The next morning, Justin awoke in a strange bedroom, much smaller than normal. After a moment, he remembered his location. He started to roll over and felt soreness on his chest. Looking down under his sheet, he saw that the bruise over his heart had spread and turned an ugly green-black color.

Well, better bruised than dead.

The events of the past two days had finally caught up with him. A glance at his watch told him he had slept nearly 12 hours, quite unusual for a man used to getting six to seven hours a night. Had he missed breakfast? He heard they served food at all hours around here, so the lateness of the morning hour didn't overly concern him. Instead, he concerned himself with getting into an upright position with the intention of finding the nearest shower.

Last night's events came back to him as he slowly roused himself. Once Lizzie sorted things out with Michaela, a party atmosphere emerged. Michaela couldn't get enough contact with her father. He certainly understood why, given what his daughter endured recently. Still, it drained him, and when he finally went to find his bed, he did so without the slightest tinge of guilt–exhaustion, sure, but not guilt.

He did recall his daughter regaling him about some underground mall they visited and something about seeing security guards confront an out-of-control guest, but the details escaped his memory at the moment. No doubt she would remind him of those details soon enough. Not that he minded; it paled compared to the relief he felt over her safe return.

As for Lizzie–it still felt strange calling her that–he didn't know what to do. It all happened so fast. Between kissing her and moments later finding his only daughter going ballistic over that same kiss, there simply hadn't been time to decide how he really felt about her.

So how did he feel about her? He found her attractive, and his gratitude for all she had done for his daughter and him went beyond doubt, but what did he really want from her? Instantly, a voice inside his head answered, No, what do you want from yourself and for yourself?

The years dulled the ache he felt the day Amanda died, but the ache still remained. It reappeared alarmingly the other evening when Lizzie told him about their college relationship and about being witness to Amanda's murder. Yes, he better just say it. They murdered my wife. More precisely, Uncle David murdered Amanda as surely as if he pulled the trigger himself.

As he took time trying to wrap his head around these new concepts, he dwelt a bit on the fact that the woman he had long thought of as Michaela's tutor had changed roles, becoming his new love interest. How strange to think of her that way! After Amanda, he thought he would never feel this way again, but the feelings emerged insistently, with Lizzie the focus.

So what did he feel about Lizzie? She didn't have Amanda's physical beauty, but quite honestly, few women did. Take away Amanda's shadow, and he found Lizzie quite attractive. After years of denying his conscious mind the opportunity to notice her strong femininity, his mind now embraced the fact that he found her much curvier than even Amanda. Amanda's beauty knocked him between the eyes, but Lizzie's beauty breathed onto him like a summer breeze.

He didn't just mean her physical beauty either. He saw something inside Lizzie, a kind of purity, not of the puritanical kind, but rather a purity of essence. He found it enticing and magnetic. Okay, be honest, he said to himself. I want her. There, I said it. Well, thought it, anyway.

He sighed. Had any part of his life not changed in the past 48 hours?

After crawling slowly and gingerly out of bed and into the shower, he emerged 20 minutes later feeling more refreshed and alive; the pain in his chest from 36 hours earlier where the bullet bounced off his protective vest had transmuted into a fullness of heart he hadn't enjoyed in years.

He dressed and emerged from his small room into a silent hallway. He walked down the hall toward the elevator and took it to the second floor. When the door slid open he peeked into the dining hall and saw a number of strangers dining, but he saw no sign of his friends and family. He pressed the 3 button on the panel, and after the door slid shut again, the elevator rose another floor before sliding open again.

As he stepped into the hallway, he heard sounds coming from the front room. Walking to the door of the room, he saw AJ watching a TV program of some kind. Michaela and Lizzie sat with him, gossiping quietly, their attention to the program faltering. AJ glowered at it, however. He turned his attention to the source of AJ's ire and saw John Holloway and himself staring back at him in a split-screen format, talking alternately. Apparently, the hidden recording equipment in the room downstairs could show both sides of a recorded conversation at the same time.

He walked into the room, and his daughter saw him.

