Alvin(I)
Sometimes you need to play the long game then when you later achieve the desired result it's all the sweeter.
I started the planning many months before. One of my first moves was to perfect my Floridian accent which I managed with online support through a trusted contact in Lloyd which is a village up near Tallahassee. She coached me well.
It was easy to acquire a US passport through Greenland-based fraudsters. $10,000 seemed like a good deal. My goal was fixed clearly in my mind but I didn't wish to die. Disguising my identity was vital.
Soon after arriving in Miami on a flight from London Heathrow I secured a menial janitorial job at Palm Beach Country Club. It included basic onsite accommodation. There I had little to do with the golf. I was mostly concerned with restroom cleaning and maintenance. It was a temporary appointment. The usual guy was in hospital following a serious car accident.
As planned, I quickly gained a reputation for friendliness and willingness. Even the most important, wealthiest club members began to address me by my adopted first name - Alvin which means "noble friend"...
"How's it going Alvin?"
"Fine Mr Schwarzman," I would smile, looking up from my mopping or mirror polishing. "How's your good lady sir?"
I had learnt to put on a mask of benevolent humility - never initiating conversation. Sometimes I would hum country and western tunes as I worked and the wealthy members seemed to like that. Thomas Frist Jr and Dan Gilbert - owner of The Cleveland Cavaliers became particularly chummy. However, I never dropped my guard because these rich blokes were merely pawns in my game.
I knew that both of those men were also frequent visitors to the Mar-a-Lago Club and once, as they were washing their hands, I overheard them chatting about the long term owner of that infamous venue.
"The guy's a douchebag."
"You ask me dude. He got owls in the loft!"
They laughed as I grinned malevolently.
After several months at Palm Beach Country Club with my temporary contract coming to an end, I noticed that there was a permanent "career opportunity" on the Mar-a-Lago website. They were advertising for a "reliable restroom attendant". The job required "flexible working", "discretion" and character references from two Mar-a-Lago members.
Thomas and Dan were happy to help.
"Sure thing Alvin. I'll talk to them on Friday. I gotta brunch over there with Marco," beamed Dan Gilbert, squeezing my shoulder before drying his hands. "We were at school together".
Anyway, essentially that's how I managed to pierce the Mar-a-Lago security net and a month later I was working there. I had a smart attendant's uniform in deep blue with a gold-coloured name badge.
Quietly, I got on with my job. Still smiling at restroom visitors, I kept humming those infernal country and western tunes.
One day, J.D.Vance said, "Thanks man!" when I picked up his vial of "Maybelline - Master Ink" eyeliner. He had dropped it near the electric hand drier. However, it must have been a full six weeks later that I first clapped eyes on the famous owner of Mar-a-Lago. Apparently, he was back there on yet another extended golfing weekend.
to be continued...
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