THREE MONTHS EARLIER

  John frowns as he pulls into the parking lot, the wheels of his rusted truck crunching against the thick gravel. He squints his eyes, his windshield wipers going back and forth, beating back the current of the pouring rain. He’s so sick of this rain. It’s all he’s seen for the past week. He mutters under his breath and puts the truck in park, before reaching into the front pocket of his flannel shirt and pulling out the crumpled piece of paper. He scoffs as his dark eyes scan the crooked handwriting.

  Seriously? This is the place?

  An office building, out of all things. 4009 Stellwood Drive. Those were the three words on paper that the strange man had given to him that day he was taking a smoke break outside the hospital. They had left and turned around. For days, he’d tried to forget it. Forget that those men ever existed. Maybe it was a hallucination, or he’s been drinking too much lately. He’d skipped a couple of sessions.

  But with Claire’s tuition bill coming up, and him working three separate jobs just to keep afloat, he couldn’t resist. Besides, his niece hasn’t been herself since Dana left. She started getting into fights during recess at school. Just this month alone, John visited the principle’s office four separate times. When he tries to give her a punishment, she simply ignores him, playing with her hair.

  Joh caught her trying to sneak outside at night several times. Whenever he brought her back, she screamed at the top of her lungs, spitting and kicking and biting, but he would hold her in his arms.

  She keeps asking him when her brother will come home. And matter how many times John tells her that he’s not returning, she refuses to believe him. She circles the days Dana’s been gone with a scented strawberry marker on her unicorn calendar. She refuses to talk to John whenever he picks her up from the elementary school or even come out for her room for meals. Just the evening before, when he tried to get her to finish her plate of food, she shoved it to the floor.

  ”I’m running away,” Claire had screamed. Her face and nose was red, with snot running down her chin. “I’m leaving, you hear?!”

  John sat at the table for a long time.

  She had slammed the door to her room so hard a picture flew off the wall. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. But he needed her to understand that this was the best for her—for them. Dana was being a bad influence on her, and John didn’t like how she was starting to pick up his habits, like refusing to do her homework or clean her room. Her history teacher had said that she was on the verge of repeating the class next year. It was the same laziness that Dana had displayed. If John didn’t intervene, she would be on her way of being a high school dropout, just like her brother. He couldn’t raise another failure.

  He couldn’t.

  That’s when he hired a babysitter when he worked nights, after Claire’s threat. The lady was incredibly nice, but his niece refused to say a word to her. She was sulking on the couch in her pink unicorn pajamas, giving him a cold glare as she watched her uncle put on his jacket and open the door to the freezing rain. In the kitchen was a rustling sound of pots and pans. The babysitter had told Claire they were going to make chocolate chip brownies. The look of utter hatred the little girl had given John made his heart sink. He knew she missed her brother, but couldn’t she see that he was just trying to protect her?

  John had given her a brief smile. “Behave.”

  He opened the screen door, which made a creak. In the reflection, Claire raised her middle finger at him. Without another word, he left, the cold rain blowing back his hood.

  Now, he is here, alone in his truck, around three in the morning, the windshield wipers beating back and forth, back and forth. Why was he here? What could possibly make him think that those men could offer him anything better? Maybe he should just go back home. But before he could shift into drive, there was a slight knock on the window. John rolls it down and stares at the dark shadow looking back at him. Shivers run down his spine; he hadn’t seen the person approach his truck.

  John’s dark eyes briefly focus on the passenger seat. His fully loaded 33. caliber rests below, safe and warm. He even has the papers for it in the glove compartment.

  The man standing outside leans against his partially open window. “You John? John Ferinscoe?” He has a squawky voice, one that doesn’t seem to match his shriveled, bent over form. John begins to breathe a little easier when he sees the wedding band on his index finger. Okay. Maybe he has a wife and a couple of kids waiting for him at home.

  John rolls down the window some more , giving him a sideways glare. “Yeah.”

  “How do you do,” he replies, sticking out his wrinkled hand. He’s probably in his mid fifties, at least. “My name is Jeff Tunsa.” He sneezes. “Gary and Pierre told you were coming. Didn’t really think it would happen.”

