The Dragon Delasangre

To my left three smaller windows look out across the pale blue width of Biscayne Bay to the South Miami skyline on the horizon. In front of me two other windows view the swift current flowing through the narrow channel separating us from the bird sanctuary on Wayward Key. And behind me yet another window overlooks the mile-wide channel between our small island and the green tree-covered spits of land called the Ragged Keys.
When the windows are open, no matter which direction the wind blows, it washes through the room like an unending wave. Always the house smells of sea salt and ocean damp. Always every outside noise washes through too. Only birds and fish can visit our island and escape notice. Don Henri planned it this way when he built this house.

Tonight I chose to dine out far from our home, away from the endless waves and restless breezes that worry at our tiny island. I land our motorboat, a twenty-seven-foot Grady White, at our slip behind Monty's restaurant in Coconut Grove. It's been almost a week since I've come ashore.
I walk down the dock, ignoring the blare of reggae music and the smells of fried fish and spilt beer that always seem to fill the air around Monty's thatch-roofed outdoor patio. Just past the restaurant's parking lot, I pause for the light, glance across South Bayshore Drive to the office building on the left, where my family's business keeps its offices and frown at the black Mercedes coupe parked on the street in front of the concrete tower. It belongs to Jeremy Tindall, my family's attorney and the co-manager of our business.
It's unlike Jeremy to work late. I toy with the impulse to go upstairs and pay him a surprise visit. But I have little desire to confront him tonight. Knowing Jeremy as I do, I never doubt whether he's plotting against me, looking for new ways to divert some of my family's considerable wealth. Only the vigilance of his co-manager, Arturo Gomez, and the threat of my family's power keep him in check.
A long time ago I asked Father why he tolerated such an employee. He sighed. "Great wealth always results in great temptation and great temptation invariably destroys honor. If I could, I'd do without them all," he said. "But if you have to have employees, it's better to know if one is a thief than be surprised by it. I've found in my long life that the only men who could to great damage to me were the ones I trusted."
"At least with Tindall, I know what I have. I can rely on him to behave in certain ways and because of that, I can control him. But I would never trust him or any of the others, not even Gomez. And you shouldn't either."
I make a mental note to call Gomez in the morning, warn him to be more vigilant, and then I turn my attention to the bustle of the cars, the rush of people going about their business, celebrating another evening in the Grove.
Crossing the street, passing the office buildings, I smile. I've missed the feel of concrete and asphalt under my feet. As the neighborhood turns more residential and I walk past the manicured lawns and the towering trees that fill each yard, I take deep breaths, smell the richness of the vegetation, the sharp tang of newly cut grass and relax - thinking only of the evening before me.

Detardo's Steakhouse sits on the corner of 27th avenue and 12th, a good two mile hike from the bay.