Karma – A Short Story – Part 3

Who is the knight in shining armour buying Celia’s and Hamish’s house?  Read on to find out!

KARMA – PART 3Girl staring at sea

It was ten minutes after midnight. Celia had waited for Hamish to stop tossing and turning before stealing out of the bedroom and closing the door softly behind her.

Hamish had been morose and terse during dinner and had not wanted to make love as he usually did on a Thursday night when they retired to bed. He had not offered any reasons for his strange behaviour earlier that day with Vincent Grant despite Celia’s repeated questions.

“It’s nothing to worry about – we were just discussing arrangements,” Hamish said testily. “He doesn’t want to pay any of the stamp duty which I thought we’d agreed upon,” Hamish added, almost as an afterthought.  He had held up a warning hand when Celia started to question him again. “Don’t worry. I’ll sort it. You just concentrate on getting us packed and out of here in time. I’ll take care of everything else.”

Like the good little woman who couldn’t possibly understand all the ins and outs of a contract, Celia thought to herself, seething.  He’d conveniently forgotten she’d signed the contract on this house before he’d even met her. What was wrong with him? This behaviour wasn’t like the Hamish she knew and loved. Why had he seemed so agitated? Why couldn’t he look her in the eye? And why had Vincent Grant seemed to confident, so cool? These worries drove her from her bed later that evening when she was sure Hamish was asleep. She logged on to her laptop and waited for the internet connection. It seemed to take forever.

She typed Vincent Grant into the search engine finding numerous Facebook pages, pictures of an American actor and a Wikipedia entry for a Canadian politician. Undaunted, she scrolled down the list. There was no mention of the Vincent Grant she had met earlier that day.  Celia slumped back in her chair. She’d felt a strong sense of recognition when she first saw him but not as strongly when she took his hand in greeting. It was his overall look, his demeanour, the shape of his head that inspired a feeling of déjà vu. Where, in God’s name, had she seen him before?

Celia tried to recall their conversation. When she’d mentioned his father living in Queen Street, he’d corrected her and said it was his Nona – his grandmother he used to visit… his Italian grandmother! Vincent Grant sounded English… but what if he’d changed it from his Italian name?

Certain she was on the right track, Celia typed Vincent Italian name into the search engine. Almost immediately she was confronted with an array of similar names all derived from their Latin originator, Vincentius. Celia scanned the list until she came to the Italian versions of Vincent and typed them into the search engine, pairing each with the surname Grant. There were no results until she entered the name Vincenzio. Did you mean Vincenzio Granata? the search engine asked. Celia hit the Enter key and a list of newspaper articles appeared on her screen. Celia clicked on the first title on the list and sighed with recognition when Vincent Grant’s handsome face flashed before her.


Vincenzio “Vinni” Granata has been cleared of the murder of convicted drug dealer, Senya Vladislavovich, at a city restaurant last year.

Granata had pleaded not guilty, claiming he acted in self-defence after Vladislavovich, 36, pulled a gun on him.

Vladislavovich was a suspect in at least two underworld murders. He had also been charged with supplying a large commercial quantity of drugs, participating in a criminal gang and knowingly dealing with the proceeds of crime.

After a majority verdict, Justice Peter Woods said that to secure a murder conviction against Granata, the prosecution had to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Vladislavovich produced the gun.

He said there was no dispute that Vladislavovich produced the gun, so Granata was entitled to act in his self-defence.

Granata was mobbed by family and supporters as he left the court. He said he was pleased that the jury recognised his innocence and that he was looking forward to spending time with his daughter, Marianna.

Celia stared at the screen.

Then she rose from the table and staggered, as though drunk, to the bedroom and threw open the door. It crashed against the wall. Hamish jerked up in bed like he’d been shot.

“We’re not selling our house to a gangster!” Celia shouted.


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