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The Change I sat near the stern of the large open boat as it crossed the five miles of ocean between the mainland and the island. I was semi protected from the ocean spray as it came over the bow and wetted everything and everyone in the forward half of the boat. I was not sure what to expect when we arrived on the island. I had made arrangements to escape from the United States before the FBI arrested me. They thought I had absconded with millions of dollars from the company where I worked and were in the process of getting enough evidence to arrest me. In a way they were right. I had taken the money, about 200 million dollars to be exact. What they didn't know was that I took the money from the CEO who had actually taken the money. So I had the FBI and the company CEO both looking for me. One wanted to put me in jail and the other wanted to kill me. I was really between a rock and a hard place. Two men jumped from the boat as it pulled up to the pier. They tugged on the lines and tied the boat to its slip. The coxswain said something in another language and motioned for me to step up onto the pier. Which I did. A tall man wearing khaki shorts and a bright blue polo shirt was waiting for me. "Welcome Mr. Andrews. We have been expecting you," he said as he extended his hand in a friendly manner. I shook his hand and asked him where we were. He said we are on Dr. Phillips' private island off the coast of New Guinea. This is where you are to start your new life. We walked up the pier and then up a long wooden stair to a flat area. I turned and looked back at the view. It was magnificent. "Come along Mr. Andrews. You will have plenty of time to enjoy the scenery." Ahead was a very plush resort complex. A large cream colored three story building with a red tile roof was in the center surrounded by cream colored cottages. The areas in between were filled with tropical vegetation and red brick walk ways. This was to be my home for the next year or so. I followed my guide to one of the cottages. "This is your temporary home Mr. Andrews. Please feel free to get comfortable. Take a shower, have a drink from the bar, or whatever you like. Dinner is in the main building at 7 PM sharp." With that he left me to my devices. The cottage was a one bedroom bungalow with a large open room across the front and a bedroom and bath in the back. A small bar area with a sink and a small refrigerator under the counter took up one corner. It was stocked with small wine bottles, soft drinks, and miniature whiskey bottles. The dresser in the bedroom contained underwear and other clothes in my size. The closet also had clothing for me. I took a shower, changed into my new clothes, and made a drink. The television had satellite and I soon was watching the news where I found out how I had died in a robbery gone haywire. The Marine Patrol had combed the off-shore area where my boat had been attacked but found nothing. My boating companion had been thrown overboard and was lucky to be alive. He saw the robbers shoot me and throw me overboard before they got back on their boat and left the scene. I raised my drink and toasted to my death. At dinner I discovered I was one of the few people on the island who spoke English. Most of the guests were from France. Since I don't speak French I excused myself after desert and went back to my cottage. Dr. Phillips' was waiting for me. Holding up his drink glass the man greeted me with, "Mr. Anderson, or may I call you Paul?" "Paul is great. I suppose you are the man that is going to change my appearance so much that my wife and kids couldn't recognize me." "That is what you are paying me for Paul." We talked for over an hour. The good doctor showed me pictures of many others who he had helped. I was truly impressed. It was very hard to tell that the person in the after picture was the same person as the before picture. The ones involving gender change were particularly amazing. In fact, that is what he recommended for me. I was short and thin for a man and would make a very good looking woman. He explained that modern surveillance imaging identified people by their facial geometry, the distance between the eyes, the distance to the mouth, the elevation of the ears, etc. However, in gender changing modifications the actual shape of the face changed somewhat due to redistribution of fat and coupled with a modified nose and enhanced lips the software rarely made a match. And even if the digital software made a match it would be rejected because of gender. It was the best way for me to return to the States and remain out of jail and alive. But Dr. Phillips insisted that I spend a few hours with a therapist before I embark on anything as drastic as a gender change. Many people could not handle the change. After breakfast the next morning I was led to the clinic. Some very nice nurses took blood samples, blood pressure, and all the other things they usually do in a physical. I sat holding a cotton swab on my left arm where they had taken blood when a rather plain woman wearing gray slacks and a print top came up to me, introduced herself as Dr. Huntington, and led me down the hall to her office. The room was paneled in dark wood. A large window with Venetian blinds and side curtains overlooked the foliage in the rear of the clinic. One wall was covered with framed diplomas and certifications. She motioned me to sit on one end of a sofa as she sat in a wingback chair facing me. "Mr. Andrews, before we start, I want to assure you that everything we say here stays here. I know a little bit about your background. I also know that you are here for a significant appearance modification. Many of the other guests are here for the same reason. In your case Dr. Phillips has told me that a gender change has been recommended. He asked me to discus that with you and make a determination as to your suitability. Do you have any questions before we start? "Not really except Dr. Phillips told me that he wanted me to talk to a therapist," I replied. "I must admit that a sex change was not what I had in mind before I came here." "I suspect not. Going from life as a man to life as a woman is a lot more complicated than changing clothes and appearance. I specialize in gender dysphoria, a condition where a man or woman feels they were born into a body of the wrong sex. It is a little understood condition and only occurs in a small percentage of the population. However, it can be devastating. Gender dysphoric people have a very high suicide rate and frequently mutilate their sex organs. In the last half century we have been able to provide some relief through sexual reassignment surgery, SRS. Because the change is so dramatic, it should not be done on a whim. There are specific guidelines that are used to determine whether a gender change is the correct procedure. Normally, it includes living as a member of the other sex for a year and hormone treatment before any surgery is performed. In your case the problem is the possibility of creating gender dysphoria. How do you feel about becoming a woman?" "Well, until yesterday I had never really seriously thought about changing my sex, although, I have often thought about being a woman. But I was born male and have a penis to prove it. I fathered two children and have a wonderful wife. Besides, I like women from a man's point of view. I like to look at women and certainly enjoyed making love with my wife. But I do admit I think women may have the better deal in today's society, women have so many choices. As a man I was pretty much relegated to the provider role, the lawn mower guy, and a general Mr. Fix-it. " "When you say that you thought about being a woman did you ever feel that you were a woman but were born in a man's body?" "Oh, I don't know. I don't think so. Sometimes I guess that I just would have preferred to have been born female. Actually, it would be nice