“You’ll stay here, as you are now. You’re fifteen feet underground, so there’s no one to hear you, and no way out. But I guess you’ll want to find that out for yourself, if you haven’t already. There’s a seven-day air supply. Seven and a half if you’re lucky.”
“What happens when it runs out?”
“You won’t be able to breathe.”
Bryan totally understood what was happening, but it still was somehow confusing. It was all just too surreal. “Come on, you can’t do this. Please.”
“We both know that I can,” Chris said.
“People will be looking for me. What if they catch you?”
“They won’t.”
“They might. What if they do?”
Chris shook his head. “Nobody catches me if I don’t want to be caught. But your brother won’t even try.”
“Why not?”
“Because he wants you to live.” Chris laughed and said, “He does, right?”
“I don’t deserve this. You seem like a smart guy, a decent guy. You’ve got to know that.”
“Don’t try to play me, OK? It won’t get you anywhere, and you don’t want me pissed off at you. Here’s what I know; the world is one big stick, and you just got the short end of it. So your role in this is to just hang out and wait to see what happens.”
Chris walked to the desk and unlocked the drawer. “There’s a computer in here; e-mail service will be connected as of noon tomorrow.”
He turned to leave but stopped, reached into his pocket, and put a very small plastic bag on the table; in it were two pills. “These are poison; if you start to run out of air, you’ll feel light-headed. It’ll be downhill fast from there. If I were you I’d take the pills; it’s a much better way to die.”
The panic Bryan was feeling was overwhelming, but he tried to keep himself under control in front of his captor. “Thanks a lot.”
Chris laughed. “Hey, I could get in trouble for giving you those. But it’s OK; I kept a couple for myself.”
I wouldn’t say that Bryan and I were close.
That seems an almost irrelevant way to describe our relationship. I would instead say we were brothers, which is a giant step past close. It has nothing to do with how much time we spent together, or how often we talked. Having a brother, being a brother, is in a category of its own.
Our mother, Cynthia Shuster Somers, died when I was seven and Bryan was three. Our father, Cal Somers, was not exactly the talkative type, as evidenced by the fact that I was seventeen before I learned that Mom’s death was from smoking-induced lung cancer. My aunt Martha spilled the beans about that one.
I don’t remember my mother much at all, so I’m certain that Bryan would have no recollection of her. But I certainly remember my father, a police captain who wanted nothing more than to have his children follow him on to the force.
I did that, of course, and I never felt coerced by his goal for me. It seemed like a natural progression, and I can’t say that I remember making a conscious career decision. I also can’t say that I regret where I wound up.
Bryan took a different route, and I’ve sometimes wondered what he would have done if our father lived past forty-one. Bryan was seventeen when Cal died of the heart attack, his third, sitting at the kitchen table.
There were no longer live footsteps to follow, and Bryan went his own way. He was always about fifty times smarter than me, and he parlayed those brains into a scholarship to Penn, followed by an MBA from the University of Virginia. From there he went into investment banking, which in my mind means he brings a basket to the office, so he can cart home money every day.
Money was always very, very important to Bryan, and that only increased when he met Julie. While he didn’t follow our father’s career path, he always thought he was destined to mirror his lack of longevity.
“Obsession” might be too strong a word, so I’ll say that he became very focused on making sure his family was well provided for after he was gone. Bryan had to have had more life insurance than anyone, anywhere. He used to joke that his death would bring the insurance industry to its knees.
The irony was that Julie cares about money less than almost anyone I know and she would wage a constant battle to get Bryan to lighten up and try to enjoy life more.
He would say that he was working fourteen-hour days, and earning money hand over fist, so that he could retire a young man. I certainly didn’t believe him, and I can’t imagine that Julie did, either. His identity seemed to be his success, which is one of the ways we were very different.
There was never any doubt that Bryan would settle down and get married, just like there was never any real chance that I would. I’m not sure why things turned out that way; maybe our parents only had one commitment gene and they gave it to him. Or dumped it on him, depending on your perspective.
The revelation that Julie and I had slept together, even though it was before they were married, would be a crusher for him. I knew that, but there was nothing I could do about it, other than sincerely apologize.
It would take a while for him to get over it, but eventually he would.
That’s what brothers do.
Bryan Somers slept for about two hours,
only because of the leftover effects of the drug Chris had administered. It was just enough to make him forget where he was, which led to the renewed horrible realization when he woke up.
He went straight to the computer and turned it on. It sprang to life, but did not have an Internet connection. Chris had said it would be online at noon, and Bryan would have to wait until then. He searched the drawer, and then the rest of the “apartment,” but he could not find a power cord. He would have only the amount of power in the battery, so he quickly turned the machine off; no sense wasting power when he couldn’t use the Internet.
Bryan hoped the computer would allow him to send e-mail, and expected it would, since that’s what Chris had said without prompting. It was a good news, bad news situation; Chris would allow him to be in contact with the outside world, but the reason he would was because Bryan would have no way to identify his location.
There were three pens and a pad of paper in the apartment, and Bryan decided to write out his e-mails in advance, with the computer off, so that he would not waste power while composing them.
He saw no reason to write to Julie. Though he was still in love with her, their marriage was effectively over the moment she revealed the betrayal. The truth was that it had probably been over well before that, but he had been oblivious to it.
The person he would contact would be his brother, Luke. If Chris was as efficient as Bryan believed, he would soon be telling Luke what had happened. How Luke reacted to that news would likely determine whether Bryan would live or die.
He would not be wasting time and power writing about Julie, and her affair with Luke. As horrible as that was, it took a distant backseat right now.
There would be time to hash that out later.
Or not.
It wasn’t the way Edward Holland had charted his career.
The plan had been to go to a top law school, join a big New York law firm, become very powerful, and make a fortune.
And for a while everything seemed on track. Holland went to NYU, for both undergraduate and law school, and finished in the top quarter of his class. Big law firms came calling, as they are wont to do at the better schools, and Holland had no trouble getting placed at one of the biggest and best.
The beginning of his work career was less than auspicious, though predictably so. Like every other newcomer to large firms, he worked like a dog, sometimes logging sixteen-hour days. And it was grunt work, behind-the- scenes research so that the partners could look good and well prepared, and so clients could hide their wealth from US taxes in financially friendly countries. But in terms of power, Holland couldn’t imagine having less.
He was an indentured servant, albeit a well-paid one. But even though the pay was very good by normal standards, New York was an expensive place to live, and Holland was certainly not getting rich.
