The lights were turned down low. The oxidized aluminum storm door with a torn screen was closed but the main door hung open. The tarnished brass hardware, scratched paint and dirt around the lock and door handle were slightly visible in the dim light.

He was tapping on the edge of the storm door. "Hello." "Hello." "Anyone home?" He was standing there because he had looked over from across the street and saw the door open. Monday Night Football had just ended and he got up to stretch, then peered out the window. Across the street his neighbors car wasn't in the driveway. He didn't know if the wife's car was in the garage or not. The front door was open and it was about forty degrees outside.

He didn't really know his neighbors across the street. The man that lived there was slight of build, thirty-ish, balding and drove a black Cadillac.
He kept the yard manageable but not really well tended. The outside of the house could use some paint and repairs. The lady of the house was a glamorous blonde, always dressed in stunning outfits. She drove a little red sports car and was only seen when she was driving away or coming home. She parked inside the two car garage, which due to the accumulation of boxes and all the stuff that ends up in garages, only had room for the one car.

"Anyone home?" he called again. Looking in the living room he could see the nicely furnished room. Although it wasn't kept very tidy. Old newspapers, magazines and mail cluttered the glass coffee table. The large television sat looking cold and quiet with a couple of glasses sitting in front of it, partially full. There were blankets and cloths strewn over the leather chairs.

The furnace was running and he could feel the heat pouring out through the torn screen.

"Anyone home?" Tap, tap,tap. "Hello."

What to do, close the front door and go home? Go inside and see if anyone was inside, maybe hurt? Call the police? He didn't want to be an alarmist and call the police because someone accidently left a door open. He opted to step inside and investigate.

"Hello." He kept saying as he walked in feeling uneasy as a trespasser in a strangers home would. "Hello." He stepped across the berber carpet, a little worse for wear. He walked to the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor where there was a source of light flowing down. "Hello." He said up the stairs. He really felt uneasy now, but he was already inside. "Hello." He took the first step up. "Anyone Home?" he was suddenly curious and scared. He moved fast up the next ten steps. At the top he was not ready for what he saw.

The police put crime tape up and they interviewed him for three hours asking the same questions more than twice. How well did he know them? Had anyone strange or different been seen lately? Where was he all evening? Was anyone with him? What did he touch inside the house? Etc. etc.

Sydney Brown was born to a single woman. He was a sick and small child who wore glasses as long as he could remember. His mother left him with babysitters while she worked or went out. He spent a lot of time alone while growing up. The kids at school picked on him and without a father or proper guidance, he just endured it and endured it. He sunk deep into his studies. He loved numbers. He figured something out. Money, money, money. Money is what he needed. It would set him above the rest. He didn't have it growing up but he saw the kids that did. Happy, popular, nice cars.

Sydney was not comfortable with people. He was comfortable with numbers. He studied accounting. He graduated a year early from high school. He couldn't wait to get out of there. He didn't attend sport events or dances or ceremonies. He just went to class and then home to study and complete his assignments.

Sydney had been left alone so much by his mother, abandoned by his father and brutalized by his classmates. He trusted no one. Being small, insecure and poor he didn't know how to talk to or what to say to girls. The few times he tried he would get so nervous he would stammer and then say something dumb. The girls would laugh and he would almost run away dejected.

He had done so well in high school, scholastically, that he earned a scholarship. College was much the same. He spent all his time in studies. He graduated a year early in the top five percent of his class and so immediately got a job at a major accounting firm.

Staying in a small apartment and living a spartan lifestyle, Sydney accumulated money. He saved and saved. He studied the markets and invested wisely. Still his life was miserable. His colleagues at work talked maliciously about him, shifted their work load onto him and after work ignored him. His boss was never satisfied. He worked longer and harder than any of them, yet the guys that went golfing and out to lunch with the boss received better pay and bonuses. Sydney just wasn't in the in crowd and didn't seem to be able to get in, no matter how he tried. He just worked and saved. His only vice being the occasional prostitute.

Five years into his career, Sydney started getting headaches. He was having sleepless nights and when he did get to sleep he would have these crazy dreams. Faces would come at him out of the dark, all smiles and happy and then suddenly turn fierce and start biting him. Snakes curled around his legs and drug him down into deep black mud. Things would go dark and he couldn't see, then he would start gagging and choking. He'd wake up in a sweat.

The doctor gave him pills. WOW. He took a pill to go to sleep and he took another pill twice a day to help him "cope". Something happened, he changed. He started going out in the evenings and feeling, well, kind of giddy. He found if he had a couple of drinks on top of the pills that he was really different. He was confident, talkative, outgoing.

That's when he met Joyce. Joyce was a prostitute, but she didn't tell Sydney. They met at a bar Sydney started frequenting. Watching the sports and news on the television, making small talk. At age twentysix Sydney had never had a girlfriend. He was struck by her beauty and that she was nice to him. She told him that her father had left her some money and that she was between jobs. She was having fun with what she felt was a harmless flirtation. She acted the innocent and made up tales about what she had done with her day. They met regular for drinks and chit chat.

Joyce realized Sydney was lonely and vulnerable and came to realize he had some money put back. She also realized that prostitution was a dead end job with plenty of hazards. So after a couple of months of meeting for drinks, she went home with Sydney. After a couple of times of going home with Sydney, he proposed. A couple days later she accepted.

Sydney was ecstatic. They were married by a judge. Two of Joyce's "girlfriends" were the witnesses. The honeymoon was fine. Then it was over.

They bought a house. She got her little red sports car. They furnished the house and the savings started to dissipate. Joyce bought clothes, expensive clothes. Joyce bought lunch, expensive lunch. Joyce ordered food out rather than cook. She wasn't much of a homemaker. And then she started drinking more than she did before. Four years passed before Sydney knew what hit him.

The boss at work never seamed satisfied even though Sydney carried more accounts than anyone else in the office. He worked late and came in early. Sydney was just one of those guys people felt like they could push around. His beautiful passionate wife became mean. She had come to resent settling for the middle class neighborhood and the slightly built accountant. And the nicer he tried to be the more she hated him.

There were some cash withdrawals from his accounts that Joyce couldn't or wouldn't explain. Sydney was sleeping on the couch these days and he was not happy. Pushed around at work and at home. He hired a private investigator to tell him what he knew in his heart. Joyce was seeing someone else. Actually there was three someone else's. Sydney didn't say a word. He just went to work.

He worked longer and harder than ever. He stayed late into the evening and took on two more major accounts. The boss was starting to be a little more considerate of Sydney. He was even starting to like him, since he was doing the work of two accountants. Quite a savings for the firm not to have to hire another CPA.

Tuesday morning started out to be typical, but, by noon it was mayhem. Five of their major clients had called wondering why their banking and investment accounts were frozen. There were more calls to come. Millions of dollars were missing.

Sydney sat in the office of the finest plastic surgeon in America that morning. A month later he boarded an international flight. He had a full head of hair, a really nice nose, a tan, he wasn't wearing glasses and his name was Clayton Paxtin.