to change back and forth. Sometimes, I think women have an easier life." "Do you have children?" "Two. A boy 14 and a girl 16." "Don't you think your wife has it easy taking care of the children and the house?" "I know she is busy. But I also know she loves taking care of the kids. She certainly looks after them better than she looks after me." "Have you ever worn women's clothing?" "Yes, but only to see what it felt like. I never dressed up and went places." "When did you first dress up?" "When I was about 5 or 6 I liked to wear my mother's shoes around the house. I also remember wearing girl's dresses but I don't remember where they came from. My memory is pretty weak at that age. But I don't remember my mother complaining. She used to paint my nails when she did hers. I do remember my father making a fuss about that." "Did you ever dress up in women's clothing when you were older?" "Maybe a few times." "How did you feel?" "Scared, actually. I was sure someone would see me." "Did anyone ever see you?" "No although, I went to a Halloween Party in a dress once." "When was that?" "It was a fraternity party. Everyone had to come dressed as the opposite sex." "How did you feel?" "Now that I think about it, I felt pretty good. My girlfriend helped me find the clothes and a wig. Then she did my make up. The worst part of the night was the shoes. They were a little tight." "What did you and your girlfriend do after the party?" "We went back to her place and made love. She was a pretty hot chick." The conversation went on for about two hours. Dr. Huntington probed deeper and deeper in to my feelings about women, gender, and my personal feelings. I stopped her at one point and said, "I will do almost anything to be able to get back to the States and nail those sons-a-bitches that got me into this mess in the first place. If becoming a woman is what it takes, then so be it. I really don't care. I just know that if I go back I run the risk of being arrested and sent to jail for a very long time. My wife will have to give back all the insurance money. She might be implicated and go to jail too. And I am sure it will screw up my kid's lives as well. If wearing a dress is what it takes then sign me up." "Well that answers a lot of my questions," she said. "I think you can start the transition. We will meet from time to time to see how things were going. If it appears that you are having difficulty we can stop the process and go from there." With that she stood up, shook my hand, and led me to the door. The next day I was introduced to Mary. She had been assigned to help me during the transition. We talked for quite a while. She explained some of the changes I would see in my appearance during the next few months. My skin would become softer. My face would look more feminine. My nipples would start to grow and small breasts would develop. My body hair would thin but not go away entirely. And finally my body fat would redistribute making my hips and thighs larger. She recommended that I start to wear more feminine clothing and visit the salon to start styling my hair. Additionally, I was to start voice training to feminize my masculine voice and French language training for my new identity. I asked about plastic surgery. I had understood that cosmetic surgery was part of the overall treatment. Mary said that Dr. Phillips would discuss surgery in a few months depending on Dr. Huntington's recommendation. It was important for all of the hormonal changes to take place before surgery. If surgery were done now there was no control on what I would look like in six months or a year. But if surgery were delayed the final result was much better. That sounded good to me. Pills were put in a small container at my place in the dining room at every meal. Once a week I went to the clinic for a shot. I also started beard removal treatments. A very pretty oriental lady seemed to enjoy zapping each hair on my face one by one. Each hair stung as she zapped it with her apparatus. It took weeks for her to finally remove every last one. But when she was done my face was soft and smooth. I didn't miss shaving every morning one bit. One day I came back from tennis to find my entire wardrobe had been replaced. My pants were now loose fitting, the shirts buttoned the wrong way, and my shoes were ladies versions of the loafers I had been wearing. All my socks were gone replaced by knee high stockings. My under pants were still there but all the undershirts were gone. I felt very strange at dinner. After breakfast the next morning a young attendant took me to the salon. Jacques, the stylist, asked me a lot of questions about my likes and dislikes. I looked through a number of books on hair styles to pick my new look. He laughed at the first style I picked. He said that it was what I wanted a woman to look like from a man's point of view but it would never fit the shape of my face. It was very important for the hair to match the face. In his opinion, hair was like a picture frame. It brought attention to the face in a complementary way. And besides, my hair was still fairly short so he said he would trim it to look more feminine now and work towards a better look as it grew. In three hours I emerged from Jacques salon with a whole new look; my hair was a light brown, almost blond, and highlighted, my eye brows were slim and arched, and my ears were pierced. Basic make up had been applied. My whole body had been waxed. And my nails were shaped and polished. I almost didn't recognize myself in the mirror. During the next few months I practiced every day with my voice. A speech therapist worked with me three days a week and I used a tape recorder to hear myself. Additionally, I continued daily French lessons and was seated with French speaking people in the dining room. The staff spoke to me in French. The first week was hard but it didn't take long to carry on a conversation. Even my speech therapist shifted to French. She said that her goal was for me to sound French to a Frenchman. And then there were lessons in how to act more feminine. I learned to walk and how to sit. We talked about how women looked at the world. It was a real eye opener. I wish I had known this in High School. I was assigned to a table with mostly women and included in many of the social events that were scheduled for women. Almost all of the women were at the clinic for face lifts or body lifts. They were predominantly wealthy French women and stayed for only a few weeks. At first I was very quiet and did not initiate any conversation. I worried that my French would not be good enough. I learned that women talk to each other differently than when men are around. Besides the expected husband bashing, they talked a lot about other women, how they were dressed or improperly dressed, how they were acting improperly, and comments about plastic surgery. After all, most of these ladies were here for some kind of facial or body lift. For some it was not their first time under the knife. I was happy to hear that Dr. Phillips was the best they had ever worked with. All of Mary's predictions came true. I really did look more and more feminine as time went on. My face changed first. In only a couple of months my face was definitely feminine. My chest started to develop, slowly at first but after six months I started to wear a bra every day. She hadn't mentioned that my penis would get really small and erections would no longer be possible or that my breasts would be so sensitive. On one of my daily visits to the clinic Mary said that she had skipped over that part on purpose because some patients became very upset, more so that if it just happened. I met with Dr. Huntington every other week. She was very happy with my progress and assured me that my attitude was good. When nine months had gone by I had a meeting with the medical staff and Dr. Phillips. We sat at a long table. Dr. Phillips sat at the head of the table and I sat