The Billionaire Brothers

by Victoria Villeneuve

  “Tom, hey...”

  “Megan, how are you sweetie?”

  He had called her that for so long that it no longer seemed flirty. Just kind of comforting. “I’m... Well... Have you heard from Jake in the last few days?”

  Tom thought for a second. “Sure, he called in from Manila yesterday with an update on the meetings over there.”

  Manila? He said he was going to St Louis. Who makes a mistake like that?

  “Oh, yeah,” Megan said. “Of course. It’s just that he promised to bring me back some fabric for a dress I’m making,” she lied elegantly and with surprising imagination given her stress levels, “and I hadn’t heard anything.”

  “Well he’ll be back in a couple of weeks, I think,” Tom said, checking his own schedule as he spoke. “Want me to let him know you’re asking about him?”

  Megan toyed with the idea, but decided against it. “No, I’ll just see him when he’s back. Must have slipped his mind.”

  “OK, well I’ll see you after Andrea’s lesson tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Bye.”

  She ended the call, sat on her sofa by the window, and cried for hours.

  Erica came home to find her curled up, eyes reddened, face a mess. Without a word, she brought over a bottle of good red wine and two glasses, opened the bottle with an experienced twist of the corkscrew, and set a very full glass in front of Megan. The stricken girl gave her a pleading, damaged look.

  “Tell Aunty Erica. I won’t tell anyone except Ruby Red here, and she’s as good a listener as I am.”

  Megan poured everything out, all of the details she had held back, for fear of being told that this exact thing would happen. “He treats all women this way, you see,” she explained. “And I didn’t see it, because I’m fucking stupid.”

  “Don’t be hard on yourself, darling. You’re not the one who vanished without saying anything.”

  Megan sniffed. “The Internet was right. He picks women up, enjoys himself, plays with their emotions, and then throws them away.”

  Erica joined her tearful friend on the sofa and held her close. “There’s no way this is just a misunderstanding?”

  “What’s there to misunderstand?” Megan complained. “Most guys would have said something like, ‘hey, this is getting too serious for me’, or ‘hey, didn’t I tell you I’m actually married?’ This one,” she said, stabbing an angry finger into the sofa, “he just swans off to the fucking Philippines without even telling me?”

  Erica handed Megan her glass. “Then, turn the tables. You’re the one who had fun, who was jet-setting around and having some pretty amazing sex, by the sounds of it. Think of it that way: you used him.”

  They talked it over until midnight, when Megan decided she needed sleep more than comforting. Erica sat up alone, finishing the bottle, and was asleep on the sofa when the apartment’s landline phone rang.

  Megan emerged from her bedroom looking awful. “I’ll get it.”

  It was Tom. “Megan?”

  “Hey...”

  “You’re phone’s turned off,” Tom said, almost angrily. “I need your help, Megan. Sorry it’s so late.”

  “It’s beyond late, Tom, it’s three in the damn morning. What’s up? Is everything OK?”

  Tom audibly took a deep breath. “It’s Andrea.”

  Cold fear gripped Megan’s chest. “Is she alright?”

  “I don’t know, Megan. She left here but she never showed up at her friend’s house. I called the police hours ago and I figured she’d just show up but I’ve been calling her phone and there’s no answer and I just...”

  “Tom? Where is she?” Megan asked very deliberately.

  “We don’t know, Megan. She’s missing.”

  Slow and Steady

  Megan couldn’t remember getting dressed, or waking Erica. The only thing in her mind was to get to Tom’s place as quickly as she could. It was 4am but the street where he lived seemed alive; it took a moment to realize that every car there was a police vehicle.

  Dashing through the bizarre sea of rotating blue lights, Megan had to explain herself to a uniformed officer at the front door before being allowed inside.

  “Tom?” she called upstairs.

  “Up here, Megan. Officers, it’s OK. This is Megan Peterson. I think I mentioned her.”