Jumping up, she ran over to him yelling, “'Morning, Dad!” and squeezed him affectionately around the middle. Returning her squeeze with a warm hug and a smile, he glanced up to see Lizzie watching him too. She radiated light this morning–or did he just see her differently somehow?

She got up and walked over to him, standing on her toes to kiss him lightly.

“Good morning,” she said quietly. “Did you sleep well?”

She backed off a step before he could react.

He finally managed to respond, “Not bad, considering,” with a self-conscious smile. She returned it with interest.

He heard a growl from the couch where AJ still sat entranced by his interview with John Holloway.

“Sonofabitch,” he heard the big man mutter under his breath.

Walking over to the couch, he sat down one seat away from AJ to watch John speaking:

Can you see me calling you on the phone and saying, “Hey, Justin, you gotta help me out. The CIA are shaking me down for all my government contracts, all $40.5 billion of them, and they might have played a role in 9/11, although I cannot be sure!” Yeah, that would have worked out really well! They would have killed me if I did that. They would have killed you, too. Even if I said something today, my life wouldn't be worth a wooden nickel. You do understand that, don't you?

“The dirty sonofabitch!” AJ muttered half aloud, shaking now with rage.

“Well, what was he supposed to do?” Justin reacted in surprise.

Now AJ turned to Justin and glowered directly at him, with a deep, bitter frown.

“My father got killed in 'Nam. My brother got his in Iraq. I served there too. While I was there, I got a chance to work with your buddy's hired thugs! Those bastards really loved killing people. They weren't just hired mercenaries. They actually enjoyed it! I could tell you stories that would curdle your blood. Your friend,” he said the word with supreme distaste, “didn't think twice about putting big, hairy weapon systems in the hands of murderers and rapists, but the idea that he should put his own life on the line in the service of his country proved too much for him. The dirty, two-faced sonofabitch!”

Justin could see AJ's point, but he also felt sorry for John. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if he found himself in John's shoes. John spoke again on the video.

When you made it clear that you didn't know anything about it by demanding to know why I forwarded money to Bin Laden, I didn't know what to think. I only knew that an old nightmare had somehow resurfaced. All I could think...I had to meet with you and explain, hoping you would see reason.

At this point, AJ rounded on Justin and demanded, “How can you defend this piece of trash after his friends, your blood relatives, murdered your wife? And for what? So he could help reward our country's worst enemy?” He almost bellowed this at Justin, his rage palpable on every square inch of his face.

Justin rose to the challenge, “He did not murder my wife! He did not even know about it!”

“How do you know he told the truth? How do you know he didn't fake it?”

“I sat in the room, if you remember,” Justin said, his own anger rising now. “I know that man. I worked with him for years. I know my friend.”

AJ eyed him carefully before savaging him, “How many of your millions came from helping your friend build his bloody empire?”

Justin's eyes bulged.

“That's enough of that,” Janice intoned authoritatively as she strode into the room before Justin could reply. She gave AJ a piercing stare that would have intimidated anyone, even a man 6'3” tall with 230 lbs of pure, lean muscle. AJ backed off and said nothing more, letting his eyes do the talking instead.

“In case you forgot,” Lizzie declared fiercely as she jumped in, “Justin got shot and almost killed. Someone kidnapped his daughter and me. He received a densely packed education over the past two days that would probably cause most mortals to go into apoplexy, and he wants to help us in spite of all that. After all that, he deserves better than this from you. So get off his case, AJ!”

“I SAID THAT'S ENOUGH!” Janice yelled this time at Lizzie. “We're all on the same side here. Start behaving like it.”

AJ glared at Lizzie this time, but he still said nothing. His face, however, told her that he would like nothing better than to get into a loud, angry shouting match with her. She knew him well enough to refrain from further comment.

“Who wants lunch?” Janice asked in an attempt to break the layer of ice that suddenly covered the room.

“I do!” Michaela said, somewhat more timidly than usual.

“I have not had breakfast yet.”

“No problem. They serve that too. You coming, AJ?”

