Page 14 of Return Billionaire to Sender

My new plan is to tell him that he must watch the video as part of the delivery, that there’s something he must see in it. I’m hoping that gets him curious enough to keep him glued to the screen. Curiosity will keep people watching something for a pretty long time, or at least, that’s how it worked for me when we watched “Stranger Things.”

I smile at the man at the end, the only one of the three people who makes eye contact with me. His dark hair is cropped short against his boxy head, and he wears wire-rimmed glasses.

“Another?” he asks.

“Yup. Addressee only,” I say.

“Sure thing.” He holds his hand out for the electronic clipboard that I don’t have.

“Sorry,” I say. “Addressee only.” I show him the front of it. “Mr. Malcolm Blackberg.”

“We’re all authorized agents to receive for Mr. Blackberg.” He keeps his hand out for the clipboard.

“No, this is a delivery specifically for Mr. Blackberg. Only he can sign.”

“We always sign for Mr. Blackberg’s stuff,” he says. “There’s nothing we can’t sign for.”

I’d be impressed if my heart weren’t pounding like a jackhammer on a pogo stick. “Addressee only,” I say.

“Nobody delivers directly to Mr. Blackberg.”

Another receptionist comes up beside him. “We’re authorized agents. We can sign for his deliveries.”

“This one is special.” I set down my clipboard and Stella’s card and show them the front of the envelope. “It must go to Mr. Blackberg himself.”

The third receptionist comes over. “What’s going on?” She squints at the envelope. “This isn’t how we usually get private stuff. The private stuff comes by courier. I don’t understand.”

“This delivery requires Mr. Blackberg’s signature,” I say. “It’s very unusual, I know. It’s a video he must watch.”

“A video?” She frowns at me.

“My instructions are very specific,” I say.

The guy picks up Stella’s card. “Ohhhhh, I get it.” He shows the woman Stella’s card. “This is who it’s from. She was in the elevator that broke down.”

“Ah,” she says. “You’re late, Stella.”

“Your office called,” the first guy says. “Sorry about that.”

“I’m not Stella,” I say. “I’m the letter carrier. With a very important delivery.”

The other receptionist winks. “Right, you’re the letter carrier. With a special delivery. That happens to be a video.”

“Right,” I say, “but I’m not Stella.”

An older woman comes and takes Stella’s card. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

The guy screws up his face and leans near to me, voice lowered conspiratorially. “Just no on the letter carrier shtick. Mr. Blackberg hates gimmicks.Hates.”

“I’m really just here to—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says. “Your funeral.”

The woman is back. “He’s ready for you, Stella.”

“I’m not Stella…”

“We got it,” she says, annoyed.

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