean. On the other side of the waterfall was a steep wall of dirt and rocks, which had a rope that dangled from a tree branch at the top.

"People must come here often, if someone thought to bring a rope," Mark said.

"We go up here," Dmitri said as he grabbed onto the rope, using it to scale the steep wall.

Scott was next. With little effort, he made it up, too.

"Just remember to step on the rocks. It makes everything easier," said Viktor.

As the others climbed the rope, Scott watched the stream as it flowed over the waterfall. Large paw prints lined the bank of the stream.

Viktor stopped at a group of spruce trees. "We should climb here," he said, pointing to a large evergreen with spikes nailed into the trunks.

Viktor climbed up with his cousin after setting the bait at his tree. Dmitri guided Scott and Mark to another tree. After seeing that they were up safely, he retrieved a plastic bag. He pulled the burlap sack of leftovers from their recent deer hunt out of the plastic bag and tied it to a bush ten paces away. Before climbing up in a tree near Scott and Mark, he took out a long hunting knife and slashed part of the sack, allowing the scent of the bait to draw in the bears. The hunters were too far away to see each other, but close enough to yell at one another if the need arose.

Scott sat down on a platform fastened between two branches, while Mark took a similar perch four feet higher and to his right, facing the woods.

From his perch, Scott could look down and see the bait, and the large bush it was tied to. Looking out to his left, he could see the cove itself, and the island on the far side that separated the cove from the open sea.

"All we have to do now is wait," Mark said.

The weather turned worse after several hours up in the trees. Gray, low-lying clouds surrounded the forest, and thunder rumbled across the sky. "This almost never happens here, lighting and thunder," Scott said. The wind grew even stronger, and whipped through the spruce trees, causing their trunks to sway.

It began to rain. It was not a flood of water like a tropical storm, but a steady fall of heavy droplets. The wind made it seem much worse. Scott pulled the hood of his jacket up to keep the rain from blowing sideways into his face. He kept his head down, facing the bait, and that helped to keep the water away.

For half an hour, the rain continued. Mark just laughed, seeming used to the rainfall by now, accepting the reality of bad weather. Scott was used to it too, but he began to miss the comfort of the sailboat.

_I could have stayed in this time,_ he thought. He could have spent this time lying sideways on a bed while sipping some hot chocolate, reading a book. On the other hand, he reasoned that this was one of those uncomfortable moments that made for a great story later on. He likened it to sore feet from standing outside at a music festival at the State Fair. He would have done that again, and he would probably hunt again as well. "It's weird," Scott said. "It's weird that we continue to go on hunting trips when we know the weather is going to be miserable every time. It's almost like we look forward to the bad experiences, just so we'll have something to talk about."

Mark shifted his legs, smiling as he contemplated his friend. "Yeah, I guess it is."

A loud rustling came from the bush down below. Both Scott and Mark turned their heads in its direction. A large grizzly approached the meat. Scott clicked off the safety. The bear grabbed a chunk of the meat and moved in closer to the tree, staying beneath the blinds and out of range of their guns.

"Great," Scott said sarcastically. "I can't get a clear shot, yet it will take all of our bait. We'll have nothing."

He sat up to make himself more comfortable. Looking out over the cove, he noticed their sailboat was no longer the only boat there. A larger boat had entered the cove and was motoring its way around the cliff, seeking a safe place out of the stormy weather. Mark pulled out a pair of binoculars from his backpack and looked at it.

"Isn't that the yacht we saw from back at the port? On the back it says _Laika._ "

"The Koronov boat is sharing our cove now. Let's hope this has nothing to do with us," Scott said.

_Are they just escaping the storm, or is there another reason they chose this spot?_ he wondered.

From beneath the blind, there was a loud roar. Landing on all fours, the bear bit at the meat and roared again in the direction of Scott's tree.

Mark, with Scott's nod of approval, took aim. Before he fired, however, Scott noticed another large ship just outside the cove. It was at least 80 feet long and was in the sea concealed behind the cliff face, so anyone down in the cove couldn't see it.

Scott got out his binoculars. Staring at the Coast Guard cutter, he saw people in uniform piling out of the ship and into a rubber boat they had just set in the water. The cutter itself was too large to squeeze between the small island and the cliff face. The now-full rubber craft maneuvered around the cliff face and into the cove.

"It's the Coast Guard, don't shoot," ordered Dmitri. Mark lowered his rifle and retrieved his own binoculars.

Scott watched as the six men in the rubber raft approached the _Laika._

Suddenly, one of the men in front fell backward and rolled off of the raft. As soon as Scott saw it, he heard the sound dart past his ears. Gunfire.

Mark spat out his own nervous commentary. "They're shooting! Someone's shooting at the Coast Guard!" Through the binoculars, Scott saw a flash. Responding shots. A man stumbled towards the railing on the _Laika_ and fell into the water. Scott was too far away to hear the splash, but he saw the white ring of disturbed water where the man fell. The rest of the coast guard boarded the _Laika_ , and one by one the crew emerged from inside, hands on their heads.

A second raft headed into the cove. The downed guard officer was now being pulled into the second raft before returning to the ship outside.

"I hope he's alright," Scott said.

A woman, man, and two children were led by the armed Coast Guard officers off of the _Laika,_ onto the nearest raft. The second raft had gone towards the _Svetlana_.

When the guard reached the _Svetlana,_ two men boarded her. Scott guessed they were looking for a connection on their sailboat between them and the _Laika_.

Scott and Mark waited several seconds to see what the Guard would do. The bear was still pawing at the meat, tearing off pieces of it and jerking his head around to keep an eye on Scott and Mark. After a minute, they both noticed the pair of guards were leaving their sailboat. Scott looked at them closely with his binoculars.

One of the guards was scanning the forest with binoculars of his own. It didn't take him long to notice Scott, Mark, and Dmitri in their blind. The guard next to him spoke into his hand-held radio. Upon noticing this, Scott didn't know whether they were in trouble or not.

The man on the radio boarded his own craft, and returned with his partner to the cutter outside the cove. They heard the diesel motor start on the _Laika_ , and watched the Coast Guard crew raise anchor and steer back towards the port, close behind the cutter. "They must have known we were just hunters," said Mark.

"I don't know if it was our clothes, our position, or the fact that two of us aren't Russian, but we lucked out," said Scott.

If Scott and his friends had left an hour earlier or arrived an hour later, they never would have seen the Coast Guard, gunfire, and death. The large ship left nothing behind except the trail of white water that dissipated as it returned to port. Scott didn't know what to think. He had just witnessed human life washed away by violence, erased from existence and sight.

_I didn't really know how fast something like this could happen,_ Scott thought. _Does it always happen like this?_

The bear was back in sight, tearing more meat off of the bush. Mark took careful aim and pulled the trigger.

The blast of sound when Mark fired was so loud, it caused the tree they were perched in to tremble. It was a direct hit. The bear uttered a loud roar as it jerked its head in the direction of Scott and Mark's tree. It rushed at the trunk supporting them both, tearing at the spikes nailed into it with its lethal claws. The tree shuddered as the bear unleashed its fury. Scott jumped as he heard a second gunshot close by. The bear hit the ground instantly, making a thud as its body collapsed on the soil.

Dmitri lowered his rifle, which had been pointed at the back of the bear's head. Scott looked down over the edge of the platform. Most of the spikes they had used to climb up were torn out or bent. Pieces of bark and wood lay scattered around the beast as if they were flowers at a funeral.

The rain had slowed to just a sprinkle. Light gray clouds had replaced the storm clouds. The wind was still blowing, but not nearly as intense as it had during the storm. The spruce trees vertically realigned themselves. The smell of the forest was brought out by the recent weather. Scott shivered. He was wearing several layers and all of them were wet. As he looked up to see how Mark was doing, he could see his friend was in a similar situation.

Mark lay down his gun, preparing to get out of the tree. "This wasn't as great as I thought it would be. Maybe it was what happened in the cove," he said.

A gust of wind whistled though the trees, reminding them both of the uninviting weather they endured to gain this experience.

"Lets clean up, then go back to Whittier."

It would be a jump getting down. Scott called out to Viktor and his cousins before leaving his perch in the tree.

Neither Mark nor Scott knew how to gut and clean a bear, but with three Russians helping them out, they were done within an hour. The ground was muddier with the recent rain and it was an awkward experience, wrapping the hide so that it could be carried down the hill with the meat. He didn't think he would ever hunt bear again, but was glad he had the chance at least once.

_This will be my first and last bear hunt,_ Scott thought. _I wonder what really happened down there?_
Chapter Nine

The force of the wind and the waves had died down by the time Scott and the rest of the hunting party boarded the _Svetlana_. As the engine rumbled and the anchor was unhooked from its resting place, Mark helped Ivan raise the sail. By the time Scott stowed the meat and pelt below deck, they had left the cove and Scott saw that he had several more hours of open water in front of them. Scott changed into dry clothes, then sat down with Mark and Dmitri above deck, with nothing more to do until he was needed to secure the boat back at the docks.

After they had docked, Viktor went to get the trailer for hauling out the _Svetlana_. Before Viktor returned with the truck, Scott looked toward the Coast Guard station and saw a man and woman with two children leave the building. As Scott helped his companions load everything into Viktor's truck, the couple approached Scott.

"Is that your boat over there?" The woman pointed at the _Svetlana_.

"Not mine." Scott shook his head, and pointed at Viktor. "It's his." He could see that the man was about 5'6" and clean-shaven. The woman was well dressed and had her hair tied back in a ponytail. Both were wearing jeans, dark colored sweaters and thick, unzipped jackets. The boy looked about 12 years old, and was rubbing his eyes as if he had just woke up. The girl was thin, had dark hair, and was several inches taller than her brother.

The man shook Scott's hand and introduced himself. "I'm Stanley Martin, and this is my wife, Janette. These are our children, Kyle and Rachel. We noticed your boat was in the cove with us when we received a surprise visit from the Guard." Stanley sounded stressed. He and his wife looked worn out.

"We were in the woods hunting when we heard gunshots. A man fell from your boat," Scott said. "What's happened?"

"We transport sailboats for a living. People pay us to ferry them from one place to another, and we use the money to travel the world in our own boat. The man who was supposed to navigate us through the inside passage to Washington went above deck when he saw the Guard, pulled out a handgun, and started shooting. We didn't know he had a gun, and had just pulled into the cove to get out of the weather. It was really unsettling."

"Your boat looks pretty nice," the daughter said, pointing at their sailboat.

"So, are we going to the airport, Dad?" the boy asked.

Viktor said something to Ivan, who responded in Russian.

"The _Laika_ is owned by some shady characters, did you realize?" Scott said, surprised that the kids were changing the subject so quickly.

Viktor nodded his head once and addressed the couple. "The train leaves for Anchorage in about an hour."

Kyle smiled. "Thank you," Stanley said. "But now you've got me curious. What shady characters? Are you talking about the owners of the boat?"

Scott explained. "The boat is owned by the Koronovs, a Russian family that has a bad reputation around here."

"The men we talked to weren't Russian. Our guide on the boat wasn't even Russian. The man who arranged for our guide had an English name, it was... James Rogers. He was the one who recommended Owen to us as a guide."