  He was absolutely ashen, the image of a man living every father’s very worst nightmare. There were cops in almost every room of the house, it seemed; shouldn’t they be out there, looking for her?

  Tom held Megan like a life raft in a storm. “Hey, it’s OK. She’ll be back any minute. Must just have gotten lost or something.”

  “Miss Peterson?” asked a gruff, Boston-accented voice from the corner. Megan turned to see a heavy-set detective in his fifties, complete with grey mustache and notebook. “Would you mind answering a few questions? At this stage, any information can be critical.”

  “Of course.” Another officer took Tom downstairs, where his colleagues had located several photos of Andrea. They wanted his opinion as to which was the best likeness, to show on TV.

  “My name’s Detective Wise,” he said, showing Megan his ID. “When did you last see Andrea, Miss Peterson?”

  The huge, crushing weight of her fear returned for a moment but, with some effort, she quelled it. Just help these people. That’s all you can do. “I gave her a piano lesson yesterday afternoon... Thursday.” Megan sat upright on the edge of the bed, despite wanting nothing more than to curl up and wish it all away.

  Wise had taken a chair across the room and was writing continuously. A female colleague – as per regulations, Megan guessed – stood silently by the open door. “And how did she seem? Happy? Distracted?”

  Megan thought back. “She was chatty, up-beat. She was in a play at school and the first rehearsal was good. I can’t remember the name.” Tears threatened, but she blinked them back.

  “Thank you, Miss Peterson. If I could ask, do you know of anyone who might want to hurt her?”

  Megan stared at the detective as though he’d grown a third arm. “For God’s sake, no! She was an angel.” Megan took a sharp intake of breath and corrected herself. “She is an angel. Her teachers love her. Everyone loves her.” Now the tears came.

  The detective handed her a tissue. “I’m sorry, we have to ask.”

  Megan blew her nose, collected herself. “No, it’s OK. Go on, please. I want to be helpful.”

  Downstairs, they could hear raised voices as Tom argued with an officer. Wise ignored it. “Does Andrea have any other friends in her life? Adult friends?”

  Megan couldn’t suppress a shiver at the implication. “I don’t think so. There’s her Dad and I, and her uncle, Jake. But he’s away right now.”

  “Where?” the detective asked, not a little pointedly, notebook at the ready.

  “He’s in the Philippines. On business. He’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  “Have you spoken with him recently?” Wise wanted to know.

  “Not for about three weeks. We were... I guess you could say we were dating.” The detective raised an eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. “But I’d rather Tom didn’t know about that.”

  Nodding, the cop looked straight at her. “Dating, but out of contact for three weeks?”

  “I don’t see that’s anything to do with...” Megan began angrily, but then stopped. “Wait... You don’t think he had something to do with this, do you?"

  Wise closed his notebook and took a breath, glanced at his watch. “Miss Peterson, I’ve been working missing persons and kidnappings for twenty-six years.” He shifted in his seat and rubbed tired eyes. “In all that time, I’ve seen everything a cop can see, and nothing surprises me anymore. Absolutely nothing,” he reiterated.

  “Well, I can tell you that Jake loved Andrea just as much as anyone. Besides, he’s been out of the country for weeks.”

  “In the Philippines,” Wise added pointedly.

  “Yes. Why?”

  Wise glance
d at his female colleague by the door. “Miss Peterson, we don’t want to alarm you unduly,” she said mildly, “but the Philippines is in the top three destinations for child sex tourists.”

  Megan stood, her fists balled. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. Then she sat down. “That,” she said, “was alarm. And it was undue. I’d sooner believe that you’re both aliens than I’d believe Jake would hurt Andrea, or do... that.”

  Tom reappeared, if anything looking worse than he had before. “They want us to go on TV together, Megan. They say,” he said, trying to collect himself, “they said that kidnappers respond better to seeing a mother figure in the child’s life. I explained about Mary, the cancer,” he said, almost spitting the word, “and they said you’d be perfect.”

  “I’ll do it,” Megan said at once, standing. “Just tell me where and when.”