AJ grunted.

The group got up in staggered fashion and took the elevator down to the dining hall. The crowd had thinned only slightly since Justin last poked his nose in the room, but they saw a recently vacated table over on the right. All the other tables remained occupied.

The young woman who served Lizzie and Michaela the previous morning emerged from the kitchen and said, “Just give me a moment to clear this mess, and you can all sit down.” She carried a large tray which she proceeded to fill with the dirty dishes from the table.

When she finished she said, “Please, have a seat everyone. I will return in a moment to take your drink orders,” before she disappeared with her full tray into the kitchen.

The five of them took their chairs, and within seconds they found themselves staring at menus. The wait staff's speed here impressed Justin.

Discussion remained mostly cordial, although Janice did put her foot down a couple of times when someone made a pointed comment. This resulted in a relatively quiet yet tense breakfast. Even Michaela didn't say much, for once in her life overwhelmed by the atmosphere of the room.

“Mr. Knight,” Janice said as their server started to clear away, “how soon do you want to contact your uncle today?”

“As soon as possible. I have a few things to say to him.”

“I imagine you do,” she replied cordially with a broad smile. The prospect of Justin chewing out his uncle seemed to cheer her greatly. “Special Agent Regan went to my office to call her boss. She should be back soon. In the meantime, I suggest we proceed with our plans.”

Justin nodded.

“Good. We can use the same room you used last night for your meeting with Mr. Holloway. I suggest a video conference, so you can see your uncle's reactions while you talk with him. It will also give us the opportunity to record him in video.”

Justin hesitated. “I am not a technician, but cannot a video conference be traced from the bank's end to discover the location of this facility?”

“Normally, yes,” Janice said smiling, “but we can secure this conference very effectively. Even if they trace it to the server providing the conference, they will find that the server's owners don't know anything about us. If we have reason to believe they tried to trace us with some success, we have backup plans we can implement easily enough. Their logs will show an IP address within their own network. They will find no corresponding record in their database regarding who used it, so I like our odds. “

“That is stealing!” Justin declared, incensed.

“Not at all,” Janice assured him. “We send the money we would normally owe them for the video conference call through another channel. They can't figure how the two events connect, and their bookkeepers don't notice the extra funds until much later. They write it off as an unexpected and untraceable windfall.”

“How do you manage that?” Lizzie asked, surprised.

“Trade secret,” Janice said with a wink.

“How do I know you made the payment?” Justin asked suspiciously.

“You don't, so I guess you will just have to trust me on that one.”

He didn't like that much, but on the other hand he had already trusted them about a number of things. So far, they did what they promised. Will they continue to do so? he wondered. He found no answer.

A short while later he entered the conference room downstairs. A phone now sat on the desk, as did a large television screen. He picked up the phone and dialed his uncle's cell phone number.

In a moment, he heard his uncle say, “Hello?”

“Uncle David.”

“Justin, is that you?”

“Yes Uncle. Are you anywhere near the boardroom? I would like to make this a video conference call instead.”

His uncle hesitated a moment. “Very well. I will have to call the IT department to set it up. Where can I reach you?”

“We will call them. Just go to the board room and await our call.”

His uncle agreed and hung up.

A moment later, he heard Janice's voice from the wall say, “We're on it. Just give us a few moments.”

He had given her the number for the bank's IT department already, so her preparations moved quickly. A few minutes later, the TV screen came to life, and he saw two people staring back at him. The older man in his early 70s appeared slightly disheveled. Justin thought this highly unusual in itself. Never before had he seen as much as a hair out of place on his uncle's head. His custom-tailored suits always seemed cleaned and pressed five minutes earlier. Today Justin suspected he hadn't gotten any sleep in days, and–did he actually see a wrinkle in his uncle's suit jacket? The other man, about Justin's own age, he recognized instantly as Rocky Stoneman, his impeccably dressed, balding, overweight cousin with the cheesy mustache and goatee, a board member at the bank, who sat next to his uncle. How appropriate, Justin mused.