Viktor and Dmitri both turned to face Stanley. Scott realized he was staring too. "I'm sorry, you said Owen, right? Is his last name Davis?"

Stanley raised his eyebrows slightly. "You knew Owen Davis?"

"Stanley, is it?" Scott asked. "I've got to make a phone call, but I'd like to go with you on the train to Anchorage." He looked at Viktor and his cousins. "Will you be alright with me taking the next one?"

"Sure. We will take the train after this one," said Viktor.

Scott couldn't ignore the connection with the Koronovs to James, and from James to Owen. _James had spent so much time with the Koronovs on my aunt's jobsites, and James was a drinking buddy of Owen. They were close friends, and Owen must have known about the Koronovs as well._

Stanley, Janette, and their children waited in the small station for the train. Scott sat to the right of Stanley.

"How did you meet Owen?" Scott asked.

"A man named James Rogers told us that he was our best bet for getting around the rocks in that area. He said Owen would meet us at the port when it came time to sail, and he was there," Janette said.

Stanley continued. "He seemed in a hurry to beat the weather, but we couldn't get ahead of it. We had to go into the cove for safety. When the Coast Guard came after us with their rafts, Owen ran upstairs with a 9mm. Before we knew it, he was dead. We boarded their raft and saw Owen lying face down in the water with blood spreading everywhere."

"Yeah it was pretty scary," Rachel said.

"We were escorted back to port. On the way back, the captain of the Coast Guard ship apologized for putting us in a situation like that. He explained to me that there was a report of an escaped fugitive issued regarding Owen. His ankle bracelet was found broken, in a gas station bathroom. They wanted to prove that he was really trying to escape probation, so they let him get out of the port as concrete evidence he was attempting to escape. Before we left, we asked the Guard if he was all right and they told us to go ahead. When we got back, the Coast Guard had already informed the police that we had no prior dealings with him, so they let us go. That's when we saw that your ship was back."

_This is valuable information, especially to my aunt,_ Scott thought. He excused himself and called her on the station's pay phone. The phone rang twice.

"Hello?"

"Tiffany, this is Scott. I've got some news that may be something of a shock." Scott related all that he knew about Owen's death. He didn't know how the news would affect her, and he was relieved to find that she took it calmly.

"He threatened me earlier today," she said. "It's terrible that he had to die like that, but at least he won't cause problems anymore."

"Can you pick me up at the train station in Anchorage? I'm talking with the family who got caught in the middle of it all and they will want a ride to the airport. I won't be coming back with Viktor."

Tiffany answered without hesitation. "Take your time with them, I'll be there in about three hours. Are you okay with that?"

Scott breathed a sigh of relief. "That would work, thanks."

He hung up the phone and returned to the bench, where Stanley had saved his seat.

"Everything alright?" Janette asked. Scott smiled and gave the thumbs up.

"I'm fine. My aunt will pick me up and also give you a ride to the airport. I still think you guys deserve a better background on Owen, though." Scott said. "James Rogers used to work for my aunt's company. He bailed Owen out of jail and he was under close watch by the police. I was there when we fired James; we had to have police come to the construction site to do it safely. Owen was a murder suspect, and he had threatened to kill my aunt, his wife, well, I guess widow now. That boat doesn't belong to James. The _Laika_ belongs to a Russian business group that is connected to James and also under constant watch by the police."

"Thanks for explaining to us," Janette said.

"Not a problem. Anyways, Owen destroyed my uncle's boat on Montegue Island because of his poor navigation skills. It had run aground against some rocks and he left it on the beach to rust over. He wouldn't have been your best guide to Washington."

"Here is what happened with us. Before we take a client, we check to see if the client is clean of any criminal activity. You don't want to be caught on a ship with anything you wouldn't be proud to claim ownership of. We also get paid up front. We received our money and talked to the harbormaster about the owners of the boat. He said that he had never heard anything bad about them and that he had never heard of any maritime laws being broken by them. That seemed okay enough for us, but then we checked with the Coast Guard while Owen was readying the boat. When we mentioned Owen, the Guard officer went into his back office to make several phone calls. Then he came back to us, saying it's okay and that we should make the trip. We hadn't thought to background check Owen as well as the clients."

"There it is." Kyle got up and stared at the train, which was just exiting the tunnel.

Stanley smiled and put his arm around his wife. "We've been to a lot of places, and never had any trouble with anyone. We expected Alaska to be the least troublesome place in the world. It just proves that you never really know. Now we're on our way back to Washington. At least we got paid with the understanding that we're not responsible for acts of God, like storms or Coast Guard interference."

"Why couldn't they just arrest him at the dock, though? He was on the boat, ready to leave. Are they dumb?" Rachel asked her mom.

Scott didn't answer, and neither did Janette.

"It makes a better case against a fugitive if he has already left the harbor. They also may not have wanted a gunfight in the harbor itself," Stanley said.

The conductor motioned for passengers to board the train, and Scott went with the family, followed in line by several others.

"So, where were you planning on going next?" Scott asked, taking a seat with them on the upper level. They exited the tunnel and were on the railroad back to Anchorage.

"We were thinking about maybe going to Hawaii in the fall. From there, we could follow the islands west towards Midway, Wake, then the Marshalls and Guam. After that, we want to go east again back to Hawaii and mainland America."

As they continued their conversation, Scott was amazed at how many places they had seen. They had already sailed from New York to the Caribbean and through the Panama Canal up to Washington. Since then, they had also gone back to visit Mexico. Their goal was to see the world, and they weren't waiting.

"That's really admirable," Scott said. "Being able to just go someplace whenever you want to, and still traveling, even to make money for more traveling."

Stanley smiled and leaned his head back against the seat. "It wasn't an easy choice. I used to have a dental practice. Eventually I decided that it was better for me to enjoy life now instead of waiting until my mid-sixties. You know, see the world when you're still young enough to enjoy it. So, I sold my dental practice and bought this 70-foot long sailboat. Really nice craft. Better than working your whole life only to find what you're passionate about after most of it is over."

"So, you're going to the Marshalls? I'd like to go back someday myself. I went over there for a year to do teaching at a mission school. I was supposed to stay two more years, but I had to leave early," Scott said.

"You sound like you loved it over there. What made you leave?" Stanley asked.

"Well, the board of directors voted me off the island. Too many bad situations. The first one was when a close friend of mine got into a shipwreck with me and several others. She drowned. After that, some islanders got angry at one of the people responsible for the shipwreck. They tried to attack him with machetes, but I knocked the guy out with a chair leg, which changed their mind about wanting to maim or kill him. Of course, I was mad too, but the guy was talking himself into a worse and worse situation, the more I left him alone. He is in good health now, last time I checked. The last thing that happened was an infection. I got it from a cut on my foot. In the hospital, a nurse gave me undiluted antibiotics and I almost died. That was the last straw for our mission director, whose job was put in jeopardy because of all these tragedies. He put me on the first plane to Guam."

Scott really wanted to go back to the Marshalls someday. He still had a job to do, though, and now he was thinking of going to lots of different places like this family had. He was glad he had decided to go with them to the airport. For the longest time, he thought that putting off his life until he had enough money was the way everyone lived. That was what his dad, brother, and everyone he knew did.

_It's better to just get going and learn to solve the problems as they come_ , he thought.

Scott liked the family. He liked them so much he would put them in his 'twelve' if they only stayed around long enough.

When they arrived at the Anchorage train station, Scott helped them get their bags unloaded.

"It should be only a half hour now, she'll be here soon," Scott said, moving the last bag to a nearby bench with the rest of their luggage. "So, after seeing the world, what's next?"

"We'll probably look at which places we love the most and spend our time there," Janette said.

"We'll never stop traveling. We would just travel less often," Stanley said. The two smiled and looked at each other.

"You've talked about this before," Scott said, laughing.

"So far we have enjoyed Mexico. Panama is all right, too. We're lucky that we both like the warm climates."

Scott looked out the window of the station. The parking lot was packed with vehicles that had been left behind while their owners enjoyed the train ride. "I've got to say something. I have been thinking about a lot of things. Until now, I didn't think I had much control over where I was going. I felt like I needed permission. Now, I want to stop what I'm doing and do something else. I have been working construction ever since I got back, and though I like being able to get stuff done, I wouldn't want to have a boss towering over me, and I dislike all the office work of managing. I want to get out, but since I accepted a leadership position in my aunt's company in order to help her, I feel I have to keep doing it."

"Why do you have to keep doing it?" Stanley asked.

Scott ran his fingers through his hair. "Family is important. If I let my aunt down, she won't like me, and then I really won't be able to get along with my dad."

Another train chugged its way into the station on a second set of tracks.

"Look at our family, Scott. I don't mean to pry, and I don't know how many families you've seen in action, but allow me to say something. If my daughter, Rachel, decided she wanted to stay in one place and be a dentist the rest of her life, she wouldn't have let me down. My children's happiness is a huge factor in whether I think I've succeeded with my family. If my son decides he wants to do the exact same thing as us, we would look on him with the same acceptance as if he did the opposite. I am sorry if I sound intrusive, but it sounds like Tiffany is a lot like us. She trusts you with her company. From what I can see, she trusts you more than she trusted her own husband."

"You know, you remind me of my Uncle John," Scott said. Janette smiled. "John's very similar to you guys. When I had a problem, he always seemed to know the next step to take. He lives in Guam, too. If you'd like to meet him, I can get you his address and phone number."

"I think we can do that. Stan, do you have a pen?" Janette tore a piece of paper from a spiral notebook in her carry-on bag while Stanley rummaged through his own for a pen. Finding one, he handed it to Janette and she wrote down her address.

"You're right, though. The happiness of your family is important," said Scott. "If I have a family, I want each member of my family to find happiness. I guess I was just worried about what my dad thought of me."

"Is it alright if I ask you what he thinks?"

"Sure," Scott said. "He thinks that because I didn't go to school to become a psychologist that I'm lazy, and that I'll never be important. I don't like the work he does, though. He seems so mad at the world sometimes. His patients aren't even happy."

"What would make you happy? What would make you feel important? These are the kinds of questions I had to ask myself before I reached a decision I could be passionate about. Here's a better one! What would make you feel important if, no matter what you chose to do, no one could negatively influence your decisions?"

Scott lowered his head and looked at his boots. They were still quite dirty from the hunting trip, and he hadn't brought any spares with him. "When I work, I want the people who work with me to be happy. I have a friend who recommended that I work with a prosthetist. If I did that, I could go over to Asia and work on helping people who suffered major injuries." "Is that what you want?" asked Stanley. Scott nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. I want to do that. Maybe I should finish the three jobs I promised to do, one of which is already done. After that, I can see if that option is still available. Even if it isn't, I know what I want to do, and I can find out where I can do that kind of work." He glanced at the parking lot and recognized Tiffany's Suburban pulling in. "She's here. I'll help you with your luggage and introduce you."

They got up and moved their bags outside, where Tiffany's Suburban waited in front of the doors.

Scott held the door open, excited to include Tiffany in his planning for the future.
Chapter Ten

The first thing Scott noticed was that the dent Owen had put in his aunt's Suburban had been repaired. The next thing he noticed was that Tiffany was dressed professionally -- black skirt, gray blouse, and hair tied back. This was quite different from the casual attire he usually saw her in.

