by James Dobson
Dimitri waved off the gesture. “I know who you are,” he said before repeating the names Matthew had received for each assignment: Mr. Smith. Mr. Collins. Mr. Marlow. And finally, accusingly, “Mr. Manichean.”
Panic choked Matthew’s speech as he realized he was facing the man behind Judge Santiago’s assassination. Unspoken questions shot in rapid sequence.
Why did you kill the judge?
Who gave you copies of my letters?
Why did you frame me?
How did you track me down to hire me?
Why did you hire me?
What do you plan to do with me now?
“Serena here tells me you refused your last assignment,” said Dimitri, reaching toward the woman’s thigh.
Matthew swallowed back enough fear to answer. “Like I told Ms. Winthrop, I need a break. Things have been pretty stressful and, well, to be honest, I’m not sure this is the right line of work for me.”
“Would you like to quit?”
Matthew inspected the question. To say no might avert immediate danger, but at what long-term cost? To say yes could end his ordeal, but it might also land his name on some transition companion’s assignment list. If other transition companions even existed.
“You can resign at any time,” continued Dimitri. “Although, of course, we would need you to sign a confidentiality agreement stating you won’t disclose details of this project to anyone, ever.”
“Not a problem,” Matthew said enthusiastically. “I won’t tell a soul.”
Dimitri looked at his lovely sidekick. Both nodded, as if Matthew’s reaction had confirmed their assumption.
Ms. Winthrop spoke next. “The reason Mr. Dimitri and I wanted to meet with you this evening is because we were concerned about your possible resignation.”
“Concerned?” Matthew asked warily. “Why concerned?”
“You’ve done a good job for us, and we’d hate to lose you. We want to make sure you consider all aspects of this decision. Where else, for example, could you make such a good income in this economy?”
Matthew felt a hint of relief. “Oh, the money has been helpful”—he turned to Dimitri—“and appreciated. But I’ve never cared about money all that much.”
“There are also risks to consider,” she added.
He spoke slowly. “What…kind…of risks?”
“As you know, we’ve managed this project in such a way as to create distance between the actions of contract employees and ED Enterprises.”
“Don’t you mean NEXT Incorporated?”
“We are not, technically, part of NEXT. Research and development operates as a distinct legal entity. An entity that is able to protect you as long as you remain under our umbrella. The moment you walk away, however, we would no longer be able to intervene should anyone take legal action against you.”
“What kind of legal action?”
“Well, as one example, the police are currently investigating a recent at-home transition due to concerns it may have been a murder. The volunteer, or victim, depending on your perspective, had a rather large estate. The money was supposed to go to distant relatives. But in the final week of her life the woman changed her will, leaving the money to a suspicious beneficiary.”
Matthew didn’t follow. What did any of this have to do with the threat of legal action against transition companions? “I’ll take my chances,” he said.
“I understand,” she said. “But please, before you make a decision, I’d like you to look at something.” She pulled a tablet from her purse, then tapped an icon on the screen.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Just watch it,” barked the pit bull.
A video began. The first image was a woman Matthew recognized immediately: Brianna Jackson. He recalled the moment, her peering out the front door at Matthew while failing to remember she had requested his assistance. Scenes moved quickly to condense the prolonged ordeal into a fast-paced episode of a hidden-camera comedy.
Unsuspecting transition companion enters cluttered home of eccentric old lady
Old lady claims she never made an appointment, but confesses she “forgets things”
Woman wanders into the back of the house, then hides in her bedroom shouting “Leave me alone!” and “I don’t have your money!”
Transition companion coaxes her to the bedroom where he explains that it’s normal to feel scared and promises a painless death
Old lady dies in the tub
Transition companion vomits into the bushes
The video ended. “It’s Ms. Jackson’s death that is being investigated,” said Ms. Winthrop. “So, as you can see, it might be a good idea for you to remain under our protection.”
Matthew felt his own throbbing pulse.
“Relax, Mr. Adams,” said Dimitri with a snort. “Our cleanup crew made sure to remove every possible clue that would link you to Ms. Jackson’s death. And I can personally guarantee that the police will never see this footage.”
“But,” said Matthew, un-consoled by the promise, “this means I committed murder.”
They were words he had never imagined himself speaking. A deed he had never imagined doing. He looked at Dimitri. “And so did you!”
“True, technically,” he replied. “But the woman should have volunteered years ago. We just gave her the shove she needed.”
Matthew felt the sting of his own earlier rationale.
He hadn’t pressured his mother to transition. He had merely helped her think it through.
He hadn’t caused Reverend Grandpa’s death. He had simply loaned him a courage he lacked.
He hadn’t killed Brianna Jackson or Saul Weinstein or Josephine Green. He had simply lent them a helping hand. A hand, he now realized, that had been manipulated like a marionette’s on a string.
“They didn’t want to die,” Matthew said angrily.
