Chapter 4

Wednesday morning, Doug called for a wheelchair-accessible carrier, and he was waiting in front of the building when it arrived. The van had a flip-out hydraulic lift at the side door that let him roll his chair in place, then raised him to the level of the van floor. Rolling inside, he saw where he could slot his chair into lugs that would lock the wheels in place. Reversing the process would let him out at his destination. He had hired the van for the day, so he gave the driver his first destination and sat back.

The lawyer's office was only a dozen blocks away, on Brickell Avenue, but with the traffic and construction going on, not to mention the humidity, he had no desire to wheel his chair down the crappy sidewalks and deal with gawkers.

Once safely ensconced in the lawyer's plush office, introductions were made.

"Mr. Ramos, I'm Leo Iglesias. How can I help you today?"

Doug spent a half hour outlining what he had found in his search for a charitable organization that was aimed at helping disabled veterans. He made his disgust at the excesses of those organizations perfectly clear and told him about his desire to help.

"As you can imagine, it is a topic near and dear to my heart. I have ... substantial assets that I'm willing to put to work, but I want the funds to go to the people who need them, not be used to line the pockets of administrative staff, not to advertise and not to be wasted on red tape or other bullshit. I guess what I need from you are ideas on how best to do that."

"Hmm. The problems you have outlined are, sadly, endemic. It is how things have always been done so people expect it to always be done, if that makes sense. The only way to avoid that is to either administer the trust or foundation yourself or to choose like-minded people to do the work for you. If you choose others to administer the funds for you, I would suggest others who don't need the inflated salaries or even volunteers. There will be costs, there is no way around it, but you can limit the overhead."

"What kind of costs," Doug asked.

"My fees, for example, then tax considerations require an accountant or tax attorney, there will be paperwork, filing fees, governmental approvals and licenses and so on. Best-case scenario is five to ten percent of the funds you give out through an officially recognized foundation will go towards the costs of actually running the foundation. You could skip all of that if you simply gave the money directly to the veterans, but then you forego any tax benefits from your donations, and you have to figure out how to identify the recipients. You would want a small staff to find, and approve, the people who need help. Once you start giving away money, you will find a hundred scammers for every needy person, I'm afraid."

"Crap. Well, nothing worth doing is easy, and very few things that are easy are worth doing. I would like to engage you, at least in this initial phase. Please have your office put together a packet that explains the pros and cons of each scenario, and if you would, the cost/benefit ratio. I can see I need to do more thinking, more planning before I proceed."

Doug thought for a moment, "I may bring my sister into this, but I need to talk to her first. She can administer the funding side of things, since most of my money is with her firm anyway."

"Just have Marcy give me a call if your sister wants to set something up. Ramos Investment Group is a valuable client, and we are always glad to help."

His next stop was at a dealership across town, one who advertised as specializing in handicap accessible solutions. He had been impressed at the vehicle customization options on their website and wanted to take a look, first hand, at what they could do.

Once they cleared downtown traffic, Doug started to get that uneasy feeling and, on a hunch, he unlocked the mount on his seat and spun the seat to face backwards. It didn't take long to find what he had feared. Several vehicles back was a car that was very familiar ... a government sedan. He used his phone to snap a couple of pictures and texted them to JJ with the note 'Guess who has company?'

'Where are you?'

'Leaving lawyer, heading to Accessibility Concepts Inc. near airport. '

'What are you in?'

'Miami Livery chair van, white.'

'You will be met.'

He shifted his tablet to GPS mode and marked the spot where he had noticed the tail, and marked his destination. This was just fucking weird.

The company he had chosen had advertised luxury conversions with a complete electronics suite, customizable to the customer's specifications. He was interested in a setup that allowed him actually to drive the vehicle with a single joystick much like the one he used on his cameras.

The joystick was configured so that the trigger would sound the horn, the hat would activate the blinkers, and just about everything else was controlled by a touch screen with easy reach of his fingers. There were on-screen controls for the transmission, windows, mirrors, air conditioning, radios and so on. It was an elegant system and made the driver's position look more like a jet cockpit than it did a car.

When he offloaded at the custom shop, he casually tried to look around to see if he could spot his tail or the people JJ said would meet him, but he was unable to pinpoint either.