Tiffany was pleased to meet the Martin family, who told her what they knew about Owen. They told stories of their adventures, yet even their lighthearted stories couldn't hide the strange feeling that surrounded both Tiffany, and Scott. _I hope I didn't put these people in the same vehicle for nothing,_ Scott thought. _Would I want to talk to the widow of a man who I just saw die?_ Scott watched how resilient Tiffany was, seeing how she never lost control of her emotions. _Aunt Tiff felt trapped for a long time in her marriage, so I can't imagine how she feels being freed in this way._

These thoughts circled through Scott's mind the whole time, even though he was involved in their conversation. He longed to address these thoughts with his aunt, but knew he had to hold back his questions until after the family had been dropped off at the airport.

After seeing them off at last, Scott returned to the Suburban with his aunt and they began their trip home.

"They're nice people, aren't they, Tiff?" Scott asked.

"They are. I hope they have a safer trip next time," Tiffany said. "How was the hunting?"

"It was a success as far as hunting goes."

"I've got a lot of news. Just as much of it is bad as it is good. First, Owen threatened me by phone, twice."

Tiffany watched for the next green light before continuing down Sixth Avenue out of Anchorage. "I thought Owen would get into a lot of trouble, I just didn't know he would die, especially so soon after threatening me. I guess now we don't need the recorded threats as evidence." Tiffany and Scott both looked ahead into the dark night and the city lights. After a long minute, she continued. "I never wanted it to go that far. I guess it's better for him than being locked away for the rest of his life."

Scott said nothing. His brain felt overheated from the intense conversation, and all the experiences he had had that day. Tiffany kept talking but he didn't register what she had said. She looked over at him only to find him staring ahead at the other vehicles on the road, with his mouth slightly open.

"Scott?"

"Oh! I'm sorry Tiffany. I spaced out for a second. It's been a long day."

His aunt smiled understandingly. "Not to worry. You've been out in the woods for several days and I saw there was a storm headed that way on the news. You must be tired. I'll continue if you want, or if you want to sleep in the car, we can talk later."

"No, no, Tiff. I want to hear what you have to say."

Tiffany continued. "I got a call from the cops saying that Owen had been traced to a gas station, on the way out of Anchorage. That must have been when he broke his ankle bracelet. I knew that he only had a few options available: going to Whittier, or continuing down the peninsula. I told the cops he would probably go to Whittier. It didn't surprise me that he would try to leave the state.

"I have some better news about the business. Because of what's happened, I no longer need to change the account. We'll start up again next week. Also, the Air Force officers who own the four-plex we just completed called me. They said that we weren't done yet."

This puzzled Scott. "What wasn't done? I'm sure I checked all of it with Alan."

"They said that the carpet had been left unfinished in the main room, along with a few other things that equal about three days work for one person." Scott could have sworn everything was done, especially because he checked off on it. Those things were very obvious.

Tiffany raised her eyebrows. "James! The only people who still have keys to the place are the owners and all the foremen on our projects. We fired James, but I didn't think to get the keys from him. That's got to be it, you wouldn't check off anything with that much still unfinished."

"Okay, so we get James to give us the keys?" Scott asked.

"I already paid to change the lock on the door and get a different set of keys when I sent Alan to refinish the project. I thought that confronting James would just make him want to cause more trouble."

"You know what I think, Tiff? I'm sure when he finds out what happened to Owen, we won't have any more problems with him."

Scott leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes as they drove down the highway.

Tiffany spoke again. "I have some more good news, Scott."

He had fallen asleep. Tiffany looked over and saw his eyes were closed. Gazing at the lights of the cars in front of her, she smiled. "I am going to sell the company."

*****

Scott jerked awake. The Suburban had stopped. He looked out the window, then back at his aunt. He was back at the apartment. His truck was there.

"See you tomorrow," said Tiffany. "Take care that you don't fall asleep on the road."

Thanking her, Scott opened the door and got out of the car. He was still trying to wake up, and the colder weather outside made it easier to do so. He waved goodbye to Tiffany, who was already backing up to leave.

Just then, he remembered his conversation with Stanley and Janette. "I haven't told my aunt anything about finding another job! How did we end up not talking about it?"

He walked around the parking lot of the apartment, trying to get his body and mind ready to take to the road again. The door handle was cold as he climbed into the truck. Scott started the engine and rolled down the window slightly, so his windshield wouldn't fog over as he drove.

When he finally got back to Tim's house, he opened the door to find that all the lights were off. Taking off his shoes, he made his way to the bedroom and fell asleep within seconds of lying down.

*****

The next day, Scott looked forward to spending time with Tim, and wanted to tell him of his interest in working with the prosthetist. Doing life-changing work in Cambodia seemed to offer everything he felt he lacked since getting back from the Marshall Islands. He took a shower and got dressed, then made his way into the kitchen, where Tim was talking to someone. Scott recognized the voice even before he saw his Aunt Tiffany.

As soon as he was within view, they both looked up. Tiffany was wearing a thick sweater and sipping some tea while Tim was drinking from a metal straw in a hand-carved wooden cup.

"Oh, hi, Scott. Tiffany and I were just visiting. I hope you don't mind."

Scott smiled. It was very good for his aunt to spend time with Tim; he knew it would make his life easier.

"I'm glad you're here Tiffany. I'm sorry I passed out when you were talking to me last night," Scott said as he went to the kitchen cupboard and poured himself a bowl of cereal.

"You didn't tell me the idea of the three, twelve, and seventy came from Tim. I had to thank him when I found out, because it has helped my business a lot," Tiffany said. Scott grabbed a chair from the dining table and sat down with his breakfast.

"It came from the Bible, I was just fortunate enough to see it," Tim said. "I've got an appointment coming up in twenty minutes at my church, so I'd better get going." He got up and went to the kitchen to empty his cup.

"What's that?" Scott asked, pointing to the wooden cup Tim was cleaning.

"Oh this? This is a gift from a pastor I helped a few months ago. He's from Argentina and he gave me this as a gift, along with what I was just drinking. It's called maté. It's a little bitter, but some people add sugar to sweeten it. I'll let you try some later if you want," Tim said.

The leaves looked like dried spinach and onions mixed together, and Scott wasn't in the mood for adventure. "No thanks," he said. Tiffany watched them both, not yet aware of the running joke that Tim had at his house with ethnic foods. It was understandable though, as Tiffany had only seen Tim at church, where every word he said was well prepared.

Tim rinsed out his cup and put on his coat. He then left the house, allowing Tiffany and Scott the privacy to talk business once again.

"Scott. I'm going to sell the business."

Scott swallowed. "Who wants to buy it?" he asked.

"Another construction company. We've been doing well even with Owen gone. I received several calls in the past weeks that led to new contracts. Those contracts will be bought by that company, along with all the tools, equipment, and operating accounts."

"Didn't the complaints practically ruin our reputation? I don't mean to be rude, but aside from our workers, there's not much about the business I would want to buy."

Tiffany seemed to agree. "That's what I thought, but we've been very good about dealing with customer complaints and fixing them fast. In spite of what you've seen in the last month or two, the business wasn't always like this. There's a reason Owen ran the business; he did know what he was doing. We may not have a huge reputation in commercial construction, but for small, residential stuff, we've done well. The company buying us is Pendergrast and Frey."

Scott recognized the name. He remembered seeing their banner on the walls of his school when they sponsored basketball games, and occasionally had seen their name on real estate signs next to new strip malls and office buildings.

"They want to break into the residential market. Up until now, they've only been doing commercial. Buying our company will give them extra leverage in getting those jobs. They want to keep the name 'Davis Construction' for the residential contracts."

Scott really didn't care much about all the details. Only two things were on his mind. "What about Mark, Alan, Dmitri, Viktor, and everyone else? What will happen to them?"

"I just put into the contract that they keep their jobs when the company changes hands. No problem. Even Mark will keep his job if he wants it. He has done very well with our clients and is partially responsible for some of the new contracts. Mark Frey and Jim Pendergrast both are looking forward to meeting him." Tiffany had already thought this out, and Scott was thankful she had. It would make what he wanted to say so much easier.

"They won't need me, will they? I want to stop working construction after the house and apartment are done," Scott said. "Tim told me about an opportunity to work in prosthetics, and I'm really interested in doing that."

They both sat in silence. Scott felt a tinge of guilt, as if he was letting down his aunt, but he remembered what his friends, Stanley and Janette had told him, and remained confident in his aunt's ability to understand him.

"I was going to stipulate in the contract that you stay manager if you wanted to. I guess I don't need to. I see that you don't enjoy the office work, and that's mainly what you would be doing. I guess I saw it coming." Tiffany looked at Scott, eyes conveying her full gratitude.

_Stanley and Janette were right,_ Scott thought. He didn't have to project guilt onto himself. Tiffany loved him for who he was, not what he did.

"One last thing, Scott." Tiffany pulled out her checkbook and tore out a check that had been filled out earlier. "This is your pay for the job on Mirror Lake. Alan and his men will only need one day to finish it up again, and I figured you could use the money."

Scott held the check in his hand. 'Five thousand six hundred seventy-two dollars.' He smiled and reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

"Thanks for your help."

When Tiffany got up to leave, Scott took her now-empty cup to the kitchen sink. His aunt had her hand on the front door when she stopped and looked back at him. "You may have decided to leave anyway. I forgot to tell you that I was connected to Mark Frey by my brother, your dad." Scott rinsed off her cup and set it on the counter. "I'm grateful for his help, and for yours, too. You wouldn't want to deal with another one of your dad's friends, I'm sure."

Scott couldn't help but agree. Normally, the idea of being replaceable would bother him, but he didn't seem to care now. He already made up his mind on what he was going to do. He smiled and waved goodbye to Tiffany as she made her way back to her car.

_Not working with Tiffany will make it easier for her to make my dad happy, which will smooth the sale of her company. In a way, we both win,_ Scott thought to himself.

*****

The week passed by quickly. Viktor finished his work on the apartment, and after Alan refinished the four-plex, he moved his team to Big Lake to help Dmitri with the house. Mark had met with Pendergrast and Frey on Tuesday and was excited to discover that they wanted him to stay working for the company, and he would also be receiving a raise. He was to be the public relations representative for Davis Construction after they acquired it.

Scott took Tim's family out to dinner that night to celebrate. At Mark's insistence, they took no risk with ethnic foods and went to an American-style restaurant. It was then that Scott asked Tim about working in prosthetics. "Now that my aunt is selling the business, I would be free to work with your friend, the prosthetics maker. Is he still looking for help?"
Chapter Eleven

The Pendergrast and Frey offices were on the top floor of the largest commercial building in Anchorage. Scott had never been inside it before, and he wondered what it was like to work in a place like this. It had already been a week since the house was completed, and now Alan and Viktor had begun work on new projects - projects that would benefit new owners by the end of the day.

Even as the manager of Davis Construction, Scott entered the boardroom feeling out of place. He didn't own formal business clothes. He hadn't needed them. Pendergrast and Frey were both in slacks and sweaters. It was Mark who looked like a CEO. He was wearing black dress pants, a suit jacket, a black dress shirt and a thin, platinum-colored tie. Scott wore the best he could find.

