His Wife: The Price of Redemption

Chapter One

Tobias

"Consider it pure joy, whenever you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." – James 1:2-3

"Mr. Siegel, we have a problem with the Santiago shipment."

My fingers tense into fists as ice freezes in my veins at the alarming words of an employee from Altwerth Shipping Network, a company I was under the false impression could handle much more than they let on.

Flexing my hands over the pile of paperwork laid out on the oak desk in my office, I push my chair back and stand. Unrolling my sleeves, I grab my suit jacket off the blue accent chair to the left of me and slip it on my shoulders. Quickly correcting my tie that's gone askew amid my stressful tick of playing with it, I spin and level a pointed gaze at the employee whose name tag reads Dante.

The short, burly man clutches his gloves in a tight fist. His skin flushes, eyes wide apologetically as he gulps and opens his mouth to continue his explanation as to why my day has just plummeted.

He swipes his hat off his head to reveal blonde hair buzzed short, and before he gets his next words out, the shrill sound of sirens pierces the air.

"What happened," I insist through gritted teeth and step toward him.

"The delivery truck is on fire."

"Excuse me?" I turn my head slightly as if I've misheard him and need him to repeat himself. "On fire?"

His sharp nod invokes mirthless laughter from my lungs as my mind reels with all the tiresome effort it took to procure those paintings. The artist, Antoine Santiago, having gone viral on social media months ago, had agreed he'd only exclusively sell his work through one gallery, and after multiple offers and a lot of bending over backward to get him the correct contacts for his career to continue skyrocketing, he agreed with my place of employment, The Art of Creation.

The gallery has budded from a cheeky showcase to a notable expose of some of the finest artists around the world. I've dedicated the past fifteen years to becoming an expert in the field and helping an admirable man grow his business.

Thomas Holcomb is the closest thing I have to a father, having grown up in the foster care system. A retired war veteran with a taste for all things international. He stumbled upon a haunting painting Storm of Charity, depicting America's victories against the Nazi invasion by an unknown artist. He bought it as a tribute to his father who served in World War 2, thus birthing his fascination for all things grievous and wretched so as long as the hidden beauty could be found within each piece.

And now, instead of my efforts contributing to the development of his artistic efforts, they will have been all for naught.

What a massive pain...

Lord, strengthen my resolve.

"I want an explanation now," I bark out, moving past Dante and suppressing a wince as the sound of the sirens explodes when I open the back door to where our deliveries typically arrive.

He scurries behind me, stuttering and cursing at the confusion all of the holes in his story creates.

"I had to use the facilities quickly. My partner Hank was grabbing a smoke, and when I came out, the truck was on fire."

"Where is Hank?" My eyes scan the parking lot, coming up empty of any employees dressed in Altwerth uniform.

Two fire trucks have arrived, along with a police car. Firemen hustle to de-escalate the situation. The two officers sitting in the car climb out and begin heading our way.