on his right. There was a projector in the center of the table and a movie screen at the end of the room. Dr. Phillips operated a laptop computer. He manipulated pictures of me on the screen so that I could get an idea of the various options that were possible. He showed me my appearance with various shaped noses and chins. After we had looked at perhaps fifty combinations I asked if he had any favorite. He immediately went to an image of his favorite look for me. My nose was smaller, my chin was thinner, my lips were fuller, and my eyes had an uplifted look. I was impressed. Next he showed the change in my throat by removing my Adam's apple. Finally, he asked if I had thought about how big I wanted my chest to be. I certainly wanted breasts larger than the small ones I had grown. I said that I wanted to be larger but wanted to look normal and preferred to be a little on the large size instead of a little on the small size. Again he had pictures of me that he morphed into various breast sizes. We picked one that looked good. An attendant passed around champagne. We toasted my new look. Then he handed me some papers to sign authorizing the surgery. I went back to my bungalow and got ready for dinner. When I woke the next morning an attendant came to escort me to the clinic for surgery. I really don't remember much about the surgery. But when I woke I felt like I had an elephant sitting on my chest. The nurse made me stay in the recovery area until I could urinate. When I did I was wheeled to my bungalow in a wheel chair. I spent the next two days there. My face was covered in bandages. They took the bandages off my chest and put me in a restrictive bra. It wasn't pretty but it did its support role well. They really were a lot bigger. I liked the look very much. A week later my facial bandages were removed. My face was swollen. It looked as if the person in the mirror had been in quite a fight. I no longer looked like myself. For the past few months I looked like I suspected a sister would look, but not any more. There was a different woman staring back at me, a very pretty woman. It was a very strange feeling. My wardrobe changed again. Gone was the asexual look replaced by the all woman look. Dresses were added along with high heeled shoes and panty hose. Jacques changed my hair style for a longer and softer look. He also had a cosmetologist work with me on my make up. I had no trouble learning how to put on make up every morning. It was a lot easier than I had expected. It was so strange to look down and see the cleavage of my new breasts. They were a lot heavier than I imagined and they bounced a lot more than I expected when I walked. But they did look good. I now had a figure that most women would die for. Another month went by. My French was getting much better. My voice was greatly improved. I really liked how I sounded on tape, very feminine. I started to feel comfortable showing some cleavage. I could walk in heels as well as anyone. And I could do my own hair in the morning. Dr. Phillips met with me to discuss the final step, sex reassignment surgery. After the surgery there would be an additional two months here on the island, and then off to France for a few months to start living my new identity. With that he handed me a French passport. I opened it up and looked at my new self in the picture. My new name was Suzanne Palmer. After two more months I had one final meeting with Dr. Huntington. We talked for a long time. After the SRS there was no turning back. I told her that I did feel like I was in someone else's body but for me it was a safe haven. And I really liked how I looked. I had a pretty face, a great set of boobs, and great legs. I had spent so much time with women during the last year that I was very comfortable being with other people and had no fear that I would ever be mistaken for a man. I still felt like me but I was hiding inside Suzanne's body so no one would know who I really was. She was satisfied and authorized the SRS. The time after the surgery was somewhat more painful than I expected. Thank heaven for pain killers. The next two months allowed me to heal completely and polish up my French. I learned that I was married to a French businessman. He would provide my cover when I moved to France. He was an Alzheimer's patient and I was expected to pay for his lifetime care in exchange for the use of his wife's name and history. It seems I had been born in the U.S. of French parents. We had moved to Algeria before my first birthday. I had an American nanny and learned English before French. Additionally, my parents had sent me to a private boarding school in the U. S. It had closed a few years ago. I had a degree in sociology from the American University in Beirut, Lebanon. My family had been killed by a terrorist bomb while we were in Lebanon. I had been in a coma for three months, and had never regained all my memory. The accident also caused severe internal injuries preventing me from having children. The story was all true except that the real Suzanne had died along with her parents. I was married to Charles Palmer a man 30 years my senior We had married and had been living the past few years in Algeria. This last year he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's and we were going to France for better medical care. A New Life I met Charles for the first time at the airport in Algiers. He was sedated for the trip to France. Monique, his nurse, had been recommended by Dr. Phillips and his staff had made all the arrangements to move Charles from Algiers to a home near Menton, France. Monique was in her late fifties and longed to return to France. This position was the answer to her dreams: airfare to France, a place to live, and lengthy employment with all the amenities included. She was holding a sign with the name Palmer in large letters. Charles sat in a black wheel chair. "Monique?" I asked. "Yes, Madame," she replied in perfect French. "I am Suzanne. I am so glad you are here to take care of Charles. He is more than I can handle," I replied using my best French. I had been so worried that my accent would give me away but Monique continued on in French. We made the usual small talk. I gave Charles a kiss on the cheek and remarked that is was so sad that he no longer recognized his own wife. Then we went through customs and waited until our flight was called. The flight to Paris and the train to Menton with a change in Marsalis went without incident. Menton is a beautiful Mediterranean seacoast town near the Italian border. The town wraps around a large harbor with many small ships and yachts at anchor. It had not been damaged during either of the World Wars and has many building dating back to the 16th century. Charles and I moved into a four bedroom villa in the hills overlooking the harbor. It was relatively new, very expensive, and had a wonderful view of the town and harbor beyond. The entire property was fenced to prevent Charles from wandering off. I spent the next week getting settled. There were so many simple things to do. Although the home was fully furnished and the utilities had been turned on we had to visit the local market for food and general household supplies. During the next week I bought a car, a television and some casual clothes. Monique was so helpful. While Charles slept, which seemed to be most of the day, Monique helped me find a household staff: a maid, a cook, and a personal assistant. The personal assistant was very important for me. Although, I had the outward appearance of a fortyish woman I was still a man inside and had a poor sense of fashion and lacked many of the talents that most women develop or come by naturally. More over I needed someone who could work with me closely as I sought justice for what the men at Overon had done to my life. Monique interviewed the maid and cook applicants. It was important she like them because they would be working for her while I