In the boardroom, Scott noticed an oval, black table in the center. Above the table was a chandelier that gave the room a warm glow. Jim Pendergrast approached the three windows on the wall opposite the door. He pulled on a cord and the blinds lifted, allowing pure sunlight to lighten the atmosphere.

Around the oval table were eight seats. Tiffany sat down in one of them, with Scott and Mark seated next to her on each side, facing the two owners.

Accompanying them were Tiffany's attorney and a second woman. She was introduced to Tiffany as Pendergrast and Frey's attorney. As they all seated themselves, the meeting began.

"My attorney here has prepared the contract for selling our company. I'm ready to sign today, if you agree to the terms." As Tiffany spoke, her attorney handed the sheets of paper he had with him to their attorney, who began skimming the document.

The newness of everything in the room made it hard for Scott to concentrate. After he had heard their attorney confirm that the clause to keep everyone's jobs was still included, he didn't listen to much else. He heard their words, but they washed over his mind. He looked straight ahead, saying nothing.

Pendergrast's attorney made eye contact with him for a second, and then she refocused on the contract as if he were a mere distraction. Scott felt the very environment rejecting his presence. It was like even the air in the room quickened his pulse and reminded him that this was not his world.

Scott felt he knew his world. It was a place where people didn't wear suits. It was a place that changed whenever he wanted, and it was a place much warmer than Alaska. He was reminded of Stanley, and how he and his family traveled by boat wherever they wanted.

"The sale will be finalized by signing here and here, both of you. After that, Tiffany will begin the actual transfer of assets and your bank will transfer the funds to her own bank account," Tiffany's attorney said, pointing to the document lying on the table.

"As long as you agree to no longer conduct business under the name _Davis Construction_ , and you sign a five-year non-competition clause, we're as ready as you are, Tiffany," Pendergrast said. Frey nodded his head in agreement.

Mark leaned forward with interest, as if everything about the conversation excited him.

"You'll be receiving the $700,000 dollars by the middle of next week," Frey said. With that, the two new owners of _Davis Construction_ got up and moved toward the door. Tiffany, Mark and Scott did the same, shaking hands before leaving the boardroom. The last person to shake Scott's hand was Mark Frey, who grinned at him.

"Aren't you Robert's boy?" he asked. Scott nodded. "I thought you were a bit older."

Tiffany, her attorney, Mark, and Scott all left the building. Her attorney got into his Thunderbird, next to her Suburban, and backed out of the parking lot.

Scott turned to his aunt, who was slowly opening the car door. "What are you going to do now, Aunt Tiff?" he asked.

"I don't know." She got into the car and Scott took the passenger side. Mark crawled into the back.

"You're loaded now. Congratulations." Mark looked like he had just drunk several cappuccinos and was ready to move to Wall Street.

Tiffany smiled. "I guess so. Well, I have plenty of time to figure that out, so why don't we all just go someplace nice for dinner and relax, my treat. You've both done so well."

"Not too nice?" asked Scott. Mark slapped Scott on the shoulder while Tiffany laughed. Scott hadn't had much time to think about it, but he had witnessed yet another remarkable event in his life. Combined with what Tiffany already had, she could retire if she wanted to. Scott had just seen his aunt become a millionaire in one day.

*****

Tiffany drove back to her house after having dinner with Scott and Mark. Upon arriving, Mark left in his own car. This left Scott alone with Tiffany.

Scott was still excited for her. No one in his family had ever been a millionaire, and he was glad it was her. Even more so, he was glad that he had been a part of it.

"I still have to write you your final paycheck," she said.

The two of them went inside. Scott had almost forgotten about it himself. She handed his final paycheck to him.

"Ten thousand dollars. I've never had that kind of money before," Scott said.

"It looks like we're both breaking new ground," Tiffany said. "If you had decided to stay, you probably would have made more. Well, maybe a bit less, Pendergrast and Frey aren't your aunt."

Scott smiled, knowing she was right.

"So, Have you talked to Tim yet about what you're doing?"

Scott placed the check in his wallet. "I have. I haven't met the guy yet, but I'm supposed to meet with him this Friday."

"That's just in a couple days. Good luck, Scott!" Tiffany gave him a hug. Scott was happier than he had been in months. "And... God bless. Okay?" Tiffany said. She stopped hugging him, keeping both hands on his shoulders. A tear ran down her right cheek.

"Hey, I'll still be here. I'm not going anywhere," Scott said, scarcely believing how emotional she was getting.

Scott couldn't go to Cambodia unless the prosthetist took him along. That trip wasn't for another few months. He hadn't told her about going to any foreign countries, just that he would be going to Asia sometime. Cambodia sounded dangerous, and even though that was what attracted Scott, he didn't want to worry his aunt.

"Thanks for dinner," he said.

"No problem. See you later."

*****

Scott spent Thursday morning with Tim, talking about his upcoming meeting with Chris Carver, the prosthetics maker. Tim had just hung up with Chris, confirming his visit at 10 a.m., when the phone rang again.

"Hello?" Tim paused for a few seconds. "Yeah, he's here, I'll put him on." Tim gave the receiver to Scott.

Scott held it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Scott. This is Tiffany. This is your last day and I'd still like you to visit the new job sites, but before you do that, I just wanted to tell you that I've been called down to the station. Owen had some things with him when he died that they are going to return to me."

"Alright then, let me know what happens," Scott said. He hung up the phone. "I'm happy for Tiffany. She's in a much better place than she was just a couple of months ago, and I'm glad to be getting out of the construction business."

"You seem happier, too. See what happens when you increase your trust?" Tim asked.

Scott nodded. "I was depressed about coming back to Alaska, but now I can see how God's plan works out for us, just like John told me back in Guam."

"Never forget that, Scott," Tim said. "I've got to get to work now, I have an appointment with a couple. Marriage counseling."

Tim left the office. Scott decided he would use the time he had to visit Viktor and let him know that he resigned as manager of the company. He put on the warmest jacket he could find, a thick black one he had bought with his first paycheck.

Viktor's new project was the remodel of a large home with the addition of a four-car garage. Once inside, he noticed Viktor trimming out a pantry door. He started to help Viktor, saying hello only to announce that he was there. They worked together, saying nothing. When the trim was around the door, Scott broke the silence.

"Tiffany sold the company. She must have told you by now."

"Yes," Viktor said.

"Everything will be pretty much as it always has, you'll still be a foreman and you'll still have the same coworkers. Dmitri stays as a foreman, too."

"She told me," Viktor said.

"It is a good thing. You're leaving, aren't you?"

"Yes, and no. I won't be working here anymore, but I'll still be around here and in Anchorage. We can still have dinner together, talk, or go on hunting trips. I just won't be your boss."

Scott heard hammering outside. Viktor's crew members were expanding the frame of the garage to hold two more cars.

"You are smiling. Are you glad to stop the construction work?"

Scott felt the need to explain. "I know what I am doing when I work here, but it's not something I want to do forever. That's why I'm looking for something else."

Viktor walked to the corner of the kitchen, where two stacks of trim lay on the floor. He picked up one short piece and two long ones and walked past the pantry towards another room. "That's why you want to make legs?"

Scott knew that Viktor understood. "That's right."

"I do carpentry work in the evenings and weekends, on my own. One day," Viktor said, "I will have my own carpentry business. Every other month I get my own contract. I finish it, then come to work here the next day. In one, two years maybe, I do only this. I like what I do, and am getting better at it. You will find your carpentry as well, Scott."

"You're right, Viktor."

Scott continued helping Viktor put door trim on all the doors until noon. After that, Viktor began to replace the cabinets in the kitchen with new ones. Wanting to check out the other project, Scott said goodbye and left. The frost on the ground was almost completely melted as he returned to where his truck was parked.

_Maybe I'll just visit the other site quickly and then get some lunch_ , Scott thought.

Construction work was normally exhausting, but this day was more like a school day a week before graduation: more of a formality than anything else. When he had visited the other site, he left his uncle's clipboard back at Tiffany's house, just inside the door, disappointed that she was not at home. He then returned to Tim's house.

Tim was talking to his wife when Scott came in. "I'll just be in my room here so we can talk when you're not busy," Scott told him. Tim nodded, and Scott went into his room. Lying on the bed on his stomach, Scott wondered what Cambodia was like. _I wonder if it's dangerous just because it isn't rich like America?_ he wondered. _If that's the case, the Marshalls were a danger zone, and I did all right there._

Scott heard a knock on the door. He looked up to see Tim enter the room. "Hey Tim. You're looking in a good mood today."

"I just came in here to talk to you about Chris Carver. There are some things you should know about him before you meet him." Scott sat up.

"What things?"

"Chris is a great guy but he will seem a little different at first. Chris was in the Vietnam War. He was in Special Forces and saw a lot of gruesome things that most people never see. One of his friends lost his leg to the shrapnel from a hand grenade. The metal scraps from the exploding grenade dug into his friend's flesh, and the doctors had to amputate just above the knee. You may even see this friend of his stop by in his shop, as he lives in Anchorage and they are still close. Anyways, I think it best that you don't ask about the war and just build Chris's trust in you as much as you can. If he tells you anything, that's all right. Just make sure you don't make him uncomfortable."

Scott understood. "It seems the answer to every situation is to increase your trust."

"Yes, that's true. I'm only telling you this so you don't do something that you think will raise your level of trust, when in reality you would be lowering it. He will ask you to work hard and follow instructions very carefully. Doing that will get you where you need to be with him. Understand?"

"Yes. I'll work hard, and I won't ask about the war unless he brings it up first," Scott said, trying to remember exactly what Tim had said.

"That should do well enough." Tim put his left hand on Scott's shoulder. "You'll do fine. Now before I forget, Tiffany called while you were out and told me you should call her back. You can use the phone in my office to do that."

Scott got up from the bed. He had forgotten that Tiffany had been to the police station by herself and that he hadn't heard from her since then. "I will, thanks."

"I'll be in my room with Tracy. I haven't spent enough time with my wife this week. She's flying south to see her parents tomorrow. It's been a year since her last trip down."

Scott went to the office and dialed Tiffany's number. He heard her voice after the second ring. "Hey, Tiff. This is Scott. What happened at the station?"

"Good news, Scott. The coast guard found the money Owen had taken from my line of credit on the boat, in with his personal belongings," Tiffany said.

Scott was thankful. Now his aunt was a millionaire and debt-free.

"That's great, but what about the money he stole that was in your account?" Scott asked.

"Well, they didn't find any of that. Most of it was to bail Owen out, and since James was the one who did that, I'm guessing that James has whatever is left of it. Speaking of James, I saw him at the police station! He had his arm in a sling and a patch over one eye. I asked him if he was all right, but he just looked at me with this stubborn look on his face and said he was fine. As I turned to leave, I overheard him ask about getting a restraining order against the Koronovs. It made me wonder: were those the Russians that always hung out with him?"

As Tiffany relayed the news, it only confirmed Scott's suspicions. "They were, Tiff. Viktor told me about them on the hunting trip, and Officer Fisk mentioned their name when we were firing James. It looks like they didn't like their boat getting all that attention from the law for carrying a fugitive."

"I could go after James and accuse him of theft, but he'd probably get away with it. The account was in Owen's name too."

