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My one and only child rants and screams at me through the phone and my heart breaks. Not for the first time, I wonder what on earth I’d been thinking at age eighteen to have a whole wife and child plus a career in the military. I’d been stationed overseas shortly after he was born and it felt like a slippery slope ever since. Trying to be a young husband, father, and build my military career had been a juggling act, and a juggler I’m not. Needless to say, several balls had been dropped and my wife and child were among them. In between my overseas stints, I’d often try to be that strict father who would enforce discipline. It’d been a miserable failure. When he turned thirteen, Rebecca asked for a divorce. Without contest, I had signed the papers and given her custody. I had visitation rights but had rarely used them. I’d poured myself into my career. Five years ago when I had retired, I looked back at my accomplishments with a sense of satisfaction. Archer Colleymore had made it. But listening to my only offspring screaming at me right now makes me wonder if it was worth the price.
Rebecca reached out to me a few years ago, just as I’d gotten my security company up and running. She’d moved to Ireland with her parents who wanted to retire in their homeland.
“He’s in serious trouble, Archer. I just don’t know where I went wrong.”
“You did your best, given the circumstances, Becca. Where did you say he was last seen?”
Our conversation had ended after I got the information I needed. I’d put a team on his trail and was thankful to know that he was not too far from where I could keep an eye on him. The first time I confronted him as he sat stoned in an alley, I found it hard to believe that he was in his twenties. He looked older than me. He’d gotten all his mother’s features, the red hair, green eyes, and freckles. But his height was all me. I had quickly gotten him into a treatment facility. He’d cleaned up pretty quickly. Our relationship was in the garbage still, but at least I’d been able to help. I pulled some strings and got him a job as a filing clerk with one of my clients. And he’d been okay. Then about two years ago, the signs of using had returned. He quit his job and fell off the radar, turning up in Ireland with his mother a few months ago. She had merely said that he was there, though, turning up at her door when he wanted money for another fix. She’d given in a few times, though I told her not to enable his addiction. This morning, she’d put her foot down and made the mistake of telling him that I’d told her to stop supporting his habit. Hence the phone call.
“You were never there! Do you know how it felt to watch other boys learn to ride a bike with their father, play catch with their father, have the talk about girls with their father, and all I had was my mother and the maid? Do you, you bastard!? You were never there then, so don’t try to be there for me now!” My gut wrenches as he continues to scream.
“Son—”
“Don’t call me that! I’m not your son! You’re nothing more than a sperm donor! I’m done with this shit!”
I wince as the line goes dead. Very few things can get under my skin, but this is one of them. I’m an accomplished man, the epitome of success. This area of my life, in which I have failed spectacularly, though, is a stark reminder that I am human.
I look at myself in the mirror hanging on the back of my office door. My hair is now accented with silver. My new glasses’ frames are silver as well to complement my graying locks. My face is still nice enough and shows very little evidence of a man in his mid-forties. In spite of the dark suits I wear, which have come to be practically the civilian version of my uniform, there is still evidence of my built physique. I pride myself on my intense fitness regimen. I flex my fist. I can still throw a mean punch if necessary. I stand straight, examining every inch of my six-foot-four-inch height. I’m a strong, successful man. So why does this failure with my wife and son cut so deeply?
Since the divorce, I haven’t thought of another serious relationship. I have assuaged my needs when necessary but I focused on getting out of the service alive and in one piece. Then along has come my new baby, More Secure. The company had been a brainchild ten years ago, when I’d started planning my retirement. I’d been given the option to continue to climb up the ranks and retire at an even higher rank, but I’d had enough and was happy to get out with a tidy lump sum and any other related perks. I’ve poured my soul into the company, resigning myself to the fact that it’s my only love. I’d been given a chance at a family and had blown it. I chalk it up to experience and accept my punishment. I don’t deserve to be loved by anyone. It is what it is.
I sigh and fling myself into my chair, staring up at the ceiling. The office is my quiet space and safe haven. I came in early as always, to do some work when my phone had rung. And now it’s going to take a little while for me to get my thoughts back in order, to focus on the task at hand. I have a twenty-year plan, and am now at the first milestone. I need to focus.
I sit up and turn on my computer. A few minutes later, I’m wading through the pages of the document related to the new office. As soon as I’m done with my perusal, I close the document and open another one.
In five years, I’ll be fifty. And though that is young for some people, I have seen my peers and younger go to their graves. And after being in the military and witnessing so much, I feel the weight of my years. I don’t take life for granted.
I skim the document thoroughly. All my known assets are listed in as detailed a list as possible.
My twenty-year-plan is well detailed and everything is oriented, but I can’t ignore the possibility of something going wrong. Especially in my line of business. So, I sat down with my attorney a few months ago to prepare my will.
The business model copyright will be left to my right hand man, Jared. He is going to be in charge of the new office. He has been with me from the beginning.
My tangible assets like my cars and the house will go to my son, along with a tidy sum of cash. There will, however, be an executor as it relates to his inheritance. He cannot be trusted with anything related to money in his current state. But he cannot be left out of my will. He is, after all, my son.
I’ve also included a clause to cover any other offspring I might have. And though I’d love the chance to really be a dad again, to try to right my wrongs, to do better, to be there from the beginning, I don’t hold out any hope for being with a woman outside of mutually agreed casual sex. Still, it’s there, just in case.
I save it and send an email to my lawyer.
All this success, all these assets and I have no one to share them with. It’s just me. I wish life had panned out differently, but this was my roll of the dice.
I shake myself from my funk and go through a few more case files and check on reports. I have gotten five reports completed by the time my assistant Colleen arrives. My day has now officially begun.
Chapter three
Sidney
Whilestaringatthewall ahead of us, all that is in my head is how cold that blade had felt against my throat yesterday. I try to visualize the face of the man I’m about to report. In the past three months, I have met him twice. Spike. That is all I know. And I also know he is the ring leader as his other thugs make reference to Grant owing Spike.
Michelle and I sit on the cold bench waiting to be seen. We came to the nearest police station right after breakfast. The station is buzzing with activity. People like myself are waiting to report various issues as uniformed police officers exit and enter the station, some even bringing in criminals in handcuffs. Michelle and I wait patiently.
It takes a while, but finally, we are ushered to the desk of one officer Dixon.
“What can I do for you lovely ladies this beautiful morning?”
I hesitate before speaking, “We’d like to report an assault.”
“Your boyfriend’s?”