was in the States. I interviewed the personal assistant applicants. She would be working closely with me where ever I was in the world. My facial surgery had been very successful; I was very good looking even beautiful. But like most women, I guess, I needed a little powder and paint to bring out the best. I wanted my personal assistant to be in the same mold. She needed to be at least in her late thirties, knowledgeable, and able to mix in with a wealthy crowd. I scheduled the interviews for two days. The first day was disappointing. They were too young, too old, not very bright, or really ugly. One woman had such bad taste in clothes that I remarked to Monique that this woman needed an assistant to dress her in the morning. Then, just after lunch on the second day, the perfect companion arrived. I sat on the patio behind a table to conduct the interviews. I could watch the candidates walk through the large living room and out on to the deck. I wanted a very lady-like walk. Then after they had been seated and Monique had disappeared back into the house, I asked them to get me some tea from a tea cart that sat near-by. Most poured the tea as a waitress in an American restaurant would have poured coffee. This particular lady, Stephanie Hand, caught my eye the moment she walked in to the living room. She was dressed in a white suite with matching shoes and purse. Her wavy hair was brushed back from her face. Her make-up was impeccable. She sat gracefully across from me and extended her hand. "I am Stephanie Hand. You have a magnificent home Madame," she said graciously. When I asked for some tea she rose gracefully and asked how I wanted my tea. As she picked up the tea pot she remarked that the tea was cold and suggested I have some fresh made as cold tea was not as pleasant. She passed the test. I had her sit back down and we talked at length. Stephanie was originally from Kansas. Her father had been in the State Department and she had grown up among diplomat's children, living in many European cities before attending high school in Lyon, France and then college at a small women's college in the mid-west. English was her native tongue but she spoke impeccable French. She had married an Army officer and had two children. She lost her husband to a terrorist bomb about twelve years earlier. Her children were now both married and living in the States. Since her husband had been killed she made a reasonable living teaching etiquette to American corporate executives going abroad. Her business had diminished as more and more business was being done with China and the Far East. Currently she was in France teaching French corporate executives about American culture. That job was over and she was again looking for work. I explained that I wanted someone to guide me daily. I wanted a full time companion that was willing to travel. She would be expected to go almost everywhere with me, a virtual shadow. Her major job was to make me look good and keep me happy. My past years with Charles in the Middle East and North Africa had left me unprepared. I would pay all her living expenses and a reasonable salary. I could not guarantee when she could take time off to see her family but I was sure there would be many opportunities. She inquired about my immediate needs. Did I need someone to start today or in a week or two? She also asked about her wardrobe requirements. I told her that I planned on returning to the States in a few weeks and planned on wintering in Palm Beach, Florida. If I hired her, finding and renting a furnished condo on the beach would be one of her first tasks. Additionally, I would buy any clothes she needed. As my companion she would be required to attend any social functions. "Is this something you would be interested in doing, Stephanie?" I asked. "Oh yes, Madame. My only concern is becoming a shadow for someone I have only just met." "If we cannot work together your services would be useless. We both would be miserable. In that instance we can part ways. You can keep any items that I purchased and you can go job hunting again. The only thing I insist on is confidentiality. You must sign an agreement that you will not share any of my personal information. Does that answer your question?" "Yes Madame." "The position is yours," I said smiling. Stephanie looked at the table and slowly wrung her hands while she considered the offer. Then she spoke in a clear voice, "Madame, this is something I would like to do very much. I can start this afternoon if that is all right. I must check out of my hotel and return a rental car." "Tomorrow is OK," I responded. "Madame today is better for me. It will save me the cost of another night in my hotel and one day's car rental." I stood up and extended my hand, "Welcome Stephanie. You have made an excellent choice." I turned and called for Monique. "Monique will provide any help you need checking out of your hotel and returning your rental car." Turning to Monique who had come out on to the patio, "Monique, Stephanie is my new personal assistant. Give her any help she needs. Take my car so she doesn't have to take a cab when she returns her rental." The two ladies smiled at each other and headed back into the house. I could see that they were talking up a storm. I had a very good feeling about Stephanie. She appeared to be someone I could talk to and confide in. In my present condition that was important. Besides feeling very strange in my new body, I was very lonely. The view from our villa is to the west. The dining room opens on to the patio and has a magnificent view of the sun setting over Italy; which is only a few miles away. Even though Charles awareness is severely diminished he still seems to enjoy dinner with his family. He sits at the head of the table looking straight ahead down the table and out at the sunset. I sit to his right about half way down the table and Monique sits close to his left. Stephanie joined us for the first time, sitting across from me. I had the cook bring out dinner, and all the meals, on individual plates. I had discovered that my new body got fat very easily and I didn't want to be tempted to take more than I should as I know would happen if all the food were placed on the table and served family style. Monique feeds Charles much the way a mother feeds a young child. It makes it hard for her to have an enjoyable dinner. But then that is what she is being paid to do and doing a marvelous job. "Stephanie, did you get everything taken care of at the hotel and the rental car place?" I asked. "Yes Madame. There were no problems. And Monique was a great help. She helped me get all my clothes packed and out to the car and then followed me to the car rental office. The young man on duty was very friendly and took care of everything very fast," she replied. "So have you gotten settled here?" "Not really. I have a suitcase full of soiled clothes for the washer and drycleaner. I can take care of that tomorrow." "I'll have our maid take care of the laundry tomorrow and we can stop by the drycleaners while we are out. I have a long list of things to do in the next week. I have to open a bank account and see my stock broker. Then I want to get a visa to spend the winter in the States. I really don't know what the rules are anymore since this entire terrorist thing started." "Oh, I can help with that. I have made arrangements for many of my clients." "Terrific! That will leave more time for shopping. I need a fresh wardrobe for traveling. And I want you to help me pick everything out. I really have no taste when it comes to clothes. And remember, making me look good is a big part of your job. And while we are at it I want you to buy some new things also. I also need to have my hair and nails done. You can get yours done at the same time." "I usually just get a haircut from time to time and take care of everything myself." "Not any more. We have to look like two high fashion ladies when