"Maybe we should let it go. He did get hurt pretty bad, and lost his job. Now he's volunteering to be watched by the police because most of his friends turned on him. I think that's punishment enough," Scott said.

"You're right. He didn't use the three, twelve, and seventy, and now he's hurting because of it. Besides, it's not like I'm hurting for cash. Especially now, with Owen's life insurance being mailed to me."

Scott smiled. "No, I think you're right. Why put yourself under that kind of stress again?"

"I think Tim's wisdom is rubbing off on you. Anyway, I wanted to wish you the best of luck on working with the prosthetist. You said you'd meet him tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, his name is Chris, and he sounds like an interesting guy. I'm really looking forward to it."

"I'm sure you are. Call me this weekend, won't you? I want to know how it goes."
Chapter Twelve

The alarm rang at 8:00 the next morning, and Scott awoke full of energy and with only one thing on his mind: freedom. "Today I'm going to meet Chris for the first time. I'm going to work on prosthetics."

Tim knocked on the door to his room.

"I'm awake, come on in," answered Scott.

The door opened and Tim stuck his head through the opening. "Good to know. You'd better get ready, though. Chris will be here before too long. You'll probably be going to his business in Anchorage today to get started."

"Yeah, I know." Scott was already en route to the bathroom. "I don't want to miss out on this."

Scott took a shower and got dressed, returning to the kitchen to find Tim seated at the dining table, and his wife making breakfast.

"Scott, sit down and have some breakfast. Tim's not cooking."

Tim looked at his wife, returning the teasing look she gave him with one of his own. Scott took the seat across from Tim.

"Aren't you going to...Montana?" Scott asked her.

"North Dakota," she said. "Close, Scott. My flight isn't scheduled to leave until four this afternoon."

Mark entered the kitchen, dressed for work, with a long black coat slung over his left shoulder. "Morning Mom, Dad." He took the seat to Scott's right. "Smells great," he said, looking in his mom's direction.

Scott turned his head toward Mark and stared at him.

"Uhh, thanks," Scott said, trying hard not to smile.

"Not you, Scott!" Mark knew Scott was messing with him but played along anyway. Tim and his wife both laughed.

"So, you're going to meet Chris today?" Mark asked.

"Today, right after breakfast."

When breakfast was served, Scott dug into it with confidence. The way Tim's wife cooked reminded him of the best of home, but even better.

His plate was covered nearly to the edges with the homemade pancakes. On top, butter and fresh blueberries covered everything, with their combined juices creating a moat on all sides.

"The last time I saw Chris was just before you got back. Dad connected him with a pastor friend who works in Anchorage." said Mark.

"That I did. He's been very busy working with the hospitals. That's why he hasn't come out as often as he used to."

"You've got to tell me how it goes," Mark said. "Also, I'm planning a skiing trip with some friends in a few weeks. I had fun on the hunting trip, so I thought you'd have fun skiing with us. What do you think?" He looked up at Scott expectantly.

Scott smiled. He would have to get his equipment from his parents' home, but it gave him a chance to drop off the hunting gear that was still at Tim's house with the rest of his things. "Sure," Scott said. "I'd love to."

*****

Tim opened the front door, just seconds after hearing the doorbell. Scott didn't know what kind of man Chris would be, or what someone who had been in Special Forces would look like. As Chris entered and greeted Tim with a diagonal, one-armed hug, Scott discovered for himself.

He had black hair, cut so short it looked like he had re-enlisted only a month ago. He wore blue jeans and a thick vest over a white T-shirt. His forearms were completely bare, as if he didn't care how cold early October was. His right forearm had a tattoo of a bald eagle in mid-flight. "You must be Scott," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Chris." Scott reached out and shook the man's hand.

"Tim's told me about you. Don't worry though, it's been good things, all good things."

Chris and Scott both sat down on the couch, with Chris taking the spot closest to the kitchen. Tim pulled out a chair from the dining table to sit where he could talk to both of them.

"How is your work with the hospital?" Tim asked.

"Good. I had to dress up a couple times for meetings. You know, suit and tie. But after I showed them what I could do, they put me right to work. Now I'm one of the two main people who does prosthesis work in Anchorage. I only hope I can keep everything going after I get back from Cambodia later this year."

"That's another thing. Scott here has traveled before and it's one of the things he loves the most," Tim said. Scott nodded in agreement.

"I went to the Marshall Islands and Guam, even hunted sharks in the ocean."

Chris leaned forward. "Good, good. Some people are frightened of going to other countries, and it would be nice to have someone else with me while I'm working. I'll tell you later about Cambodia and what it's like over there. From there we'll see if that's still something you'd like to do."

The conversation quickly turned toward Tim and what was going on with his church. It was growing, naturally, and Scott mentioned that his aunt was now attending as well. Chris told them that he had just started going to church a year ago.

"Bad things are never a part of God's plan, but I realized that since they are going to happen, I would do the best I could to help people move forward," said Chris. Scott couldn't disagree with that.

_What other alternatives are there?_ he thought.

When Chris mentioned he had to leave, Tim thanked him for visiting. "I would have done it earlier, I was just so busy." Chris looked at Scott. "I have the address and directions to my shop with me. Here you go." He handed Scott a piece of paper. "Can you be there by noon today?"

Scott nodded. "I can."

*****

Scott made his way into Anchorage soon after Chris had gone. Once in town, he drove past the hospital, following the directions Chris had written for him. Other medical buildings were near the hospital, like blood banks, and health insurance offices. Making his final turn on the directions, Scott saw a corner where the street he was on met with another. Chris's jeep was parked there, so Scott knew he had arrived.

Scott got out of his truck and looked at the shop in front of him. It was a gray building. There was no garage, just a paved walkway cutting across snow-covered ground. The walkway led to two white double doors. A professionally made sign was hanging above the doors reading: **Chris Carver - Prosthetics**. Scott knocked on the door and entered.

Chris greeted Scott on the inside. "You made it. That's good." Scott thanked him for the directions and looked around. The first room was an office, with chairs, a table, a desk with a computer on it, and several file cabinets. A hallway beyond the office led to two doors, one on the left and the other on the right.

"I have an appointment in a couple hours. Until then, we have some time to talk and get you started on the learning process before he comes in." Chris motioned for Scott to take the left door in the hall. Scott followed him inside to find a carpeted physical therapy gym. There was a small stair pyramid, and two parallel bars as high as Scott's waist. He guessed these were here to help people become accustomed to their new limbs.

"The client I have coming in today is a repeat client," Chris explained. "You can watch what I do to get an idea of what happens, then you'll get started with the first one or two steps until you can do them well, then you'll move on to the next several steps of the process. As you can see, this side of the shop is mainly used to help people test out their prosthetics, making sure they are comfortable and can be used. The other side is for making the prosthetics and adjusting them for size.

"Lesson number one: a first-time client and a repeat client aren't dealt with the same way. You see, a repeat client knows what he wants and usually goes to the same prosthetist every one to three years. All the measurements stay nearly the same and the quality of the artificial limb is very high. First timers are different. They've never used an artificial limb before, their muscles are different, and they don't know exactly what they want. You follow me so far?"

"I understand. You have to measure a lot more often for a first timer, right?" asked Scott.

"That's it, that's it. First timers don't know where the bone in their residual limb is or if there are any painful sore spots. What you have to do is find out what is causing problems for the patients and adjust for them. If I'm lucky, I can sit down with the patient and their doctor before the amputation is done, so I can get proper measurements by the time they come in. Most of the time, though, their first appointment is several weeks after the swelling from their amputation has died down."

Scott continued to listen with enthusiasm. If this had been a course offered in school, he would have gotten an A. He didn't like school as a child, and the model of one person lecturing a class wasn't the way he learned best. Spending his summers working with his Uncle Matthew, he found that hands-on projects were his favorite way to learn new things. The fact that he was so interested during a lecture was a sign he couldn't miss.

"A lot of people think prosthetics are just fake legs and arms, but they also include fake eyeballs, fingers, noses, even ears. My specialty is limbs, though, and while I can do some of the other things, you'll want to spend your time with limbs as well. You could learn to make a fake eyeball, but the person who gets it won't regain his sight. Know what I mean?"

"A person with a new arm can do things that he couldn't do at all with nothing," Scott said.

"That's why I want you to spend your time on the work that adds the most to a person's life. There's nothing wrong with improving someone's appearance by giving them an artificial eye, but here's what I love the most: Seeing someone enter my workshop in a wheelchair, and then seeing the look on their face when they leave my shop, walking on their own two feet. How many people in this world can make the lame walk?"

Chris had shown by his choice of words that he was familiar with the Bible, and Scott loved the near-miraculous work that he did for a living. He was driven to help people move forward even after the worst of setbacks. It was similar to the feeling Scott had when he first became a boss at his aunt's company; the confidence that he could use his skills and abilities to make things right in a world that had so much wrong in it.

The training moved on to demonstration when Chris's patient arrived. Gerald was in his mid-fifties, and looked healthy for someone with only one leg. After Scott was introduced, he then sat in on their conversation.

Gerald loved to ride bicycles and he had come to have an attachment fitted to his leg that would allow him to use the bike pedals more effectively.

"Scott, this is important. Watch this," Chris said as Gerald sat down. He got a handful of tools. Loosening several screws on Gerald's artificial leg, Chris removed the shoe and the pipe connected to it, then he replaced it with another pipe with a small pedal attached to a metal plate. Once it was securely screwed in, Scott retrieved Gerald's bicycle from his car so that the attachment could be tested.

The results amazed Scott. Gerald could ride so easily. Scott would never have guessed that this man had such a handicap if he drove by him on the street.

Satisfied with this new attachment, Gerald went back into the office with Chris, who explained how to assemble it so that the alignment would be the same every time. While Gerald was taking Chris's advice, Chris went to the back of the workshop and reappeared seconds later with several different types of wooden legs. He handed one of them to Gerald and asked him to try it on. It had a leather socket surrounded by strips of bamboo.

"How does it feel?" Chris asked Gerald after the amputee had removed his main prosthesis and secured the leather socket onto the stump that remained of his leg.

"Give me a chance to stand on it, won't you?" Gerald looked up at them both, smiling. He got to his feet by shifting sideways and using the back of his chair as leverage. Gerald took several steps in the primitive bamboo leg. "Look at me!" He spoke from one side of his mouth, showing as many teeth as he could. "I be off to hunt the white whale!"

Chris laughed, which Scott took as permission to do the same. Scott was thankful that the man was able to joke about it, because the same thing was running through his own mind.

"I'll loan it to you if you ever go to a costume party," Chris said. "I won't even charge you if you invite me along. I want to see the reaction on people's faces."

Gerald took to the stair pyramid to test it out further. "It doesn't give as much in the way of padding like the socket of my normal leg does, but it's not uncomfortable."

"This is the new model I've been working on. I knew you wouldn't mind if I used your measurements as a guide for it. I wanted to use bamboo, because in Cambodia it's one of the most common materials in the area. It's also cheap compared to the cost of importing other types of wood or, worse yet, trying to drag my whole shop down there."