“Very impressive,” his uncle said. “How did you manage to set this up so quickly?”

“Never mind that. We have more important things to discuss.”

“Yes. I asked Rocky to sit in on this meeting. I hope you do not mind.”

“No, I do not mind. Hello, Rocky, how is the Committee for International Consolidation doing these days? I hear you serve on their board of directors now.”

“On their board? No, not at all. I don't know where you heard that rumor Justin. I do a little recruiting for them on occasion, that's all,” Rocky said with a laugh.

“Yes, I heard about that,” Justin said conversationally. “How is your friend Alan Rossi doing?”

“Rossi? The film producer? I barely know the man,” Rocky said dismissively.

“I hear differently. I hear that you and he spent a lot of time together in 2000, that you often went over to his house for dinner and conversation,” Justin mentioned, trying (without much success) to behave casually.

“Oh, I probably did visit him a few times. Frankly, I don't really remember much about him. I did a lot of recruiting for the CIC at that time, and as I recall he was one of the people I targeted for recruitment. It didn't work out, though.”

“He said that you predicted 9/11 a year in advance and that you and your CIC buddies want to get everyone chipped.”

“Predicted 9/11? Nonsense. He must have been drinking when he said that.”

“He also said that you claimed that the entire war on terror is a lie, a deception.”

“A lie? Nonsense! I'm offended at the notion.”

“And you never suggested that America would later go into Iraq looking for weapons of mass destruction that would not actually exist?” Justin asked for clarification.

“Certainly not!”

“Did you know that Rossi said these things about you?”

“It may have come to my attention at some point,” Rocky answered cautiously.

“What did you do about it?”

“Do about it? Why should I do anything about it?”

“The man defamed you publicly. Why do you not drag him into court for defamation?”

“Oh, come now, Justin. I have no need to take the man seriously.”

“Then why did you choose to participate in this call?”

“Uncle David asked me to sit in, and I agreed,” Rocky replied, frowning.

“Why, what difference does this call make to you? What interest do you have in what he and I might say to each other?”

“Well, I...” Rocky started and then halted.

“Let us get back to the main purpose of this call.”

“But you do not deny what Rossi said about you wanting to chip everyone?” Justin followed up, ignoring his uncle.

“Well, RFID chips will make our entire financial system run more smoothly. They would serve all our best interests.”

“Rossi also said that you really do not care much about the little people, that you wondered why he concerned himself with them. You said he should be concerned only about his own family and providing for them.”

“I might have said something like that.”

“So you really think that other people do not matter much?”

“It's not that they don't matter. It's just that he and you and I shouldn't be concerned with them. Let them take care of themselves.”

Justin shook his head in disgust. “You still have not told me why you want to join this call. It makes me wonder if you have a secret reason that you refuse to share.”

“Never mind that,” his uncle interrupted, distracting Justin. “I have been trying to reach you ever since I heard about your distressing accident.

“Accident?” Justin raised his voice, suddenly enraged. “You call that an accident? I suppose the shooter you hired just shot at me accidentally.”

“That I hired? No, you are mistaken my boy. Do they still have you on some sort of drug or something from your stay at the hospital?” David said feigning great concern.

“Oh, spare me the bull, Uncle,” Justin spat back. “I do not buy it for a minute.”

“Now, now,” his uncle tutted. “Do not take that attitude. You are family. Actually, it offends me that you take that posture, but I understand, given the circumstances.”

“You mean the circumstances where you kidnapped my daughter, your great niece, your own family, in order to apply pressure to me?”

“I would never hurt her,” David protested, offended. “I had to make sure I got that video back.”

“Baloney! Besides, that video never belonged to you in the first place.”

“That video was made at a confidential, private meeting without the permission of the participants. Whoever recorded it violated our rights when they made it. We had every right to recover it.”

“Since when does a clandestine meeting with the U.S. Treasury Secretary and the Chairman of the Federal Reserve about how to secretly use a financial crisis you helped to create to extract large sums of money from the pockets of hundreds of millions of innocent people qualify for privacy rights?” Justin demanded. “Or do you now claim the right to conspire against the American people, not to mention the rest of the world, who are all the victims of your vile scheme?”