we hit Palm Beach. I am sure you can handle that." "Oh yes Madame. I am just not accustomed." "I'll guess you will just have to get accustomed." The next few days were very busy. Stephanie and I made all the rounds. I opened a bank account with a bank that had offices in the States. I also sat down with my stock broker. It seems that my money had increased tremendously in the last year. I set things up so I could have ready access transfer funds to the States as I needed them. For me this was all new. But for the bank it was just another transaction for a rich lady traveling the world. The new rules for travel to the States required a new passport with a fingerprint. This was an unexpected benefit. My fingerprint would go into the American database as a French female. Shopping for clothes turned out to be a lot more fun than I had imagined. The clothing I had acquired at the clinic was minimal. Now I had to put together a complete wardrobe. The clothing selection in Menton was very limited so we drove down the coast to Monaco. We assumed that we could find everything there and we were right. I started in lingerie. I actually got fitted for a bra. I didn't realize how many styles there were to simple things like bras. I fell back on the story about living in North Africa and the Middle East where there was no such selection. I told Stephanie to pick out what she thought I should wear. And she did as she was told. She led me from store to store. I insisted she buy similar items for herself. She balked at first but when I insisted she agreed. We bought dresses, skirts, slacks, shorts, blouses, and tops followed by shoes to match. Now I understand all the stories of women trying on many pairs of shoes. Just because they were the right size didn't mean they would fit comfortably. Stephanie recommended that I not wear any heels higher than three inches. I was already taller than most women. Really high heels made me taller than many men. That was OK by me. Really high heels are uncomfortable. I preferred low heeled sandals and flats or mules for every day wear. The back seat and the trunk of my car were filled as we drove back to Menton. We arrived home just in time for dinner. Charles was already sitting at the head of the table asking where we were. When we sat down he wanted to know who we were. Monique introduced us. He apologized for forgetting that I was his wife. "I seem to have a lot of trouble remembering simple things," he said. It was very fortunate for both us that he could not remember. He was the perfect alibi. He gave me a new identity and I made his life comfortable. In Algeria he had been in what they called a Sanitarium. He was in a ward with many other Alzheimer's patients. There was very little personal care. It was just a place to put people until they died. At least now he had full time care and a very nice place to live. Palm Beach My connecting flight from New York to Palm Beach arrived after dark. There were very few people in the Palm Beach International Airport, which is actually in West Palm Beach. Stephanie met me as I cleared customs. She had flown ahead a few weeks earlier to make arrangements. She also had a few days with her family. "I am so glad to see you," I said as I gave her a big hug. "I am so looking forward to relaxing. Life with Charles can be so stressful." "I am sure Madame. Let me help you with your bags." I followed Stephanie to the taxi stand where we got a taxi to Palm Beach. Stephanie had arranged for a spacious apartment on South Ocean Boulevard overlooking the beach. It was a short distance south of the town center. The building had a gate guard and a security guard in the lobby. This was not an ordinary apartment." I opened the sliding glass door leading out to the patio and breathed in the warm ocean air. "The sunrise is magnificent Madame," Stephanie said waiting to see if I approved of her choice. "This apartment is magnificent, Stephanie. You certainly made an excellent choice." "Thank you, Madame." "You didn't happen to stock the bar?" "Oh yes. I think you will find everything you want Madame," she said as she pushed a button on the wall over the bar. A mirrored panel rose revealing a wide selection. Then she opened the door on an under-the- counter refrigerator. It was also filled. "What can I get Madame to drink?" "A chardonnay if you have it." I really would have preferred a scotch or bourbon on the rocks but I was trying to be more lady-like. "Don't be offended. And I don't want to seem dull but I would really like to go to bed. It is three in the morning in France and my body is still on French time. So I am going to take my wine and go to the bedroom. But I would like to sit down with you in the morning and go over what you have done." I followed Stephanie down a hallway to a large master bedroom that also overlooked the ocean. She showed me the master bath and the closet where she had put the clothes I had sent ahead. "Thank you so much Stephanie. You are a real doll." With that I shut the door and went to bed. In the morning I showered did my hair and make-up before coming out to look for breakfast. Stephanie was not up yet. The morning sun streamed through the vertical blinds casting long striped shadows on the white carpet. I turned on the television for the morning news to see what was going on in the world and Palm Beach in particular. There was the usual crime story, an accident on the Interstate, and beautiful winter weather. I went out on the patio and looked out to sea. It was 15 months ago that I had died out there, about 20 miles out. It was important that the tragedy take place far enough out that my rescue boat would be long gone by the time the Coast Guard showed up. Tom, the other man with me in my boat was in the water and did not see the men pour a bag of my blood on the deck of my boat or see me swim to the other side of the Cigarette boat that took me to the Bahamas where a seaplane took me to French Guiana. He told the truth when he told the police that he saw the attackers shoot me and throw me overboard. I went back in and made some coffee. It smelled so good. I hadn't tasted American coffee in a long time. I opened the door and sure enough there was a morning paper laying there. Stephanie thought of everything. She was a real God-send. "Good morning, Stephanie," I said as she came down the hall and into the dinette area. "Good morning, Madame," she replied rubbing her eyes. She still had her pajamas on. "You are up very early today." "I have a lot to do. And besides it's early afternoon in France. My body clock will take a couple of days to reset." Stephanie sat down on one of the high chairs at the kitchen bar. I offered some coffee which she accepted. "What did you plan on doing today?" she asked. "Well for one thing I need a Florida driver's license and then I want to buy a car. And I guess I will need to buy you a car also so you can run errands separately. What kind of car would you like?" "It's been such a long time since I bought a car I am not sure what's available." "Well, would you like a small roadster, a convertible, a sedan, or maybe an SUV?" "I guess if I had my choice I would get one of those new beetle convertibles." "Sounds good to me, put that at the top of our list." "I guess I should get a pad of paper and start a list." "Did you include paper and pencils when you furnished this apartment?" "No, but I always carry some in my purse." "You think of everything. I am so glad you answered my ad in France." "So am I Madame," Stephanie replied as she opened the spiral note pad and started to write. At about ten o'clock I called the Volkswagen dealer and told them I wanted to buy a convertible for my companion. I told them that I had just flown in from France and needed someone to come to Palm Beach and pick us up. They were very eager and had a salesman at our door within an hour. Stephanie picked out a red one with a tan top. It seemed to take a long