Victor carefully set the briefcase in the passenger seat of his Porche, then climbed in the driver's seat. He closed the door, effectively shutting out the crisp September air and the sounds of the outside world. He leaned back heavily against the seat and sighed.
Victor stared hard at the briefcase next to him. It looked plain and ordinary on the outside, but Victor knew better. Inside it was stuffed with two hundred fifty thousand dollars, cash. The bank manager had hesitated slightly when he heard Victor's request.
"Is something wrong, Doug?" Victor had asked him, while giving his best penetrating gaze.
"No...of course not...it's just a bit...unusual, from you."
"I've been banking here for over 8 years. I entrust you with a substantial amount of money. If I need to take it somewhere else-"
"No, no, that's not necessary," the manager assured his biggest client. He hastily shoved a paper across his desk. "Just sign this form, please, and I'll be right back with your cash."
It was so easy to manipulate people when you had something they wanted. Victor had known that for years, but this was the first time he had seen that reality from the other side. The site of the money-filled briefcase made him angry. Two hundred fifty thousand dollars. As if his son's life was something that could be bought. Victor clenched his fist and angrily knocked the briefcase to the floor. A passer-by looked at him curiously. He glared back as he started the car and took off for home.
Driving was not enough of a distraction to stop the thoughts that had been circling through his head all day long. Dark visions about Vaughn's fate, pleasant memories of happier times, questions about how good of a parent he had been, the nagging feeling that he was missing something important, some vital detail…all mixed together in his brain until he wanted to scream. Worst of all were the feelings of guilt, that what was happening was his own fault.
And it was. Vaughn didn't know anything about Jonathan Brady, or his brother, or Peradyne, or the accident. Well, he didn't know much about it, anyway; just what he had managed to learn by snooping around with Josie Trent. Of all the people involved in this whole mess, Vaughn was the most innocent, and yet he always seemed to suffer the most. Growing up without a mother, and without much of a father... Victor always used the excuse of excellent education to justify sending Vaughn to live at Blake Holsey High. Deep down, he knew it was partly to keep him out of the way so he could continue his research. Would it really have been so inconvenient to let him live at home? He could have seen him every day, instead of a few times a week. Those missed opportunities, like the football game last Friday night, haunted him now. Was the meeting really so important? Victor couldn't even remember what it had been about. It occurred to him that in a couple of years, Vaughn would be gone to college. There would be no more football games, or science projects, or dinners together.
The irony of the situation was not lost on him. He had spent most of his life shuffling his son out of the way. Now he was really gone, and Victor was desperate to get him back.
When he arrived home, Frank Miller met him in his study with take-out from a local deli. He handed Victor a club sandwich. "When was the last time you ate anything?"
Victor shook his head. "I'm not hungry."
"I didn't ask if you were hungry." He pressed the sandwich into his client's hands. Victor reluctantly took a bite, not really tasting it.
"Did you get the money?"
Victor nodded. "Easily. What did you find out about Brady?"
Miller took out a notepad. "Not much. After leaving you he worked for a couple of other labs. Then he left lab science all together and started working on the cooperate end of a software developing company called SureData. He's pretty high up on the ladder there." He handed the notes he had scribbled over to Victor.
Victor scanned them. "Did you contact the company?"
Miller nodded. "They said he is on an extended leave. Didn't say what for."
It struck Victor as almost funny, the thought of someone getting paid leave from work to carry out a kidnapping. "Frank, if all this is correct...Brady doesn't need money. He has his own."
Miller looked him in the eyes. "You're doing the right thing, Victor. In my experience, these matters are best handled privately, with as few people involved as possible. When kidnappers smell cops involved, they can get...skittish."
Victor looked up in surprise. "In your experience? You mean you've handled this kind of thing before?"
Miller shrugged. "You're not my only wealthy client, as you know. This kind of thing happens more often than you think."
"And they just get away with it," Victor mused.
"Vaughn's life is what's important here. A little money is nothing, right?"
"The money isn't."
"And the other thing he asked for? The ball?"
Victor walked over to the shiny black telescope in the corner of the room. Inside its secret compartment lay the key to everything.
"I have an idea about that."
"You must be bored," Crystal said as she set the radio down on the floor and plugged it in. "Maybe this will be a little better." She turned it to a top-forty station and turned the volume to medium.