  “It’s too early for that,” Wise advised them. “But we really are hoping to hear from kidnappers soon, if that’s what we’re looking at. Mr. McMahon is a very successful businessman, and right now, that’s the focus of our investigation.”

  Tom sat down next to Megan on the bed and brought her head into his shoulder. “They think perhaps a competitor, or someone who got the rough end of a business deal, has taken her as some sick kind of payback.”

  Wise cautioned them. “We mustn’t jump to conclusions, Mr. McMahon. It’s best to wait until we hear something definitive.”

  “Wait,” Tom said simply. “That’s the only thing I don’t want to do right now.”

  The cops finished their questions, took pages of notes, and left to co-ordinate the search from the local police station. Two officers stayed at the house, one at the door and another in the living room, by the phone, to which an array of equipment was being attached. Media interest normally only began after a police appeal for sightings, but social media already had word of the police presence outside the McMahon home. Wise told them very firmly not to speak to reporters until they had more news and had agreed a statement. He shook their hands, rather somberly Megan felt, and left with his team.

  “Jesus, Tom. I’m so sorry. But look... What’s more likely, she’s staying over with a friend and forgot to call, or...”

  “We’ve called all her friends, Megan.” Tom sounded broken. “And we’ve called all of their friends. All we know is that she was due at Sarah Jefferson’s house at 7.30 to have dinner and watch Spongebob. They called at 8.15 to say she hadn’t showed up, and I called Andrea’s phone, I don’t know, a hundred times. Then it was nine already and I just called the police in a panic.”

  “You did the right thing,” Megan said, squeezing his arm. “Look, I’ll stay up and see if I can tell the officers anything else. Why don’t you try to sleep?”

  Tom grimaced, as though the idea itself pained him, but agreed to lay down for a while. “Guess there’s nothing more I can do right now, anyway.”

  * * *

  It took an hour for the media scrum to begin. Brookline PD arrived and pushed the crowd to the end of the street, but it was clear that Tom would need to make a statement, and sooner rather than later.

  The agonizing hours Tom spent alone that night were the worst since Mary’s cancer. He slumped down the stairs the next morning, looking unshaven, haggard and suddenly ten years older, but immediately insisted on two things: that Megan should go to her classes today, but come straight back afterwards, and that he would not spend another minute simply sitting around. He needed something to do.

  He sat with an officer and began drafting their statement while Megan made breakfast. She found herself forgetting what she had done only seconds before, existing in a fog of worry and confusion and doubt and hatred and anxiety. When the eggs were ready, and were found somehow to be edible, she brought plates through for everyone.

  “We’re going to go out there at 9.30,” Tom announced. “The longer we delay, the greater the risk, so they tell me,” he said, motioning to the officer. “Do you think you could do that for me?”

  “Try and stop me,” Megan said with false bravado. Facing the media was almost as terrifying as facing the uncertainty over Andrea’s safety. “Have you heard from Jake?”

  Tom nodded. “He’s in the air right now. I think I’ve persuaded the cops that he’s not some kind of creep, just so you know.”

  Megan ate in silence. Did someone tell him about us? She let her mind take a new avenue, simply to be free for a few seconds of her constant worry. Will he be happy for us? Will he think I’m a schmuck for joining the ranks of the girls Jake has conquered and left behind? She shook it off, drank coffee. For God’s sake, not now, Megan. Focus.

  Their statement had all the imagery the police needed it to have: a desperate, ashen couple, pleading with the public for any information about their little girl. It mattered little, to the police and to the media, that Megan wasn’t the mother; in fact, in some circles, Megan’s presence was the catalyst for a new round of salacious gossip about the McMahon family. Some editors had better taste, but others were unable to resist the combination of fraternal jealousy, the floozy girlfriend migrating from one brother to the other, plus the mysteriously missing daughter. For three hours, mainly online but increasingly on the cable news channels, it was a frenzy of speculation and the kind of half-assed factoids which, had they been paying any attention, would have driven Tom and Megan absolutely crazy. Detective Wise had told them to avoid reading anything online, for their sanity’s sake, and both Megan and Jake obeyed.