time to sign all the papers to actually drive away. Stephanie could not believe that I put the car in her name. I told her it was part of the job. She drove us to the Department of Motor Vehicles where I used my birth certificate and social security card to get a Florida drivers license. From there it was on to the Bentley dealership. I picked out a silver blue convertible and left a large deposit. The car needed to be serviced and wouldn't be ready until the next day. Then back to Palm Beach for a cocktail and dinner. Stephanie had made reservations at a very chic restaurant. I continued to speak French as much as possible. It had been over a year and since I had spoken English on a regular basis. I think in French and I am so afraid that if I stop I will loose it. French is so much a part of my cover. Stephanie did not seem to mind. I suppose because she looked at me as a French lady who would want to speak her native tongue. Whatever she thought she went along with my desires. During the next few days I had Stephanie find a good cook and a maid. A full time maid would not fit well in my three bedroom apartment. But I did need someone to come in and clean. I also found, or I should say Stephanie found, a near-by spa and salon where I could get waxed regularly and have my hair and nails done. I picked up my new Bentley and drove around Boca Raton. I went past the Overon Building. It had not changed at all. I drove past my former house. It had not changed either. I thought about waiting to get a glimpse of my wife and family but decided that a new Bentley convertible parked on my street would draw a lot of attention so I didn't stop. Instead I went to a local big box computer outlet. I needed computer equipment to access to my old records at Overon. At Overon I had been a senior manager in the accounting department. It had taken me fifteen years to advance from rookie accountant to head of the department. Along the way I had learned a lot about the electronic funds transfer systems. I also learned a lot about electronic fund transfer security systems. Overon's business was related to credit cards and bill collection. Literally billions of dollars passed through Overon's computers each year. Computer security not only involved ensuring that each transaction was completed but that it was completed accurately. Even minor changes could siphon off hundreds of thousands of dollars to a crook's account. I had taken technical courses in computer security to help me prevent computer theft. I guess you could call me a computer nerd. I was the guy in the corner office with his face in front of a computer screen double checking on transfer data. I really didn't have much to do with the people that worked for me. Human Resources took care of that. I just made sure they did their jobs honestly and accurately. Over the years I had identified a few crooks. They ended up going to jail. One thing that I found was very helpful was the installation of a camera and microphone on all computer terminals. They were built into the screen. Any time funds were transferred to an account that was out of the ordinary the system not only recorded the transaction but also a picture of the person sitting in front of the computer. It even got their voice if they said something. This convicted most embezzlers and saved one. There was one case where a young accountant received a phone call directing her to make a fund transfer. She thought it was a company manager and she did what she was told. The record showed her talking on the phone and following the instructions exactly. When we matched the phone records to the time of the call we had our crook. When I was suddenly promoted to CFO I quietly had all the executive computers upgraded with new equipment including audio and video records of all financial transactions. Company executives would not normally be involved in any fund transfer operations so I had the software set to record all fund transfers. Then as an additional security measure I had an automatic secret backup done on a separate server hidden in a blank spot in the computer complex. It was purposely in the bottom-most bay at the far end of the computer stack in a place that was very hard to get to. I hoped it was still there and still operating. It was in the last place a computer repair guy would want to work. Everything hit the fan one Monday morning. I was stopped at the front security desk on my way to work. My security badge didn't register at the turnstile. The security guard apologized for the mix-up and called the security office. Within a few seconds two police officers introduced themselves and took me directly to the police station for questioning. I was a person of interest. I called my lawyer and refused to answer any questions. The police had reacted to a call from Bill Chandler's office and did not have any evidence in hand. Bill Chandler was the CEO of Overon and he had charged me with embezzlement. I was let go and went directly home. I had access to my office computer from my home computer. It was strictly against company policy but I found it very handy. I determined that 200 million dollars had been transferred to an account in the Cayman Islands from my office computer terminal. I went to find the visual record but it had been erased. So the only evidence was a missing 200 million dollars and a transfer from my terminal. I was able to access Bill Chandler's computer through the back door I had built into the computer system. He had made one contact with a Cayman Island account. The security software made a record of his keystrokes and allowed me to identify the Cayman Island account number and the password. I called a friend of mine at Florida Atlantic University. He was an expert in international finance and had done a lot of work with the FBI on tracking terrorist money. He had helped me many times over the years. We met for coffee and talked about how to transfer a lot of money with no trail. As long as it did not end up in an identified terrorist account it would go unnoticed. The Cayman Island banks did not cooperate with US requests for information. Like the Swiss, bank account information was secret. The bank did not necessarily know the owner of the account, only the account number. I could not let Chandler get away with the money. I thought I could take the money and it would give me some leverage with him. During the next day I managed to open a Swiss account, transfer the 200 million dollars, find a clinic for plastic surgery, and make arrangements for the faked murder on my boat. It was a very busy day. My wife Sandra could not understand what was going on. She believed me when I told her that I knew Bill Chandler had taken the money but it was going to be hard to prove. We didn't tell our children until the next morning when they found a dozen television reporters on our front lawn. Our oldest was a senior in high school and on her way to the University of Florida the next year. Our younger son was a sophomore in high school. A trial, and there was sure to be one, would wipe out all our savings. Bill Chandler was no dummy. He would have a computer geek erase all records of his actions and testify against me in court. I am sure he recommended my promotion to CFO to the Board of Directors so he could set me up for the extortion. I took what I figured was the best course of action. Sandra would get the insurance money to take care of her and send the kids to college. She wouldn't have to suffer through a long trial and perhaps a few years of me in jail. Sandra was in tears. She literally didn't know what to do. I calmed her down and got my lawyer to come over. He prepared a statement for the press and encouraged them to leave us alone until something else happened. I called Tom and convinced him to go fishing with me the next day. I said I needed to get away and relax. The next morning I had breakfast with Sandra and the kids for the last