Rolling inside, he met with a salesman who was more than happy to show him the various options and even let him roll inside several of the models they had on the showroom floor. Doug was intrigued when he found that he could special order European models with right-hand drive. The company would put his chair spot in the normal, left hand position along with all of his controls, but a non-chair bound driver could still operate the vehicle normally from the right seat!

He ended up spending several hours there, going through the various options and design parameters. They had him load his chair on several different styles of lifts, took measurements of his chair, him in the chair and even his arm length and mobility.

When the salesman heard Doug's stomach grumbling, he even sent out for lunch! Doug thought he could get used to this kind of treatment.

In the end, he ordered a European Mercedes Sprinter 3500 with a 170-inch wheelbase, high roof, turbo diesel six-cylinder engine, four by four drive train with a dually rear axle. He chose the joystick and electronics package and added extras like extended fuel tanks, extra batteries, and run-flat tires. By the time he had chosen paint, interior modifications, and the special, fold away seating for rear passengers, he was pushing $250,000, but he thought he would be a happy camper when it was all said and done. He even paid up front for rapid delivery, two to three weeks instead of the usual twelve-week wait.

When he had signed the contracts and had the deposit wired from his investment account to the dealer, he shook the pleased sales manager's hand and headed for the doors, a happy customer.

As the salesman rushed to hold the door open for him, a young man in a loud guayabera shirt and khaki trousers stepped forward and waved.

"JJ has arranged for another van, it's parked on the side. We even have a decoy to send in your rental," the man told him, holding out a photo id card with the company logo on the front.

Doug hit the speed dial on his tablet and waited, not responding.

"Doug, did my guy contact you? We got you another van, and a decoy. We have a second vehicle trailing your tail."

"If your guy has questionable taste in shirts, then yes." Doug joked, winking at JJ's contact.

"Ha! Yeah, Jim likes to pretend like he is on the set of Miami Vice. Is he close by?"

"Right here, JJ," Jim said, loud enough for the microphone to pick up his voice.

"That's him, Doug; you are in good hands. He is going to bring you here, okay?"

"That's fine, JJ. See you soon." Doug replied, disconnecting. "Sorry about that, Jim. Even paranoids have real enemies." He said, smiling at his escort.

The salesman, wide eyed, was looking back and forth between the two men. He had overheard the entire conversation, of course, but had refrained from asking any questions. Doug guessed, based on his uncomfortable stance that he had decided he didn't want to know.

They reversed course and exited the building on the far side, and Doug rolled his chair into a van that was, except for the color, almost a carbon copy of the first one.

They waited until the driver received a signal and drove off the lot, taking a more circuitous route back downtown again. Doug watched but couldn't see any sign of his tail. That didn't mean they had lost them, but it was a good indication.

JJ's office was in a high-rise commercial building and occupied an entire floor. Aside from the consultation business, she did her own monitoring, security patrol, and even emergency response to many of the city's premier jewelers in the Diamond District. She employed more than three hundred people in various facets of the operation.

Her office was very nice and, much like their home, ultra-modern. JJ jumped from her seat behind the desk and came to meet him, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and directing him to a spot to the side of her desk where he could see her monitors.

"Two of the vehicles are assigned to the local FBI office, and two are part of the pool at SouthCom, the US Southern Command headquarters over off of 33rd St. That could mean Defense Intelligence Agency, but more likely, they're on loan to the Feebs." JJ paused for a moment, looking frankly, at Doug. "Is there anything you are not telling me? Did you get involved in hush-hush stuff over in the sand box?"

"No more than anyone else, I was a Ranger, and we went where we were told. Besides, anything I knew is close to two years out of date now, so it is not like I could divulge any military secrets. You don't have any contacts with the Feds?"

"I got a secretary in the local office, but she is strictly low level." JJ tapped her pen on the desktop, lost in thought for a moment. Reaching over, she hit the speed dial on her desk phone and put it on the speaker.

"Hey baby! What are you up to?" Christine's voice came over the speaker.

"Hi sweetheart! I have Doug here in the office with me."

"Hi Doug. Why does JJ get a visit and not me? You still haven't come to see my operation, and you helped fund it! Sad day when my brother is closer to my wife than he is to me," Christine teased.