Scott and Chris watched as Gerald drove off into downtown Anchorage. "You see, Scott? It's not all doom and depression, doing this kind of work. It's amazing how many people are just like Gerald, who can make you laugh. Just don't start any jokes with new amputees. I've made that mistake several times too many. As a rule: Always let the other person joke first, and only laugh if you're sure they want you to. After several appointments, then you can be a bit more free."

"I never thought it was depressing at all. I didn't even know amputees could ride bicycles," Scott said.

Chris rubbed his hands, keeping himself warm. "I try to give my clients as much mobility and freedom as they had before their accident. That's about it for today. I take it you still want to work with me?" he asked.

"I'm actually more excited now than I was before I came over," Scott said.

"Then I'll see you tomorrow. Be here at 9, okay? That means you leave your place around 7:20 or 7:30 if you want to get here on time. After the first two weeks, we'll talk about your pay. Consider these first weeks an apprenticeship."

"I'll be here," Scott said.

Chris was definitely not a smooth talker when it came to business. He was much more direct, almost condescending. Scott remembered what Tim had said about what Chris saw as trustworthy. Getting the job done was definitely priority number one, and Scott knew he would be treated with more respect after several weeks of hard work.

"Alright then, see you later." Chris gave a military salute, slowly bringing his right hand to his forehead as he smiled. Caught off guard, Scott stood still for several seconds before doing the same.

Back at Tim's house, Scott called his aunt and told her all about Chris and the work he did, and later on related his experiences to Tim and Mark. An attachment to help amputees ride bikes was a new idea to everyone except Tim, who had already heard about Chris's client. Tim congratulated him, telling Scott to keep up the good work. Scott fell asleep more satisfied with life than he had been since leaving the Marshall Islands.

*****

At work the next day, Scott learned how to mix plaster, a type of paste that worked like concrete; easy to mix, but eventually hardened. The plaster would be the foundation for molding the socket, which would hold what remained of an amputee's arm or leg. He compared it to mixing cement or mortar in construction work, but to mix it, he used a long mixing bit attached to an electric screwdriver.

Every now and then, Chris would check up on him to make sure he was doing it correctly. Luckily, Scott's previous construction experience served him well, and Chris told Scott he would next learn how to take people's measurements, meeting patients with Chris in the hospital before they had surgery.

Scott noticed over the next several weeks that every client was different. By the end of the second week, he was helping Chris with every aspect of making a prosthetic leg. He had yet to make one all on his own simply because of the wide variety of clients who constantly came in. He saw Chris deal with ears, double amputees, noses, arms, and even fingers. No two people were the same, and Scott loved the surprises that came with each new day at work. In the middle of his third week, he at last heard what he most wanted to hear.

"Scott, since you're going to Cambodia with me, I want to talk to you about the country. You do have a passport, don't you?"
Chapter Thirteen

"You have a passport, right?" Scott smiled at Chris's question. By now, Scott realized that Chris was the type who would only bring something up when it was time to deal with it, and he always seemed to know when that time came. It wasn't until now, when the two sat down for lunch that Friday afternoon, that Chris brought it up.

"I do have my passport. I had to get one when I went to the Marshall Islands," Scott said.

As Scott began to eat his lunch, Chris asked, "How much do you know about Cambodia?"

Scott thought for a second. "I know that the French had colonies there and that the country was a war zone, or something like that. I read that in a book, but it didn't explain much to me."

"Let me set it all straight. Cambodia is neighbor to Vietnam. Right about the time the Vietnam War was going into its final years, Cambodia was full of rebels who opposed their government. By the time the war had ended, some of the rebels had become a highly organized group called the Khmer Rouge. We tried to stop them by using troop invasions and even a large air strike in '73, but we were already fighting an unpopular war in Vietnam. Anyway, we didn't stop the Khmer Rouge, and a man named Pol Pot took over the country. He was one of the roughest characters in history. I know about that time and I could tell you stories if you're curious, I mean, who isn't? Anyway, it was bad, real bad. Millions of people died of starvation, overwork, or outright execution. They targeted Muslims, Chinese, doctors, lawyers, teachers, and anything that looked like it came from western democracy."

"So is that still going on? What happened to that Pot Pol guy?" Scott asked.

"In '79, the Vietnamese invaded and Pol Pot lost control. He had ordered a preemptive strike on Vietnam, and that's how the Vietnamese got involved. Now he's out in the northeast jungles near the border of Thailand, the last I heard. He's still a leader in the Khmer Rouge, and he's still fighting the current government. We'll plan to stay near the capital city and not go out in the jungles, but we've got to be ready to get out of the country if I see anything unusual. You hear me?"

"We don't know what he might do. That's why you want to leave if there's anything unusually violent, right?"

"That's right. I was in Special Forces, even as part of the invasion into Cambodia during Khmer Rouge occupation. So, when I say it's time to go, it's time to go."

Despite the seriousness of Chris's words, he seemed calm. _I'm still going_ , Scott thought, _but I'd better listen to what Chris says. I'll probably be safer with him than with most other people._

Chris continued. "You'll probably get a chance to visit some of what are called the 'killing fields,' and if you do, you'll see bones and clothes of the victims still poking out of the ground. Many of them were killed with pickaxes to save bullets. Wars are expensive things to have."

He continued to explain with deep interest, which was strange to Scott. He always thought that veterans didn't like to talk about the bad things they had seen. However, Chris seemed to deal with it by attacking his fear rather than running away from it.

"I don't want to dwell too much on the past. Cambodia's a nice place, real nice. Most of the population is young, and the UN issued a cease-fire a few years back. Now they have a king, a prime minister, and a parliament." Scott looked at Chris, somewhat confused. "Basically, it's like England except five years old rather than five hundred or more."

"Now I get it. Okay," Scott said. England was peaceful, so Scott imagined that Cambodia would be more like that. "When are you leaving?"

"Three weeks. If you go, you'll miss Thanksgiving. I suggest you celebrate early if you care about something like that. In any case, I'll reimburse you for the ticket if you get it this week. It's the least I can do for the work you've been helping me with. I'll even recommend you to my travel agency and they'll get you set up on the same flight as me."

"Alright! I'll do that. Thank you."

Chris smiled and ate some more of his chili. "Consider it a hiring bonus. You're learning fast and I want you down there with me. Right now, you save me about 30% of my time when it comes to making limbs. After three more weeks, we should be able to help twice as many people as I could on my own."

Scott went to the travel agent that afternoon after he had finished his lunch. Chris insisted he go now, as the next appointment wasn't for another two hours. When he entered the travel agency, he asked for the woman Chris had recommended. Scott scheduled a round trip ticket to Phnom Penh, with his return flight on the same date as Chris had for six weeks later. He would pay the next day and then he would be ready.

Scott got back to the workshop just in time for the next appointment, a double amputee. Frank was in his early thirties, and it saddened Scott to see him in a wheelchair, missing everything below his knees. He told them that it had happened when he had run out of gas. He had gotten out of his car while the driving lights were still on and attempted to push the car further off the road. He was pushing with all of his might when a Ford Pinto slammed into the back of his car. His legs were mangled beyond hope of recovery. Chris reassured him, saying that this was a quite common form of double amputation injury, possibly the most common of them all.

"Do you see this type of injury a lot?" Scott asked.

Chris looked up at Scott and nodded. "All the time. What happens is that the driver who hits the car sees the stopped vehicle but thinks it's still moving. The darkness of the night and the beams of the still burning rear lights cause this trick of the eye. It's too late now, of course, but that's why I always tell people to put the emergency flashing rear lights on whenever they have to make a stop along the side of the road. Many people are hardly aware of those lights or how to use them, which is why they often don't turn them on." Chris looked back at the amputee, who was still adjusting to the shock of what had happened to him. "Worse things have been known to happen to victims of these accidents. There are some who would call themselves lucky to be in your position, Frank. With your new limbs, you'll still be able to walk, maybe even jog."

Frank seemed somewhat comforted by Chris's words. Scott had made the limbs using the measurements he had taken the previous week. Chris watched, saying nothing as Scott worked. Now the time had come for Frank to try his first pair of artificial legs, and for Scott to see whether he'd done the job right. When the sockets were secure, Frank tried to get to a standing position with Chris's assistance. Almost immediately, he let out an 'oww.' He quickly shifted his weight toward Chris.

"That left leg! It feels like the bone is rubbing against the socket."

Chris bent his legs slightly under the sudden addition of extra weight. "What about the leg you're on now?"

Frank could bend his right knee a couple of degrees. "I feel pressure below the knee when I take a step, but it doesn't hurt. I still feel a little unstable. I don't know how these things are supposed to feel."

After Scott rolled his wheelchair into place and secured it, Frank sat down, doing most of the work himself with his arms.

"Good. I know what's going on, and I know how to fix it. This won't take long at all. Scott, follow me. I want you to see how this works." Chris motioned towards Frank. "You, of course, are more than welcome to wheel on over to the workspace and see how we do it, if you like."

Frank accepted the invitation and followed them into the workshop.

"With your right leg, you're giving me the reaction I would expect, at least pain-wise. I can fix the pressure immediately. As far as comfort goes, you seem to be adjusting fine with that leg. Most amputees tell me the same things you just have when they get a prosthetic that fits for the first time," Chris said as they passed down the short hallway into the workshop. "I'm going to heat up the plastic and stretch it out for the left leg, and we'll try it again. Scott will watch me and learn."

At Chris's request, Scott retrieved two pairs of safety glasses and flame resistant gloves, which both he and Chris put on. After removing the limb, Chris pointed a heat gun, which resembled a hairdryer, to the spot Frank had indicated. "This heat gun goes up to 1200 degrees. It's not your momma's hair dryer," Chris said, smiling. He applied heat to the limb and with his other hand used what looked like a spoon with a two-foot-long handle. "You just barely want to press on it. It won't take much." Scott watched as Chris finished up on the limb. "That should take care of the pressure. Just give me a minute to work out the left leg."

Once the plastic had cooled and the legs had been fixed, Chris announced that he was done and asked if Frank was willing to give it another try. Frank accepted and the group returned to the physical therapy room, where he slipped what was left of his legs into the sockets. Chris was confident that the prosthetics would be comfortable, so he wheeled Frank in front of the parallel bars.

Frank stood upright. "No pain this time," he said.

Chris nodded. "We're going to let you try it on the parallel bars now. They're right in front of you. It's a good way to start walking unassisted, because you can support as much of your weight with your hands as you want. You also will have fewer problems keeping balanced. There shouldn't be any sharp pain this time, either." Frank looked down at his legs, then back up at Chris. "Let's get it done."

Scott walked in between the parallel bars, facing Frank, so he could support him in case he lost his balance. Getting to his feet, Frank grasped both bars with his hands and tentatively stepped forward with his left foot. He stood on that leg for several seconds, then smiled before taking another step. Scott moved backward with every forward step Frank took. Chris followed from behind to make sure he felt safe. By the time he was halfway through the bars, Frank was advancing with greater confidence. When he made it to the end, Chris asked him to be careful if he wanted to turn around, as he had only walked straight so far. Frank understood and supported himself more with his hands as he turned around slowly. He was walking with his weight fully on the legs by the time he returned to his starting point.

Frank sat back in his wheelchair, relieved that he would soon be free of it.

"How does it feel now?" Scott asked.