time. I hugged and kissed Sandra as I left through the back door of our house to prevent curious reporters or the police from spotting me. She asked me why I was crying. I told her the tears were from an allergy. I can still picture her standing at the back door waving good-by. Getting Started Stephanie was in the kitchen as I came out of my bedroom in the morning. The sun poured into the room. The ocean was calm and one little shower worked its way north across the horizon. "Coffee, Madame?" "Yes, that sounds good. And some orange juice also please." "Would you like a fresh croissant and jam?" "I would love one." Stephanie poured the coffee and juice placing them on the counter. Then as she retrieved a croissant from a baker box she asked, "Does Madame have any thing special to do today?" "I have an appointment at the spa at 9. Then I wanted to go shopping." "Do you need me to go along Madame?" "I would like you to go shopping with me. But I do have another job for you today. I want you to get me into the Palm Beach social network." "You mean high society?" "Yes, you know all the charity balls and such. I want to make contact with those people. See what you can do." "As you wish Madame." It was already past 8 and I had to hurry to make it to the spa for my appointment. As a man I had never imagined that I would be doing this. But I needed to have my body waxed and my nails and hair done. This day I had also scheduled a laser treatment. I was particularly concerned about the hair on my hands and chest. Even though it was thinner than when I was a man it was more than women normally have. I also loved to be pampered by the women at the spa. I left the spa just before noon and drove over to Taboo, a chic restaurant, to meet Stephanie for lunch. She was already there when I arrived. "I am so hungry I could eat a horse," I exclaimed as the waiter held my chair for me to sit down. "Madame, this is not Europe. American's do not eat horse," Stephanie said in a whisper. I chuckled to myself. I had used that expression since I was a teenager. But Stephanie obviously thought I was serious. "I thought eating horse was an American colloquialism." "Oh, you are right. But I have only heard it in English not French." "I guess I picked it up in High School in English and just kept using it in French." We spent a few minutes talking to the waiter and ordering lunch. When the waiter left Stephanie leaned across the table and said, "The spa did a magnificent job. Your skin looks so clear and radiant." "Thank you, I think they did a really good job too. I especially like the personal and private service. And don't forget I want you to use the spa any time you want. It is part of your job." "I will. It's just that I have never been to a spa. I am used to the run of the mill salon for my hair and I usually do my own nails. I don't even have any polish on them now,: Stephanie said looking at her hands. "You will love it. They are so nice. You found a good one." "Madame, you said that you wanted to go shopping this afternoon." "Yes. I need a bathing suit for one thing. I haven't had a bathing suit for years. We didn't go the beach in North Africa or Lebanon, even though there are beautiful beaches. I also need some athletic shorts, tops, and shoes. Then I need to find a gym where I can work out every so often." "There is a work out room in your condo building. It's very nice and there is even a trainer if you want one." "Perfect." "We could shop here in the island on Worth Avenue. But I recommend we go to the Gardens Mall they have a much larger selection and the quality is just as good." "The Gardens Mall it is." The waiter brought lunch. We both had the soup and half sandwich special of the day. Then after lunch we hopped in my car and went to the mall. We worked our way from Nordstrom's through the boutiques, Sac's Fifth Avenue and Bloomingdale's. I was so happy to find larger ladies shoe sizes at Nordstrom's. My feet and hands are large for a woman. I also was happy to have help picking out a bathing suit. Stephanie found a red white and blue one piece that looked like the French flag. It fit perfectly, although, I feel very strange wearing it. We were back on the island by five o'clock. This time I did have a scotch and water on the rocks. I just relaxed and sat on the patio overlooking the Atlantic and chilled out. Three drinks went by before Stephanie let me know it was time to change for dinner. She had made reservations an exclusive French restaurant. It was an opportunity to wear one of my new outfits, a cream colored, short sleeved silk dress. Stephanie recommended pearl necklace and ear rings. She also recommended I switch to a dressy clutch purse instead of the big bag that I have been dragging around. I looked at myself in the full length mirror and admired myself. I certainly appeared to be a very sexy lady; long blond hair down over my shoulders, three inch heels matching lipstick and nail color and evening eye shadow. I had a figure most women would die for; an ample bust, a narrow waist and small hips. As I walked down the short hallway to the living room, Stephanie looked up and exclaimed, "That dress really looks good on you Madame." "Thank you very much Stephanie. Remember you picked it out. And I must complement you on your dress also. It really emphasizes your great figure." "Well, thank you Madame." Opening up my purse, I handed Stephanie the keys to my car, "Stephanie, I have had three drinks. Why don't you drive tonight?" "I would be happy to Madame. But I would feel better driving my car. Your car is so expensive, I am afraid I would damage it." "Don't worry about that my dear. It is only a machine and can be replaced. It's people and relationships that cannot be replaced." With that she took the keys and we took the elevator down to the garage level. Within a few minutes we were seated at a table for two near the back of the restaurant. A very competent waiter took our order in French and brought us our wine. I asked Stephanie if she had any luck finding me an invitation to the island's social functions. "Oh yes Madame, the key is money. Is all you have to do is donate a large amount of money to one of the charities that have the balls and you will be on the invitation list for most of the others. You will certainly meet people at the charity balls that are part of the in society that would like to be friends with a very wealthy French lady. I am told that there some men with good names but not much money who attend these balls looking for wealthy women such as yourself." "But I am a married woman. I don't want to meet a poor man with a good name." "I didn't mean you should want to meet these men. I was just saying that they would be looking for a woman like you." "I guess it might be fun to toy with some of these men. Men are so gullible sometimes." "Isn't that the truth," Stephanie replied rolling her eyes. "I think I have changed my mind. I don't need to spend a lot of money to go to society balls when I am not part of society and would never really fit in." "Would you still be interested in meeting some local men?" "No Stephanie, I am still a married woman and intend to stay away from emotional attachments." The waiter brought dinner and we enjoyed a truly marvelous meal. I remarked to Stephanie that we needed to get a cook soon. If I ate like this every day I would blow up like a balloon. The Research Begins My condominium included a small room that was furnished as an office. Like the other rooms it had one wall that was all glass sliding doors out to a long patio that went the full length of the condominium. I had set up my computer on the desk. The cable company installer connected my new computer to the internet in only a few minutes. At last I was able to get to the internet. At the clinic I had no access to the internet, a security precaution to prevent personal information from getting out accidentally. Within a few minutes I