“Maybe not,” answered Dimitri. “But they needed to die. Our entire economy will collapse if we wait for every debit in this country to muster enough courage to volunteer. That’s why this test is so vital, and so secret. We’re part of something important, Mr. Adams. This is no time for any of us to become skittish over ‘ethical concerns.’”
Matthew sat up with a start. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me,” he said while pointing toward the front of the limousine. “I’m well aware of your chats about philosophy and ethics with the professor here.” A power window lowered to reveal the driver, Mori, smiling in Matthew’s direction.
“I believe you’ve met our colleague,” said Ms. Winthrop.
“It was Mr. Quincy here who aided Judge Santiago’s transition,” added Dimitri. “The one you so kindly helped us achieve.”
“I had nothing to do with the judge’s death!” insisted Matthew, his mind racing at a thousand miles per hour.
“Didn’t you?” said Dimitri while tossing a small pile of letters onto the floor. “Then how on earth do you explain these?”
They were copies of the letters Matthew had sent to the judge, requesting an audience. Letters he had last seen sitting in the police station. Letters signed with the alias A Manichean.
Matthew’s head sank in defeat. “So it was you who wrote the final letter,” he said.
Dimitri neither confirmed nor denied the statement. He instead handed Matthew a document. “So, shall we discuss your next assignment?”
He glanced at the page. Two unfamiliar names. “Husband and wife?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Ms. Winthrop. “Both pretty depressed after being denied treatment.”
“A dual transition?”
“That’s right,” she said. “But don’t worry, Mr. Quincy here will assist you.”
Matthew looked at his drinking pal, then back toward Dimitri. “When’s the appointment?”
“We need it handled tonight.”
“Tonight?”
A nod.
Matthew reread the assigned names. “And who are they?�
� he asked.
“The parents of someone you’ve probably heard of,” said Ms. Winthrop.
“Who’s that?”
“Congressman Kevin Tolbert.”
Part Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
A rattling sound stunned Kevin out of a deep sleep. Dazed, he squinted at the clock: 5:33 in the morning. He heard the noise again, prompting him to quickly grab and answer the phone vibrating annoyingly on the bed stand.
He didn’t recognize the caller’s voice. “Who?”
“Cain, sir,” the man repeated. “Detective Tyler Cain. Denver Police.”
Kevin shot up with a start.
“I’m calling about your parents.”
“What about them?”
“They’re gonna be fine,” said the detective reassuringly. “But they’re both pretty shaken up.”
“Why? What happened?”
Angie’s hand touched her husband’s shoulder. He turned to look in her blearily anxious eyes, then tapped a speaker icon so that she could hear the officer’s reply.
“There was an altercation with two men who came to the house last evening.”
“A robbery?”
“No, sir. Said they came at your dad’s request. Showed your mother an official-looking document before she invited them inside.”
“What time did this happen?”
“It was around eleven o’clock. She told me she couldn’t sleep. Back pain or something like that.”
“What was the official-looking document?”
“I have it here. Says your father scheduled an at-home transition.” A brief silence. “Do you know anything about that possibility?”
Kevin felt a cold shiver of alarm. Mom and Dad transition? Impossible!
“No, I don’t. And no, they wouldn’t.”
“That’s what I thought. Anyway, your dad had already gone to bed. Woke up when he heard your mother scream.”
“Scream?” said Angie.
The feminine voice apparently confused the officer. “Excuse me?”
“That’s my wife, Angie. She’s listening on speaker.”
“Oh, of course. Hello, Mrs. Tolbert. I’m sorry to disturb you with such upsetting news.”
“Why did she scream?” Angie pressed.
“She told me she screamed when she realized what the men intended. One forced her onto a chair and started to tie her arms, while the other moved toward the bedroom. But your dad was ready for him.”
Kevin felt a fury rise. “Did they hurt her?”
“No, sir. Like I said, just shook her up. Your dad stopped them.”
“Where is my father now?”
“At University Hospital.”
“The hospital!” Angie cried.
“Yes, ma’am,” he explained. “The officer who responded to their call thought someone should look at Mr. Tolbert’s injury. He took a blow to the head during the struggle, quite a bit of blood, but nothing serious. Your dad fought off two grown men with nothing but a hiking boot. Must be a tough old guy. Still, the doctors said they want to monitor him for twenty-four hours in case of a concussion. Both of your parents are resting comfortably now.”
Kevin took his first effortless breath since the call began. “Thank God,” he said.
“Yes, sir. Based upon the evidence I’ve found we could have been having a very different conversation.”
Angie squeezed her husband’s arm tightly.
“What kind of evidence?” asked Kevin.
“I’ve been investigating a string of similar incidents for the past year,” Tyler explained. “The first was a pretty high-profile case. A federal judge was found dead in his chamber.”
“I remember that,” said Kevin. “It was tied to the wrongful death claim against NEXT.”
“That’s right. I was a private detective at the time. I got called in after Judge Santiago received a series of suspicious letters. I tracked down a suspect who, it turned out, didn’t commit the crime. But whoever did appears to have expanded his or her scope.”