"It's becoming more comfortable. It feels weird feeling the impact just under my knee, rather than in my feet, but it wasn't as hard to get used to as I thought."

"In that case, we'll get you started on learning how to wrap the ends of your legs to keep the swelling down and ensure a good fit," Chris said, patting Frank on the back. "You'll need to practice that over the next several days so you can use the prosthetics we made for you. The top several inches of your remaining calf muscles will deteriorate due to lack of use and you'll have to come in after several months to get further adjustments. After your muscles get to a point where they remain constant, then you'll get new prosthetics that you'll use for several years. I've already told you about that last part, and that's how everything in this process fits together."

Frank wheeled himself towards the desk again, while Scott retrieved some bandage wrapping from a file cabinet behind the desk.

"I'm going to wrap one leg for you, then you're going to try a few times until you can do it on your own. Watch carefully." Scott handed the bandage wrap to Chris, who began unrolling it. "This has to be done the same way every time if you want to be comfortable while you walk with prosthetic legs. The sooner you can do this, the sooner you can start walking unassisted."

"Feel this," said Chris, after he had expertly wrapped one of Frank's legs, "This is what you need to feel when it's done right. It's tight, but comfortable." He unwrapped it and showed Frank again at a slower speed.

Frank took over and practiced several times, with Chris watching and making small corrections along the way.

By the time Frank could do it confidently, a car had pulled up in front of the walkway. "Ah, my wife's here to pick me up," said Frank.

Chris went over to the calendar on his desk. "Okay, we'll put you in for 10:30 a.m., Tuesday of next week, for physical therapy. Is that alright?"

His wife opened the door, watching as Chris helped her husband adjust his new legs.

Frank walked out to the car, assisted by both his wife and Scott. As he got in, Chris handed him some wrapping and reminded him once more, "Here's the bandage wrap. Be sure to practice this when you get home and several times during the weekend so that you'll be able to walk on your own."

"I will," Frank said. His wife loaded the wheelchair into the back seat. He looked at Scott and Chris. "Enjoy your weekend!"

They both watched the couple as they drove away.

"Sorry about that left leg. I know it was my mistake." Scott did not mean to cause Frank unnecessary stress.

"It's alright kid, it's alright. That's why we test the molding before making adjustments and making the fiberglass one. You think I've never had to make any adjustments?"

Scott had never seen Chris make a mistake, but then again, he hadn't known Chris very long. "I guess you don't become the doctor's first choice without perfecting your craft," he said.

"Took me several years."

"Who's next?" Scott asked, as Chris opened the workshop door.

"Nobody. It's 4:30, and I have fiberglass limbs to make. You can help me with that until I close."

Scott continued working with Chris until the day ended. As Scott was leaving, Chris told him one more thing.

"I want you to work on something for me. You saw the bamboo and leather prosthetics already. Well, I want you to start practicing with this type of material when we aren't working with clients. You only have a few weeks before Cambodia, and the work there is different. It involves problem solving more than simply following a formula. Sometimes you won't have the equipment you would like, so you need to start learning how to make simple materials like wood and leather do what you want them to do. I'm going to teach you how to work with that, starting next week. Have a good weekend."

"I will. I'm going skiing this weekend with a few friends. You have a good weekend too," Scott said.

*****

It had been a long day. Scott had worked until 6:00 p.m., trying to avoid the rush hour, but ended up getting caught in traffic anyway. It was 7:30 before he made it back to Tim's house. When he came in, he saw Mark eating dinner from an open Styrofoam container.

"Hey Mark," Scott said.

"Scott. You ready for that skiing trip?" "I'll be ready tomorrow morning. Oh, and you just reminded me, I've got to go pick up my skiing equipment over at my parents' house. I'll pack the hunting equipment in my truck and take it back."

"See you later, then!"

After picking up his hunting gear and rifle, Scott was back outside. _At least my hunting stuff won't just be lying around in Tim's house,_ he thought.

It felt strange to be knocking on the door to his own parents' house, and it felt even more bizarre to be doing it again out of habit. _I grew up here, for God's sake,_ Scott thought. The door opened and Robert saw him with a camping bag in one hand and a hunting rifle in the other.

"Scott, what's going on?" he asked.

"I'm just dropping off the hunting gear and picking up some ski equipment. Can I come in, Robert?"

"Don't talk to me like that. I'm your dad, not a stranger." Robert's voice was harsh, as if Scott had just ruined his life and then forgot about him.

Scott believed Robert was the one who had ruined things, but he was in too good a mood over the skiing, and his upcoming trip to Cambodia to start a fight. _I have to get past Robert because he's standing in the way of our downstairs basement where my stuff is_.

"Jean, Scott needs his snowsuit, gloves, and hat."

Scott's mom came upstairs from the basement. "Good to see you, Scott. If you had called, I could have made you some dinner."

"My visit will be a short one today. I'm going skiing tomorrow and I have to get some rest," said Scott.

"Get his stuff, Jean. He said he's not staying." Jean went back downstairs at Robert's insistence. He turned back to face Scott. "I got rid of your skis. I thought you'd be focused more on trying to make a living, and that you'd be too busy for playing around."

"You haven't seen me in several months, Dad. I've been living on my own --."

"Freeloading with a pastor, go on." Robert interrupted Scott's attempt at a peace offering.

Scott continued. "Say what you want, Dad. I've helped your sister become a millionaire, gave the pastor's son a job that he loves, and haven't cost you a dime. Why is it that you just can't accept that I can take care of myself?"

"You don't have a job. You've been somebody's slave in Anchorage for several weeks, at least that's what I understand from talking to Tiffany. You quit the construction job, which was your only real opportunity to be good at anything. I would have made your quitting a condition for connecting Tiffany with Mark Frey, but I didn't because I knew you couldn't survive anywhere else."

Jean had already returned from the downstairs basement with Scott's snowsuit, gloves and hat. She squeezed her way past Robert and handed them through the door to her son.

"Robert!? This is our son, and he's here now."

Robert ignored her and she flinched when her son spoke back to him with a raised voice.

"What do you want? You tell me that I'm a financial leech, and then after I make some money, you're still not happy? If nothing I do is going to make a difference, why should I even bother listening to you?"

Robert was breathing heavily. "You broke the relationship I had with my closest friend, then you come home to take stuff that I paid for without even apologizing. I even offered you a job at my practice, and you turned it down. You have no respect for your parents. I'm surprised Tim hasn't kicked you out yet. Anyone with a brain can understand that. You can't take care of yourself without freeloading on someone who makes a pastor's salary, which is low enough as it is."

"His church is one of the largest churches in the valley. He does things differently than you do."

"That doesn't change the fact that you don't have what it takes to stand on your own. You won't get it, either, until you go to college, and prove yourself to be someone intelligent, who doesn't hang out with low class people who can barely speak the English language."

"Leave the Russians out of this. Maybe I can't stand on my own, but I'm building my own legs, and I'll do the same for others who can't stand for themselves. Dad, I was working with your sister, too. I couldn't just abandon her after I gave my word."

"Give me those." Robert grabbed the hunting rifle and the hunting bag away from Scott. "I won't reward behavior that makes you look stupid. I cannot do that."

"And I can't trust you, Robert. I'm sorry you lost a friend, but you haven't even asked me about what I've been doing. You've been finding out about me through other people. Tim's number is in the phone book. If you want to talk, we'll talk."

*****

Scott drove back to Tim's house feeling surprisingly calm. He knew what to expect from his dad. Scott knew he wouldn't call, and if he did, by then he would be long gone. He would be somewhere in the jungles of Cambodia, helping more people in a week than his dad had truly helped in his whole life.

"I really ought to get my own place when I get back from Cambodia. Other than that, I don't see any wisdom in what my dad was saying. I'm glad I chose to live with Tim instead of being over there."

He returned to Tim's house, where he unloaded his ski clothes and found Tim in the office, reading a book.

"Mark told me you were getting ski equipment. Where are your skis?" Tim asked.

Scott was too tired to explain. The conversation he had with his dad drained his energy. "I don't have any. I mean, I couldn't find them. I'll just have to rent some when I get to Alyeska."

Tim set the book face down on his lap, still open. "I'm sorry you couldn't find them. I'd lend you mine, but I have clown's feet." He pointed to his feet. Scott thought they must barely fit size 13 shoes; they were much too large for Scott, as he was closer to a size 11. Scott walked past Tim and put the snowsuit in his own room. He then came back out to say good night to Tim.

"I'm going to be getting up at six a.m. tomorrow, so I should get some sleep. Sorry, I'm not in the mood for talking."

Tim looked back at Scott with a worried look on his face. He made no attempt to pry for further information. "Have a good rest, Scott. If you need to talk, I'll be here."

*****

On the morning of the skiing trip, Scott was still disturbed by the way his dad treated him the night before. Fortunately, Mark was a great conversationalist, and knew how to help people forget about the shadows in their lives. They talked the entire time from Wasilla to Alyeska. Halfway there, in Anchorage, Mark picked up Amy, his new friend from work. She was a lively brunette with an energy level matching Mark's own. Scott had never met her before, and this was the first date she and Mark had been on together.

At the mountain resort, Scott found some skis to rent and purchased a pair of goggles. He was glad he could rent because the skis were better quality than the ones he had owned. _My dad did have a point, I won't be using skis enough to buy a pair anyway_ , Scott thought. After getting changed, Scott went outside and saw that Mark and Amy had already taken a chair lift. They were both laughing at each other as they ascended the mountain seated side by side. Scott waited to catch the next seat, which came around several seconds later.

At the top, Scott saw Mark and Amy race down the mountain. Scott followed them down the black diamond slope. He glided effortlessly through the white powder, leaning forward into the slope as he descended. At a steeper part of the run, he went back and forth, making crisscross lines into the snow, adding to the improvised artwork Mark and Amy had already made with their skis.

By the time Scott returned to the chairlift, he felt warmed up and reacquainted with the slopes. He had gone skiing every year since he was five, and had been an instructor for several winters, skiing the slopes every week. His confidence and freedom on the slopes inspired him to try a more challenging run.

Feeling the wind fly past him and watching the vast expanse of nature being drawn towards him was a unique experience that few things could compare to. The fact that Mark and Amy were out doing their own thing did nothing to lessen the joy Scott felt while doing runs on the mountain.

He had completed his eighth run when he saw his friends at the bottom, heading towards the lodge. As he approached Mark, he heard Amy say that she needed a break, and was going to drink some hot chocolate inside.

Mark stood outside, enjoying the cool, dry mountain air. Scott made a sliding stop near him.

"Stopping already?" Scott asked teasingly.

"Yeah. She's going to be inside for a few minutes. So, when are you going to Cambodia?" Mark asked.

Scott edged closer to the lodge, leaning against the side of the building. "Two-and-a-half more weeks. I feel I've done what I need to do here, and I'm ready to move on. What about you?"

Mark took a deep breath. "Alaska will always be home, even if I live somewhere else later. Right now, I love working between Wasilla and Anchorage, meeting with the owners, and learning how to manage. They want me to take a more active role in the future, and that will be fun. Working there is how I met Amy. She's Pendergrast's niece, you know."

Scott pushed his ski goggles up on his forehead.

"You're still pretty good," Mark said.