  Megan protested for a solid ten minutes but was eventually escorted to her class by a female officer. She paid absolutely no attention, even shrugging off the concerned Della and other classmates. What could they say, other than to make her worry more? Even her professor had some kind words, and Megan was polite, but wanted only to be back with Tom. She pictured his loneliness; first, a wife taken from him at only twenty-nine, and now this. Her heart broke for him.

  Lunchtime became early afternoon, and threatened to become early evening, all without news. Although no-one said it explicitly, they all knew that there would be a change in the investigation once they reached the twenty-four hour mark. It would become less of a missing person issue, and more of a kidnap situation. Or worse.

  Megan found some pasta in the cupboard and chopped vegetables like a detached robot. She was about to put the water on to boil when Detective Wise came through the back door and into the kitchen. He looked straight at Megan and, in that fleeting second, like never before, she interrogated his face, his eyes, his posture, for any clue. A dozen scenarios played out in Megan’s mind, all in that desperate, compressed moment.

  Mercifully, he didn’t hold his silence for long.

  * * *

  Tom cried for as long as Megan had ever seen a man cry. She held him, his sobs shaking her body as well as his own, his tears running down her blouse. She stroked his hair, let him do as he needed to do, as anyone would have needed to do.

  “Thank... God,” he was saying, over and over. “Thank God she’s alright. Thank God...”

  Andrea had gotten on the wrong bus. It was as simple as that, essentially, but then she had experienced some bad luck, been rather stupid, taken to uncharacteristic shyness and then finally been found wandering in a park near the airport. It was quite the story and Tom decided that patience and forgiveness were the right ways to respond, though the father in him – every cell of him, really – wanted to yell at his daughter at the top of his lungs.

  “Mr. McMahon? She’s here, Sir.”

  Andrea flew through the door and into her father’s arms, leaving the two accompanying officers to look on, filled with the same relief which now spread through the neighborhood and, with lightning speed, to the journalists outside.

  At first, Tom said nothing. Megan sat tearfully on the sofa, watching them both, and then felt a hand on her arm, pulling her in, and she joined the hug. Those with telephoto lenses had just scored the ‘happiest picture of the week’.

  “You’re here, s
port,” was the first thing Tom said.

  “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “No... It doesn’t matter. You’re here.” Sometimes, Megan thought to herself, we have to hear it a few times before we believe it. “Are you OK?”

  Andrea was exhausted, really rather dirty, and had very tired feet, she said, but was otherwise unharmed. Police medics gave her a check-up and found nothing amiss, save some dehydration.

  “The bus driver said I had to get off at the end, and I didn’t know where I was,” she explained between sips of water. “I told him I needed to get to Haverhill Street and he said he didn’t know where that was, and that I had to get off, and then he shouted at me, and I ran up to some kids on bikes and they just ignored me and I was so sad...”

  Six miles from where she intended, Andrea had done her best, but asked for help from all of the people least likely to take care of her. After being rebuffed for the third time – Megan stared, wide-eyed, at the thought of people unwilling to help a lost little girl – she had tried calling but her phone battery had gone dead. At that point, defense mechanisms had taken over and she had simply clammed up and sat alone on a park bench.

  “It went dark and I was so tired and I didn’t know where I was, so I just went to sleep,” she explained.

  Tom kept his mouth shut, the better simply to let his daughter tell the story without appearing to judge her.

  “Then I decided to walk back in the same direction and...” Andrea’s lost, panicked confusion came through so clearly that Tom had to hold back more tears.

  “The important thing,” Megan interjected, mostly because Andrea’s father simply couldn’t, “is that you’re alright, and back home. Nothing else matters.”

  The police finished up their paperwork very quickly and left the family alone, inviting the media to do the same. It was the most immense relief to simply shut the doors, close the curtains, take the phone off the hook and be together.