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BILLIONAIRE IN HIDING
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Garrett
“I don’t know what you did and I don’t care. While you are here, you are just any other drifter who’s looking for a job before moving onto the next location. I won’t treat you any different.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s your name, son?” the older man asked me.
“Malcolm — I mean, Garrett Reynolds,” I replied. Instantly, I knew the mistake I had made. Luckily, I also knew that this man in front of me was the only one who knew that I wasn’t who I pretended to be; his job was to take me in and keep me safe.
I was scared, I readily admitted that. I was in a strange city — hell, a strange state even. I was dressed in clothes that I would never have worn in my day-to-day life and the only thing keeping me alive was a government organization that wanted to trade my testimony for the conviction of a drug smuggler.
My life was very clearly in danger and I was grateful to be at the ranch with the silly cowboy clothes on. If working as a ranch hand and living in the middle of nowhere was what I had to do to stay safe, I was going to do it.
“It’s hard, but you can’t make that mistake again. Whoever you were before doesn’t exist right now. You are Garrett Reynolds; don’t forget that.”
He was stern with me and I appreciated the reminder. It was going to take practice for me to learn this new person that I was supposed to be. In my normal life, I was charismatic and social. I loved hanging out with my friends, partying, and traveling. But all of those things were gone now. Instead of traveling and having fun, I was relegated to lowly, ranch hand duties and I was going to have to like it.
The agent had given me two choices in where I could relocate to. Either take the ranch hand position in Montana or head up to Alaska and try my hand at fishing. Because I knew myself to get violently sick on a boat, there really was no choice for me: I had to go with the ranch.
“I know, sir; I won’t let it happen again.”
“I’m Sid Miller; it’s nice to meet you, young man,” Sid said as he reached his hand out and shook mine. “I promise you’ll be safe here until they come back for you.”
I trusted Sid, which was strange for someone I had just met and considering the circumstances in which I had arrived at his ranch. But Sid Miller struck me as the kind of man who always kept his word and wouldn’t do anything to let my secret out.
He was probably in his mid to late fifties with a big, gray mustache and weathered skin. He wore cowboy boots, jeans, and a button up shirt that were probably part of his daily wardrobe from the looks of the wear and tear on the clothing. Sid also had a well-worn cowboy hat that seemed to fit him as if it were custom made. There was no doubt that he wore cowboy gear better than me.
I struggled with the boots the most. They felt like I was wearing ladies high-heeled shoes. As I took each step, I put my heel to the ground and then felt off balance as the front of my foot hit the ground in odd timing. I would have to practice walking in them so I didn’t look like a total idiot as I started my job.
My new identity was Garrett Reynolds and I was supposed to be familiar with horses and farming. The problem was, I wasn’t familiar with either of those things. It was going to be the best acting job of my life if I could actually convince people that I belonged on that ranch.
“Sid, thanks for everything.”
“Okay, that’s enough of the pleasantries. These will be your quarters; I suspect they are far below what you’re used to, but you’ll be safe. Depending on how long you stay here, and how hard you work, I’ll move you up in position just like anyone else around here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“For now, you’re a ranch hand. You’ll work with the younger boys who are here for the summer. This bunkhouse will be where you sleep and that building across the way is where the ranch hands eat.”
The ranch felt a little like a summer camp I had went to as a teenager. The bunkhouse was filled with several sets of bunk beds and small lockers at the foot of each bed. The lockers had padlocks on them, which I assumed was to keep personal belongings safe. Although I only had on small bag of personal items with me, and none of them were all that personal.
When I left my home in Los Angeles, I wasn’t allowed to take any photos or items that could be used to identify me. So, I grabbed my journals and a few other small items that were important.