"Yeah, it'll be a real party now," Vaughn replied.
Crystal looked slightly hurt. "I'm just trying to help."
"You want to help me? I can think of something much more helpful than a radio."
"I already told you I can't do that."
"Why?" Vaughn asked incredulously. "I mean, how can you just sit in there watching TV like nothing is happening? You're helping commit a felony, for Pete's sake."
Crystal frowned. "Forget it, then." She jerked the plug out of the wall and took the radio back in the other room, slamming the door behind her.
Vaughn sighed in frustration. Even the lousy boy-band music would've been infinitely better than the silence he had been sitting in for hours. His arms and shoulders ached from being trapped behind him, and his lower back and rear felt numb from sitting for so long. He scooted to the edge of the bunk and set his feet on the floor, then carefully slid his weight off the bunk. After a few moments, his legs felt like they might actually support his weight, and he took a couple of tentative hops away from the ledge. He knew it looked ridiculous, but it felt so good to move!
The door opened again. Vaughn looked up, expecting to see Crystal holding the radio again. Instead, to his surprise, Brady appeared. His jeans and un-tucked polo shirt were casual, but his glare was not.
"What are you doing?" he asked, crossing the room in a couple of long strides. Vaughn leaned back, trying to get away from him but forgetting that his feet were tied. He had to make a couple of quick hops to regain his balance, finally resting against the edge of the bunk. "I was just trying to move around a little. I wasn't going anywhere." Obviously. He had been trying all afternoon to loosen the ropes and had been rewarded with nothing more than extremely sore wrists.
Brady relaxed a bit, apparently believing him. He bent to untie his feet. "How about another bathroom break? " He took him firmly by the arm and lead him down the hall.
Looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Vaughn was shocked by his own appearance. His face was pale, his eyes red. A raised lump stood up on his forehead, and a dark bruise decorated his left temple. His shirt was wrinkled and dirty, his hair greasy. Various small scratches and bruises dotted his arms. Had he really only been gone for a day? So much had happened in so little time. I need a shower. A shower, and a long nap…that would be nice…
Brady had left the ropes in the bedroom, so he led Vaughn back down the hall untied. Crystal and Jakes were in the living room as he passed by. Cigarette smoke clouded the room, and he could see several empty beer cans on the floor. He tried to appeal to Crystal with a helpless gaze as he walked by, but she would not even look in his direction.
When they reached the bedroom, Brady positioned himself squarely between the door and his captive. He stared at Vaughn now, as if somehow sizing him up. Vaughn felt nervous under his gaze, and finally broke the uncomfortable silence.
"Who are you?"
"I used to work with your father."
"At Peradyne."
"I was a partner there, along with your father and mother."
"My mother…She died in the explosion there."
Brady nodded. "So did my brother."
"Is that what this is all about?"
"Partially," Brady explained. "Your father took a lot from me that day."
"Took it from you?"
"Yes...in the 'accident,' as he calls it. My plans, my ideas and experiments...all went up in smoke because of him."
Vaughn felt himself growing defensive. "It was an accident...it wasn't his fault. He lost a lot that day, too. His work, and his wife..."
"It was his own fault. He killed her," Brady said softly.
Vaughn felt the defensiveness immediately change to full-blown rage. He swung at Brady, but it was a clumsy blow and easily blocked. For several seconds they were locked face-to-face, eye-to-eye.
"Go to hell," Vaughn finally said, and spat on him.
He expected painful retribution, but Brady's only response was to wipe the saliva from his face.
"He took a lot from me," he repeated. "Now it's my turn to take something from him."
Vaughn stared at him as the words set in. He knew he shouldn't ask, that ignorance was bliss and that the wrong answer would shatter any hope he had left. And yet he somehow couldn't stop the words from coming out.
"Are you going to kill me?"
Brady simply nodded.
Vaughn felt cold and hollow inside. His knees grew slightly weak, and he leaned against the bunk for support.
"Why?" he managed to ask, his voice sounding pitifully small.
Brady's eyes took on a far-away look. "Because I have to make him understand."
Vaughn didn't bother to ask what his father needed to understand. His brain had switched from shock at Brady's damning words into survival mode. His only thought was to run, to get away. He slammed into Brady as hard as he could with his shoulder and took of running to the door.