  Slowly, John twists his keys out from the ignition, shutting off the engine. “Me either.”

  An awkward silence settles between them.

  “Um,” Jeff says, “The office is on the second floor, to the right. Big glass door, you can’t miss it. And the walls are orange and gray.” He coughs. “There’s coffee and snacks in the kitchen, if you want. Plenty of takeout in the fridge. There was another party recently.”

  Another party. John raises an eyebrow. But a cup of coffee sounds good right about now. He could bring something home for Claire, too. His hand hovers over the door handle, before he pulls it and steps out.

  A puddle is right below his laced boots.

  He sees that Jeff is indeed much shorter than him, so he could easily take him out if he tried anything. The guy looks like a twig, and the obvious signs of a bruise on his left eye, plus the thick yellow cast wrapped around his right arm makes him more at ease. Hell, maybe he needed someone to protect him.

  * * * * * *

  The building has a strong vinegar scent to it, even through the smell of fresh lemons signals that the linoleum floors have recently been mopped. John’s shoes squeak against the stairs—he refuses to take the elevators—as him and Jeff makes it to the second floor, through the long hallway. One of the lights above won’t stop flickering as Jeff reaches into his wet pocket and slides his ID card, causing a green light to come on.

  John’s eyes scan the main lobby, where the painted wooden PRISMA ENTERPRISES are raised up on the wall by the front desk and waiting area. The diamond symbol makes him pause for a moment. That name. Where has he seen that name before? Those stupid, happy go lucky jewelry ads on TV, their stores, their own—

  “Mr. Ferinscoe. This way.”

  Jeff’s voice makes him jump. Why the hell was he so nervous? It’s just an office. It’s not like he’s here for a job interview.

  ”Sorry.” John clears his throat.

  They continue down the hall, past the empty cubicles, some with monitors, some without, and dozens of stacked papers. Outside, the rain pours harder against the glass windows, and when they reach the conference room, he sees a bunch of people. Around five men and four women. There is one there who looks no older than thirty. She blows out a large bubble from the gum she is chewing.

  His dark eyes narrow. Two familiar faces. One guy with a mop for hair and another with a shaved head. The bald guy gives him a smirk.

  “Wait,” John begins, “you’re—”

  ”Would you like to take a seat, Mr. Ferinscoe?” Jeff asks, gesturing to an empty chair. “And how does a cup of coffee sound?”

  “Uh, yeah….sure.”

  ”Great. I’ll be right back.”

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  As Jeff heads to the kitchen, John slowly sits down. His hands are shaking beneath his pockets, although the woman chewing bubble gum smiles at him. She folds her arms. There’s a large map in front of them, marked with all sorts of thumbtacks and sticky notes. The room is dimly lit, and it’s even colder in here than outside. Why is it so cold in here?

  John rubs his nose. “What’s going on?”

  ”John, it is such an honor to meet you after all this time,” the woman says. “I’m Cheryl.” Her fingernails are bright red. “Gary and Pierre here has told me a great deal about you.”

  “They…they have?” He glances at the men. One of them is typing furiously on his laptop.

  “Of course,” Cheryl continues. “And we appreciate you taking the time to come down here, especially during the storm. It wasn’t too far from you? We can compensate for gas.”

  John shakes his head. “No, that’s fine.”

  ”As you wish.” Cheryl’s green eyes sparkle. “As you are aware, you’ve already met these two gentlemen. I’m not sure if you are familiar with the name, but they are employed by the Haswards. Well, they used to be. Gary is a cook, Pierre is a personal driver.” Her bracelets jangle around her arm as she twirls a curl in her hair. “They wouldn’t be here.”

  Gradually, John’s mouth grew dry. “My sister used to work at the Hasward mansion. She fell down the stairs and is disabled.” He stares at the table. “She can’t walk no more.”

  Pierre closes his laptop. “She didn’t fall.” He leans back into his chair. “That’s what they say, what they want for you to believe, but Sarah didn’t fall. This was no accident.”

