The Fitzgerald File
"The Fitzgerald File is a strong romance with broad appeal. It's idealized, almost fairy-tale worldview is refreshing and engaging. Overall a fun read. The elements of mystery and suspense were well done. The author does a nice job with the plot and I think overall that is where the book shines the most."
--Writer's Digest
CHAPTER FIVE
From the Journal of Alan Fitzgerald
Life is a videotape playing in fast forward, not in color, but in black and white, when suddenly the pause button is engaged, and in that moment, fragments of one's life stand still, and one muses, is this all there is?
Some may be wise enough to grasp the moment, giving them specialized insight into the meaning of life, actually making a moment count, from time to time, allows a person to close one's eyes and travel on to another place with an aura of inner peace and acceptance of one's fate before the tape runs out.
Gerard Malcolm arrived at his office at the crack of dawn anticipating his meeting today with John Fitzgerald. He hung his dark brown suit jacket on the coat rack and then rolled up his tan oxford shirt sleeves. This was his favorite time of day, before sunrise, before main arteries of local streets and intersecting highways congested with commuter traffic and road rage. In preparation of the meeting, he had pored through volumes of journals left behind by the late Alan and Katherine Fitzgerald. His mind was flooded with events that had led to Katherine’s death, stories told to him firsthand by Alan Fitzgerald that day, and the days that followed. At this moment, the night of Katherine’s death was as vivid in Gerard’s mind as it was the day he'd learned of her tragic accident. Gerard had firsthand knowledge that Alan had taken the pain, sorrow, and remorse of Katherine’s death to his grave. The journals Alan’s butler had delivered to Gerard the evening of Alan's death confirmed it. The leather-bound books held a lifetime of achievements, disappointments, thoughts, feelings, and accounts of Alan and Katherine’s married life. Until last week, they were packed away in boxes. Alan had left specific instructions for them to be turned over to Gerard upon his demise. Gerard was to disperse of them as he saw fit.
Now Gerard walked over to the window. He looked over the panoramic view of the city realizing it was time John knew the truth. The kid needs a life preserver; I’m the only one left who can throw it to him, he thought. Gerard snatched a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped the mist from his eyes. He turned the page of Alan’s journal reliving the days and nights following Katherine’s death.
Alan Fitzgerald had pulled his car into the garage and turned off the ignition. Trembling hands pushed open the car door. He stumbled from the Bentley muttering, “Lord, what have I done?” He entered his ocean-to-lake Mediterranean mansion located on South Ocean Boulevard, Palm Beach, Florida. There was no one home to greet him. The servants weren’t due back from Majorca until the week’s end.
The silence in the house was deafening. He entered the marble foyer. There he stood in a tan Brooks Brothers suit, face drawn, imagining Katherine’s death was a bad dream, hoping he’d be given another chance in life, hoping Katherine would descend the winding staircase momentarily. He could feel her presence in every square inch of the twenty-five-room residence. It carried her personal signature. It reinforced in him now how much time she’d spent alone decorating a house that was never a home. He shook his head in commiseration. He had never felt so remorseful, so powerless, so empty, as he felt right now.
He had no recollection of how long he’d stood in the foyer. He later walked directly to his study and poured himself a tumbler of scotch. In one swift motion, he tossed the golden liquid down the back of his throat. He poured another and then dialed Gerard Malcolm’s number. After several rings, Gerard answered, “Hello?”
“It’s Alan.”
“Alan! How’s Majorca? Are you and Katherine enjoying your second honeymoon? Alan, are you there?”
“There’s been a tragic accident, Gerard. Come over to the house at once.”
“You’re home?”
“I got in about an hour ago.”
“You sound rattled, Alan. What is it?”
“I can’t explain now.”
“Should I call for help?”
“No. Just get over here immediately!”
“I’m on my way.”