had accessed my back door to the Overon mainframe computer. Bill Chandler's files indicated there was still a steady flow of money from an Overon account to an account somewhere else. He was still stealing money and lots of it. But how was he doing it? He had managed to take 200 million dollars while I was the Accounting Department Manager without me noticing. Whatever he was doing it was right under my eyes and I never saw it. Stephanie knocked on the door as she entered. "Madame, I have a potential cook for you to interview." I turned to my left and with a large sigh said that I would be happy to talk to her. "It's actually a he Madame." "Whatever, I'll be there in a minute." "If you are busy Madame I can have him come back at another time." "Oh no, now is an excellent time. I am just frustrated with some information I found on the computer." "Very well Madame. I will tell him," she said as she turned and left the room. I went to my bathroom, put on some lipstick and brushed my hair, then went out to meet this cook that Stephanie had found. He stood as I entered the living room. I was surprised to see a small middle aged foreign looking gentleman. Stephanie introduced him, "Madame, this is Jesus Lopez." We shook hands and I asked him to be seated and tell me about himself. He said that he was a retired Navy Steward and wanted some part time work to help him and his wife. It seems that he had spent four years as an Admiral's Steward and had been to numerous chef schools. He didn't want a full time job at a restaurant. But he did need some extra money to keep up his lifestyle. I told him that I wanted someone to cook most evenings and be available to cater small parties from time to time. He said that he could do that. I asked how much he expected to be paid, it was reasonable so I told him that he had the job. He stood up and thanked me profusely. Then I told him I needed him starting tomorrow. So he should look at what I have in the kitchen so he could figure out what to buy at the store. "Stephanie will show you everything in the kitchen. I am sure you will like working here." "Thank you again Madame," he replied. "I'll be back at the computer Stephanie." I spent the next few hours at the computer trying to figure out how Chandler was taking the money. Stephanie finally came in to see if I wanted to eat. Reluctantly I logged off and we went out to a very casual restaurant. I just didn't feel like getting all dressed up. For the next two weeks I about went crazy trying to figure it out. Then as I was writing checks for household bills I noticed a charge on a bill for a strange tax. There was a charge of $.89 for an Act 196-340 fee. The bill was one processed by Overon. I checked a number of places and could not fine out what this fee was for. I had never heard of it. When I checked the Overon records I found that bills went out with a variety of odd fees. When the check came in from the client this small amount for the fees was assigned to an account that appeared to be a tax account. The fees were automatically deposited into this separate account then electronically transferred to an account that had a tax identifier but was not with any government taxing agency. Money from this account was regularly deposited in an off-shore account. I had found the source of all the extra money. It was so simple. Customers do not complain about very small tax hits. All the clients were happy because they got their money. I was overjoyed. "Alright," I yelled. "I got you, you son-of-a-bitch." Jesus opened the door. "Is everything OK Madame." "Yes, everything is perfect," I replied. "It's so good I think I will have a drink and celebrate. Care to join me?" "If you would like me to," he responded. "But let me finish stuffing the flounder first. I am at a very crucial point." "Crucial point it is. I'll see you at the bar." During these last two weeks I had let my looks take a back seat to what I was doing. I had spent almost the entire time in front of my computer wearing casual pants and T-shirts. I hadn't put on any make up and just brushed my hair in the morning. I was dressed much the way I would have if I had still been a man, which is actually how I felt. Only the weight of my chest and my long nails kept reminding me who I was now. I poured two scotch-on-the-rocks and stood looking out at the Atlantic. "Jesus, your drink is on the bar." "Thank you," came from the kitchen. I looked down at my feet. It was time for a pedicure. The same was true for my hands. The band of natural nail had formed around the cuticle of each nail. I made a mental note to make an appointment at the spa tomorrow. The scotch tasted great. I turned to get another as Jesus came out of the kitchen. "It's a great day Jesus." "Did something happen?" "Yes, kind of, I found what I was looking for." "What were you looking for Madame, if you don't mind me asking?" "I was trying to solve an accounting problem." "I didn't know you were an accountant." "Well it's very hard to explain. But let me say that what I found makes me very happy." Holding up his glass Jesus proposed a toast, "To the accounting mystery." "To the accounting mystery," I replied as we touched our glasses together. We were still standing at the window overlooking the ocean when Stephanie came home. She had been to the salon for a haircut and manicure. Jesus and I both turned as she came in the front door. I raised a glass and welcomed her home. I'm sure she was taken aback. I in slacks and t- shirt and Jesus in his white chef outfit. "Have you been drinking?" she asked putting down her packages on the nearest chair. "Yes we have," I replied. "We are celebrating the solution to an accounting problem that I have been working on for over two weeks. Have a drink." "Well, if we are celebrating I will certainly have a drink," she said as she went to the bar and poured herself a glass of white wine. In the morning I dressed a little nicer, dressy slacks and a blouse. After breakfast I called the spa and was lucky to find an opening in the afternoon. I spent the morning reviewing old newspaper articles on line in the Palm Beach Post. I found the articles about my untimely death but I didn't find any articles about a missing 200 million dollars. And the missing money wasn't mentioned in the article about my death. The Wall Street Journal archives didn't have any articles about missing Overon money either. It was as if the robbery had never happened. I thought about that the rest of the morning and then while I was at the spa. Why was there no mention of missing money? Then it came to me. Chandler didn't want to report the missing money because he didn't have anyone to blame. I was gone and so was the money. I am sure his original plan included something that would have made me look guilty of something but I transferred his money before he had a chance to set everything up. That's why he was still doing the same thing he had done before. I was off the hook with the police. They had no reason to look for me. That also meant that Sandra and the kids were never tainted by a thieving husband or father. I died an honest man. I had an urge to talk to Sandra, just to hear her voice. So I called her on the telephone. Someone else answered. No one named Sandra lived there. She changed her number or moved. I looked up her name in the on- line phone book but she wasn't listed. I checked the Palm Beach County records on-line and found a record of her selling our house. Where did she go? At diner I mentioned to Stephanie that there was someone I wanted to find and their name wasn't in the phone book. I asked her if she knew of a way to find them. She recommended a private investigator. She knew that some of her clients used private investigators to research business clients before their first meeting. Jesus was serving the main course and he interjected that is son was a private investigator and could probably help me. I laughed and told Jesus to