  The conference door swings upon as Jeff saunters inside with a steaming mug of coffee and a bag of potato chips. He sets both down with a thump on the table. John can’t move. His face turns red, and he abruptly stands. The legs of his chair screech against the floor.

  Cheryl calmly blows another large bubble.

  ”Is this some sort of sick joke?” John shouts. “Did you all just want to humiliate me?” He wags his finger. “I swear, you white collared folks think you above the blue collars. With your fancy degrees, suits and…and computers and cars! You think you’re better than me, huh?” He jabs his thumb into his chest. “I work for everything I have, damn it. And I won’t stand by and let you insult my sister. How dare you do such a thing.”

  ”Mr. Ferinscoe—” Jeff begins.

  ”You shut the hell up.” John’s cheeks are flushed. “I’ve had enough of your mouth.”

  ”I just walked in,” Jeff mutters.

  ”You still need to shut the hell up.”

  ”Okay.” Jeff holds his good arm up. “Okay, pal. I will, in a minute. But, can I at least show you something?” Slowly, he reaches for the MacBook and balances it on his arm. “That is all I ask of you. And then you can go home, and forget that any of this happened. Just do me this one favor.” His gray eyes glow from the laptop’s lit screen as his finger hovers over the mousepad. “Come here, okay?”

  John exhales, before folding his arms.

  The footage is fuzzy, as most home security cameras are. But for a billionaire’s home, it is simply unacceptable to be in this quality. John’s eyes narrow as he sees his sister climb up the top of the curved staircase, gripping the railing with one hand; her other one holding on to the broom and dustpan. She carefully sets them down on the floor, and John can’t help but notice the bags under her eyes. He grits his teeth. He should’ve let her stay home that day, but she had told that morning that that the other maid had called out sick. They needed the extra money.

  John’s fist tightens.

  There’s a muffled sound as the bedroom door opens. A tall, thin, wiry young man steps out, just barely out of frame. But as they both appear again, this time, he can see that his hand is wrapped around Sarah’s wrist. She’s trying to pull free, slowly backing away until she is standing backwards at the top of the stairs. The look of horror on her face is one that John will never be able to unsee as the young man strikes her. She tumbles down the steps, her shoe landing on the fourth one.

  The young man has a smile on his face.

  John picks up his upturned chair and slowly sits down. His breaths are shaky, and he sees the room shrink, then expand. He rests his arms on his legs. His eyes are burning.

  Jeff sets the laptop down. “One of our IT guys hacked into their security video system and recovered this footage. Apparently, last year. the late Donavan Hasward had installed them after there were so many break ins. There’s dozens more videos of this kid doing worse to staff. But I’ll spare you the details.”

  “That’s no kid,” John whispers. “That’s a grown ass man.”

  Cheryl walks around the table and places a hand on John’s shoulder. “Mr. Ferinscoe, the reason why we invited you here is because we wanted to give you some options. You can press charges and bring this footage to the police as evidence. Have him go through the legal system, where…” She shrugs. “He can get a slap on the wrist, probably a couple of fines and community service. Or, with a little patience, you can take a different route.”

  John looks up. His eyes are wet. “I just want five minutes alone with him in a room.”

  “Well, we could arrange that,” Jeff interjects. “But then, you know, he could easily have you thrown in jail for assault. This is Donovan’s Hasward’s son we’re talking about here.” He scoffs. “You and I know that it’ll be in vain.”

  ”Well, someone’s gotta pay eventually,” John replies. “I think it’ll be worth it, just to smash his face in. Give him the ass whooping his father didn’t. Kick his teeth out.” He grips his chair. “I don’t care if he’s the pope’s son.”

  Cheryl sits sideways on the table. “I’ve believe Mr. Ellison Hasward could use a vacation. After all, he should be able to retire before his twenty-fifth birthday.” She smiles, causing crinkles to form on the corner of her eyes. Her fingers land on the various specks of green across a blue background. “There are many uninhabited islands in the Pacific.”

  John doesn’t reply, just takes a slow sip of coffee. His arm is shaking so bad the liquid sloshes out the mug and lands on his sleeve.