“I don’t follow,” said Kevin.
“Well, sir, there have been at least eight other deaths in the past year that appear to be linked. In each case the alleged volunteer had loved ones who claimed no knowledge of a scheduled transition. We’ve suspected the family members themselves, since most of the deceased left large estates to a child or some other close relative. Until now, however, we’ve been unable to speak to any of the victims themselves. All of them were found dead in a bathtub just like any other at-home transition.”
“How awful,” whispered Angie.
“Yes, ma’am. Frankly, we would have suspected you, Congressman, if your parents had been found dead.”
“I understand.”
“I’m not sure you do. You see, a letter was found on the coffee table in your parents’ living room. It appears to have been written by your father, explaining that he’d decided to volunteer so that the house could be sold and donated to…let me find it…here it is. He wanted the proceeds given to something called the Center for Economic Health. Mean anything to you?”
“It’s a think tank I founded with my business partner—” Kevin stopped short, his mind suddenly connecting the dots.
“Sir?”
“I’m leading an effort to garner support for something we call the Bright Spots proposal.”
“I’ve heard of that,” said the officer. “Part of the anti–Youth Initiative movement, right?”
“You could say that. Although we prefer to emphasize what we’re for rather than what we’re against.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the priority of bearing and raising children and respect for aging and disabled citizens.”
“Hmm,” said the detective suspiciously. “So the money from your parents’ transition would have been used against the transition industry?”
“His parents’ murder, not transition,” said Angie indignantly.
“Right, murder. But the money would have helped you fight the Youth Initiative?”
“Theoretically, yes. But like I said, my parents would never volunteer. They’re vehemently against suicide, no matter how noble the motivation.”
The officer said nothing for several moments.
“Detective?” asked Kevin. “Are you still there?”
“Sorry,” he finally said. “I was just thinking. You may have helped fill in a missing piece of the puzzle.”
They waited for more.
“The intruders fled so quickly from your father’s boot that one of them left behind a box filled with supplies. It contains a vial of PotassiPass, the serum used in NEXT clinics.”
“Isn’t that what you would expect?” asked Angie.
“Actually, no. This particular serum has only been approved for use in clinics. Typical home-based volunteers use a different brand, one that’s pretty tightly controlled. Every ounce is tracked to make sure none of it gets into the hands of curious kids or homicidal maniacs.”
Kevin considered the implications. “So the men who tried to kill my parents work for NEXT?”
“Not likely. I’ve spoken to the inventory control team at NEXT. They’ve had no incidents of stolen serum. Ever. Like I said, tight controls.”
Angie spoke next. “So what gap in the puzzle did this fill?”
“Not sure yet,” said the detective. “But I doubt it’s a coincidence this happened to the parents of the politician spearheading an effort against the transition industry. Especially since the string of deaths began with Judge Santiago. The common wisdom was that he intended to rule against NEXT. Obviously he never had the chance. His death got the case reassigned.”
Kevin’s face fell into his hands at the realization that his battle against the Youth Initiative had put his parents at risk. And for what? The Bright Spots proposal had been losing momentum, not gaining. Franklin’s invitation to speak had been his way of throwing the movement a bone. The senator wanted breeders’ votes, not their values
. And he knew Kevin could deliver those votes better than anyone else in Washington.
Angie wrapped her arms around Kevin’s deflated frame. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered into his ear.
“I’ve been so naïve,” he said regretfully.
“This isn’t your fault. And your parents are all right.”
Kevin accepted Angie’s embrace before turning back toward the phone. “I’ll be on a plane later today,” he said. “Tell them I’m on my way.”
“I will,” said the detective. “Please let me know when you arrive. I’d like to ask you a few more questions once I look a bit closer at what we’ve discovered here.”
“Certainly,” said Kevin before ending the call.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Alex waited for his wife’s reaction.
“They’re firing you?” she asked with quivering fury.
“They never said that,” he corrected.
“Then what did they say?”
“That it would be best for everyone concerned if I resigned.”
Tamara stared blankly at the words. Alex had done the same ten hours earlier when Phil Crawford and an attorney gave the verdict: the board had decided to settle the Baxter lawsuit. It was, they had determined, the only practical course of action, since going to court would cost a fortune in legal expenses with no assurance of victory. A settlement could help them prevent a prolonged, unproductive distraction from the mission of Christ Community Church.
Tamara appeared unconvinced by his explanation, and slightly confused. “Okaaay,” she said warily. “So why ask you to resign?”
A good question Alex hadn’t been able to answer for himself despite a sleepless night.
“Is everything all right?” Tamara had mumbled groggily when Alex finally arrived home around midnight.
He hadn’t been ready to talk about it. “Fine,” he had lied, “go back to sleep.”
Now, with his wife sitting in front of him dazed by the news, he reached for an explanation.
In truth, the church could settle a bogus lawsuit without asking the pastor to leave. But Phil Crawford wanted retribution for Alex’s roundabout insubordination.