“Justin, my boy! You see this entirely the wrong way! No one wanted things to turn out the way they have! We did not intend it!”

“You forget, Uncle. I saw that video. I heard you, with my own ears, say that it was time to close the deal. To close the deal, Uncle! You really think I cannot understand what that phrase means?” Justin roared at him.

“It is just a figure of speech,” David said dismissively. “You read much too much into it. All I meant is that the time had come to take action that none of us really wanted to take.”

“You lie!” Justin shouted with blazing anger in his eyes. “I know you lie beyond any shadow of a doubt. Want to know how I know?”

His uncle sat there, silently evaluating Justin.

“Remember last summer at Harbour Island in the Bahamas?” Justin asked. “Remember how I once again questioned the whole monetary system at dinner that night after we went spent the day yachting? Once again, you reassured me that any cracks in the system occur unintentionally.”

“And they do!”

“No! Because then you said that an intentional plan could only exist if the right someone had worked out a secret deal with other well-placed someones. Those were your actual words: a secret deal! You suggested it would require a secret conspiracy among the most powerful financial minds in the world. That is the real-life deal you referred to...Uncle!” He uttered the last word with the most derision he ever managed.

David shook his head vehemently. “You also must remember that I said that no such conspiracy could possibly exist. If it did, I would know.”

“Of course you know about it! You two serve as the ring leaders of the conspiracy! I finally realized it when I saw the video!” Justin yelled, shaking with rage. “How long has this conspiracy existed, Uncle? Does it date back to ol' J.R. Hanover himself?”

David paused and considered Justin very seriously.

“You do not realize,” David said patiently, a hint of menace in his voice. “You have already gotten yourself into a ton of trouble, which will get a lot worse very soon.”

“What do you mean?” Justin asked, suddenly defensive and suspicious.

“I mean that I have it on good authority that the FBI placed you under investigation as a threat to U.S. national security. What have you been doing, Justin–clandestinely supporting terrorism or something?”

“What exactly do you mean?” Justin asked cautiously.

“Well, they told me they found some very disturbing evidence in the bank's records about financial transactions for Holloway, transactions that have your name on them.”

“My name? You know I did not get involved in any of the day to day deposits and withdrawals. Amanda did that, followed by Dick Forsberg after her death.”

“Not according to what I heard from my FBI contacts. They tell me that they found your fingerprints all over some of those transfers.”

“And I thought you only planned to fire me.”

“Oh, yes. Thanks for reminding me. You are fired!”

Justin sat aghast, staring at the TV screen in disbelief.

Finally, he found his voice. “You bastard! You murderous, traitorous bastard! You altered the records! My God, you plan to frame me! You know as well as I do that you had my wife murdered because she found out you funneled money to Al-Qaeda for the feds through John Holloway's account, and now you plan to blame me for it! You unmitigated bastard!”

“Murdered your wife? You are delusional, Justin. Your wife died in an auto accident. No one murdered her,” David said carefully, “unless you did it. Tell me you did not murder your own wife! How did you manage it?”

“No, Uncle, that will not work. You see, I have a witness to the murder.”

This comment caused both David and Rocky to quickly sit up very straight. He had their attention now.

“Witness? What witness?” Rocky asked before David grabbed his arm to shush him.

“Why do you care, Rocky?” Justin jumped on his reply. “What does it matter to you?”

“Me? Nothing. Nothing, of course,” Rocky spluttered.

“Manufacturing evidence to redirect attention away from yourself....I would hardly have believed it of you, Justin.”

The anger on Justin's face spoke volumes.

“You cannot blame me for your own actions. Have you no shame, Uncle? Well, you will not get away with it. I will not let you!”

“You need psychiatric care, Justin. I recommend immediate hospitalization. In fact, I think I’d better get my attorney onto the task of having you committed for treatment as soon as possible,” David said caustically before he disconnected the conference call at his end.

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