  “The thing that my mother always told me growing up,” Jeff says, smiling at John, “is that people want what’s fast. Easy. They don’t take the time to think about what the consequences of their actions will be.” His voice is low. “I don’t want you to go to jail. You have family who need you here. Now. You can’t throw away everything you have in a moment of heat.”

  John blinks the water out of his eyes.

  “The Pacific islands are lovely for this time of year,” Cheryl continues. Her long, curly hair falls down her shoulder. “Plenty of sunlight. It can’t beat Florida weather, but it’s still a nice getaway. I’m sure Ellison would appreciate it. A change of scenery would do him nicely. A speck of green, not even located on a map. You see this?” She taps on the page. “Over 500,000 square miles of blue. One green speck. It’s simple.”

  “A vacation, huh,” John mumbles.

  The woman folds her arm. “Think of it as being a judge. Taking him out would be too easy. Death is an easy route for cowards. You’ll have your five, ten, even sixty minutes with Ellison, Mr. Ferinscoe. I promise.”

  John sets down his cup. “What’s in it for you?”

  ”Believe it or not, Donovan was the exact opposite of his golden child,” Cheryl says. “We simply want to respect his name and protect this business before it is run down to the ground. He was a blue collar, Mr. Ferinscoe. A high school dropout. Pulled no strings. He worked for all this, too.” She tilts her head. “Don’t make it go to waste. How many more people will it take before we all have to say, enough is enough? If you think we are only in it for the money, you definitely misunderstood.”

  “But how—” John rubs his forehead. “Okay, even if this does work, won’t people notice that this…” It makes his skin crawl to even say it. “…Ellison guy is gone. Like his—”

  ”John,” Gary says, “this is a billionaire we are talking about. We did our homework. His last living relative is gone. He has no siblings, no aunts or cousins he can split his will with. He has too much money to know what to do it. And while he may have friends, you all know that people are there for a more obvious reason. Soon as he blows all his funds, who’s he gonna have left?” He taps his temple. “Who? Tell me. The illusion of power fades away. Of course, yeah, the media’s gonna blow up. Have search parties, the FBI, whatever. People forget. Eventually.”

  John stares at him.

  ”But it’s your decision,” Cheryl says. “You can go home, sleep on it.” She slides an envelope and a business card across the table. “Here’s a bit of money for all your troubles. I’m only a call away.” She places a hand on her chest. “We will not, in any way, distribute this footage. It stays with us, until you give us consent. Until you make the call.”

  Jeff smiles and opens the door. “Thanks so much for coming over. By the way, there’s some donuts in the fridge. Take the box with you.”

  * * * * * * *

  John Ferinscoe drives home.

  He sets his box of donuts on the counter. The red, over sided cursive letters forming Krispy Kreme strongly contrast with the almost white color of his countertop, covered with years of failed spaghetti dinners.

  He showers, changes into some comfortable. clothes, throws a frozen pizza in the stained microwave, and peeks into Claire’s room. She is fast asleep on her bed, her nose red from crying. The light is till on. He sits down on the chair by her desk after drawing the sheets up to her chin and picks up her stuffed frog, Mr. Sprinkles. He places it next to her arms. His mind is spinning. He is surprised that tears are running down his face, dripping down his chin. He loudly sniffs, fighting back a sob.

  ”I love you, kiddo,” he whispers to Claire. “Alright? I just want what’s best for you.”

  She turns in her sleep, her tangled hair strewn across her bright pink pillow.

  After placing a kiss on her forehead, John turns off the light and closes her door. He wipes his face and heads to the kitchen.

  Hopefully, tomorrow will be better.

  John opens the box and puts a chocolate donut on a paper plate. When he bites into it, cream frosting fills his mouth. His stomach tightens beneath his sweetness. All he can see is Ellison’s smile, his sister falling, that smile—

  That smile.

  His face fiercely burns. Chewing slowly, he reaches for his cracked cell phone and the business card he left on the table. He takes another large bite and begins to dial each digit, one by one, his thumb shaking.