"I guess so," Scott said modestly. He wondered if he was done with Alaska. _Have I embraced my pain, as Uncle John said? Have I started the work that God wanted me to do? Was my upcoming trip what Michael meant in the dream, back in the Marshall Island hospital, when He said 'I have a work for you that you cannot do on your own'?_

"Are you feeling alright?" Mark asked, concerned.

Scott smiled. "What? I'm fine. You're real good at skiing, too. I see you've practiced a lot."

"Thanks." Mark noticed that Amy was already on her way back out.

"Well, see you," Scott said. "I'm going to do some more runs."

By the time he stopped for the day, he saw that Mark and Amy were both waiting for him.

"Did you wait a long time?" Scott asked.

"Only a minute," Mark said. "Amy's got work tomorrow and I'm tired from being in Anchorage yesterday. Man, I didn't take any breaks today."

"You're just glum because I beat you," Amy said playfully. Mark laughed and gave her a hug.

"Maybe this time," he said with a smile.

They got into Mark's car and drove off towards home. On the road, Scott nodded off to sleep in the back seat. After being in the cold, crisp air all day, the heat in the car created a warmth that felt like being submerged beneath thick blankets on a bed just before waking. He breathed deeply with his head down.

The sky was now a dark blue, and only the headlights of the car pointed to the path in front of them. Amy fell asleep next to Mark, leaving him as the driver and night watchman.

Mark fought to stay alert, and he was winning. As he saw the van in front of them grow closer and closer to them, however, winning and losing ceased to matter. Even the most alert person could not have been prepared for a driver who slammed on his brakes and had no brake lights.

Mark knew he would either hit, turn into oncoming traffic, or veer off the road. In the split second he had to decide between a life of regret or a rough landing, he made his choice.

The tires squealed underneath him. Mark cut right on the steering wheel.

Scott woke up startled, not knowing which way was up. As the car rolled, Amy's screams filled his ears. He suddenly felt everything stop as sleep came back to him all too suddenly.

*****

"Is he alive?" Scott heard the stranger ask. As he tried to respond, he felt a sickening feeling that his mind and body were not connected. He tried to open his eyes and only saw bright lights. It was an ambulance. Paramedics prevented him from trying to sit up as they lifted the stretcher that held him into the ambulance. He felt everything get blurry again. His head throbbed violently.

_What's happening?_ he thought. _Am I asleep or am I dying? Do I fight it or do I relax? Do I..._

Scott heard the sound of the ambulance doors shut. He heard Amy crying softly next to him, and the comforting voice of Mark telling her everything would be all right. As the noises of the sirens and the ambulance faded away, Scott felt a hand on his shoulder.

In his mind, Scott looked towards the hand and saw Michael. "Why did you let me fall?" Scott asked.

"The plans I have for you are to prosper you and not to harm. I have a work for you that you cannot do on your own."

"You told me that before, Michael. What does that mean?"

"From this point onward, you'll need to depend on me more. You will experience challenges that few could overcome, but you have the opportunity to take these stumbling blocks and change them into stepping stones. Many people will walk a better path because of your victories. You haven't fallen, Scott. You're just going somewhere else."

Their conversation was interrupted. Scott heard the sound of ribs cracking, and felt pulses of air being forced into his lungs.

_Why won't they let me go to sleep?_ Scott said in his mind. He felt cold metal against his chest. He heard an urgent voice shout.

"Clear!"

Everything went black.
Epilogue

This is Scott again. You've reached the end of the story in this book and I wanted to thank you for enjoying it. I had a chance to stay in one place this time, learning and growing rather than just surviving. There are some tough challenges ahead that I never anticipated, and I invite you to read about those in the next book. For any information about my story, past or present, look it up online by searching for the authors' names or for the Emotionally Bulletproof series.

Thanks to what I learned in the previous book, I knew enough about trust to apply what I learned. If you haven't learned about that yet, there are some worksheets in this chapter that give you the basics. Using those, you can move on to apply the same strategies I used to help Tiffany financially, make friends with my Russian coworkers, and get introduced to Chris. They are in worksheet form, and after talking with Tim, he gave me permission to let the authors make those worksheets available to you.

The purpose of this book and the worksheets is to give you a way to use the trust you already have to make decisions about who to build relationships with. You can then make choices that lead to greater security, emotional health, and success than what you could have otherwise. Some people should be closer to you than others, and the formula of three, twelve, and seventy is a great way to decide on things like this for yourself.

Now we'll start on the thinking. Where I come from, in America, there is a lot of controversy about discrimination. This normally means choosing who is treated better than others due to factors like gender, race, height, or nationality. These are negative types of discrimination that are contrary to how God wants us to make decisions.

The real controversy is this: God does want some discrimination. The kind he wants, however, is different from the kind that has been causing us problems in society. The positive discrimination that God wants in our lives is to choose people we trust most for positions and responsibilities that are important, and to choose people we trust less for positions and responsibilities that are less important. Owen got into a lot of trouble because he was a low-trust person who got put in a high-trust position. As a result, the people who put him there suffered, too.

Discriminating based upon trust is rarely a bad thing.

If you find that you have a weakness in one or more of the legs of trust, you find yourself in a position where good people won't want to work with you, and if they do, they might not put you in a position as high as you would like. If you have weaknesses in this area and you are in a high position, it is even worse because you could be causing problems you do not know how to fix.

Luckily, there are ways to increase your trust, and while the bulk of this material is located in the prequel to this book, the worksheets here will help you towards being more trustworthy. They will give you an opportunity to look at who you spend time with and who you depend on the most. By rearranging who you spend your time with and who you depend on, you can make choices that put you in the presence of trustworthy people more often. By studying in a group of these people, you will find that your trustworthiness not only increases, but so does that of everyone involved.

In short, when you change your social environment that influences you, you allow yourself to be influenced in a better way.

These worksheets will be more valuable to those involved in positions of trust or authority. This could be at work, at church, at a business, charity, family, or even a group of friends. The higher the position, the more necessary it is, because you have to make decisions every day about coworkers, employees, children, students, and congregation, and how they all interact with you.

By learning to make choices based on trust, you will find yourself less vulnerable to the whims of people who do not care about you or your goals. God bless you!

Scott Calloway
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Already Went Through Book 1? There's More In The Series!

Emotionally Bulletproof – Understanding Patterns of Thinking (Book 3 in the Scott's Story series)

How Do You Win When Your Enemy Is Your Own Mind?

Scott Calloway has a lot going through his head. Family members, psychologists, and doctors see little value in him after he suffers a traumatic head injury. With the help of his aunt, a wise pastor, and a woman desperate for love, he learns how to thrive despite his condition. Along the way, he discovers:

How to desire the right things

How to bring stability into the lives of others

Hold his thoughts captive

Develop a strong relationship with God through studying His word

A cruel system of ideas presses down on his self-esteem. People who have much to gain from his failure focus on keeping him where he is. Despite everything that tells him his goal is impossible, Scott develops a system for training his subconscious mind. By reading this book, and the worksheets at the story's end, you will gain the third tool in the process of becoming Emotionally Bulletproof.

Get the ebook at fine eBookstores everywhere!

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Worksheet #1 - The Three Legs of Trust

The three key aspects of trust are having integrity, getting the job done, and having other people's best interests in mind. A person cannot have a high amount of trust without possessing all three. Usually we are strong at one or two while weak in a third. Rate yourself on a scale of one to ten on each of these. Add the total and divide by three to find where your average trust lies. A more detailed explanation of each of these aspects is in the end of Book 1 of Scott's Story, as well as worksheets to help you understand each of these.

Do You Have Integrity?

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Do You Get the Job Done?

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Do You Have Other People's Best Interests In Mind?

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Total = __/30

Average (total/3)=___

If you have questions or want to email a story about your experience using this worksheet, send an email to: dgallen@authordavid.com
Worksheet #2 - Who Do You Trust?

In Worksheet #2, you can diagram your friends and see if they have the three legs of trust. Just ask all the below questions about your friends.

Does this person have integrity? Does this person get the job done? Does this person have other people's best interests in mind? Do they have yours? What are their strengths, and what are their weaknesses in each area?

Sometimes, making a guess based upon your gut feeling can be a valuable starting point for gaining awareness. From there you will have valuable information you can use in your decision-making.

If your friends are in your study group, it will require strong emotional intelligence to do this openly. I recommend doing it anonymously for yourself first, if the trust environment is low or people are uncomfortable with that level of transparency. More benefit will come doing this openly with your most trusted friends if the level of trust and comfort are already high.

Name: ______

Integrity: ____

Job Done: ____

Best Interest:____

Average: ____

Name: ______

Integrity: ____

Job Done: ____

Best Interest:____

Average: ____

Name: ______

Integrity: ____

Job Done: ____

Best Interest:____

Average: ____

If you have questions or want to email a story about your experience using this worksheet, send an email to: dgallen@authordavid.com
Worksheet #3 - Who Are Your Three, Twelve, & Seventy?

Your three, twelve and seventy are those you know around you. Your three are your closest friends, your twelve are your other friends, and the seventy in your life are your acquaintances.

Generally your seventy is where everyone in your life starts until you get to know them better. There are quite a few exceptions, though. You may meet someone you really like, then automatically put him or her in your three, based on quick judgments. You need to be careful with these people, because if you're not sure they have the three legs of trust, they may hurt you.

How did you score on the three legs of trust? How about your friends? Maybe you noticed that there were some similarities in your score and in theirs. Usually, we don't pick friends who score higher than we do; we're often equal with our peers.

Take a look back on Worksheet #2. Are the ones who scored lowest the ones who hurt you most? When you work on changing your ability to be trusted, you'll find friends who match you—the more trust, the more meaningful the relationship will be.

Your Three

1._______________ 2. _______________ 3._______________

Your Twelve

1._______________ 2._______________ 3._______________ 4._______________ 5._______________ 6._______________ 7._______________ 8._______________ 9._______________ 10._____________ 11._______________ 12._______________

Your Seventy = Everybody Else

If you have questions or want to email a story about your experience using this worksheet, send an email to: dgallen@authordavid.com
Worksheet #4 - How Trust Works (page 1)

Worksheet #4 allows you to analyze one friend from your three and one from your twelve. Compare the two. Is the friend with a higher score in your three? What about the one who scored lower? Is he or she in your twelve?

One of the largest changes you can make with this worksheet is to put someone who you trust in a place of higher responsibility, and lower your dependence on someone you don't trust by moving them to a place of lower responsibility. Assess each person according to how they score on the three legs of trust for better accuracy in your decision making. If you simply wish to see where the people in your life stand, that's fine too.

On the first page are the questions for any one person in your three. The next page is for the name of any one person in your twelve. You can make as many copies as you want for as many people who exist in your world.

Name of person in your three: ______________

What was your first impression of this person? What is your impression after you got to know that person? What is your impression of the person today?

If you have questions or want to email a story about your experience using this worksheet, send an email to dgallen@authordavid.com
Worksheet #4 - How Trust Works (page 2)

Name of person in your twelve: ______________

What was your first impression of this person? What is your impression after you got to know that person? What is your impression of the person today?

What will you do with this information?

If you have questions or want to email a story about your experience using this worksheet, send an email to: dgallen@gmail.com
