Jake groggily rolled out of bed on Monday morning, the early light filtering softly through the curtains. He stretched his arms high above his head, feeling the satisfying pull of muscles waking up from slumber. After a refreshing shower that washed away the last remnants of sleep, he dressed in his usual crisp attire. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen as he prepared a steaming cup, accompanied by a simple yet satisfying breakfast. He flicked on the television to the financial channel and nearly spit out his coffee when he saw his stepfather’s face plastered across the screen. The headline scrolling across the bottom read: "BREAKING: FRANKLIN BOWER MISSING AMID ALLEGATIONS OF MASSIVE FINANCIAL FRAUD."
Jake fumbled for the remote, turning up the volume as the impeccably dressed news anchor continued, "The financial world was rocked this morning when it was discovered that Franklin Bower, CEO of Bower Investments, has apparently disappeared along with billions of dollars from client accounts. Authorities are calling it one of the largest embezzlement schemes in history. Bower was last seen Saturday night at a lavish party at his private estate before disappearing. His wife, Victoria Bower, issued a statement claiming she had no knowledge of her husband's activities…"
Jake's phone erupted with a shrill ring, startling him from his stunned trance.
He muted the television and answered. "Hello," his voice tight and shaky.
"Jacob," his mother's voice was eerily controlled. "Have you seen the news?"
"I'm watching it now. What the fuck is going on?" Jake blurted out.
“Language, young man,” Victoria admonished, causing Jake to roll his eyes, before she continued. "I was rudely awakened in the middle of the night by the police with a warrant. They have been riffling through your father’s office for hours,” Jake cringed at the word father, but didn’t correct her. “They are saying Franklin emptied the accounts and vanished. They think he's fled the country." Her voice cracked slightly. "They found… things on his computer, Jacob. Disgusting things. Photos of young women. And records of transactions. They are saying that it looks like he has been planning this for months."
Jake shook his head, his mind reeling. "I… I don't know what to say."
"There's nothing to say," Victoria replied, her voice hollow. "The police will likely want to question you. I told them you had no involvement in Franklin's business affairs."
Jake rubbed his temple, feeling a headache forming. "Of course I didn't. I barely spoke to the man."
"Well, they may contact you anyway.” Victoria's voice hardened. "I need to go. The lawyers are here."
The line went dead before Jake could respond. He stared at his phone, his appetite completely gone, trying to process what he'd just heard. His stepfather, a man he'd never particularly liked but had grudgingly respected for his business acumen, had apparently been running some elaborate fraud scheme right under everyone's noses. And now he was gone, along with billions of dollars.
Jake glanced at his watch and realized he needed to leave for work. He listened to the radio on his drive, the story was all over the airwaves. The financial pundits were speculating wildly about where Franklin might have gone, how long he'd been planning this, and the devastating impact on investors. One commentator mentioned that several charities had lost their entire endowments.
Jake's stomach churned with a mix of shock and disgust. While he'd never been close to his stepfather, he never imagined him capable of something so callous. The man had always been obsessed with appearances and status—how could he throw it all away like this?
As he ascended in the elevator, Jake attempted to steady his racing thoughts. The small, metallic space felt constricting, amplifying his anxiety with each floor it passed. He had nothing to do with this tangled mess, yet a nagging sense of guilt lingered at the edges of his mind, like he was somehow responsible.
Approaching the door to the locker room, he absentmindedly pressed his keycard against the reader, failing to notice that the panel remained dark and unresponsive. With a swift yank, he opened the door and stepped inside. He quickly got undressed and made his way into the office. Silence enveloped him, a profound and unsettling quiet. It took a moment for his brain to register the strangeness of the scene. He stood there, completely nude, in what should have been a familiar hallway, but something was off. The walls that were once adorned with vibrant artwork now stood bare, displaying only empty picture hooks and the lonely outlines of where the frames once hung.
“What the fuck?” he murmured to himself, confusion lacing his voice, before spinning around and sprinting towards Emily’s office. He slammed open the door, only to find it eerily empty. A chill ran down his spine as he hurried to Rachel’s office, again confronting a void. Jessica’s office, Shayla’s—they were all the same, utterly vacant. The starkness of each room was absolute—no desks, no computers, as if the entire office had been wiped clean from existence. He staggered into what had once been Margaret's corner office, the sense of dread and disbelief mounting as he felt on the verge of a panic attack. The room that had radiated authority and sophistication was now a mere hollow shell, gutted of its former grandeur. The stately mahogany desk, the plush leather chairs, the opulent artwork—all had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only the faint outlines on the walls. These ghostly remnants served as haunting echoes of a reality that now seemed like nothing more than a fevered dream.
Jake trudged toward his office, a sense of foreboding gnawing at him as he anticipated the scene awaiting him beyond the door. Upon entering, he was met with the stark emptiness of the room, it had been stripped of any indication that he had ever worked there. A flicker of reflected light caught his attention—a glint dancing off an object perched on the window sill. He moved closer to discover Naomi’s stainless steel butt-plug, with the vibrant purple jewel, being used as a paperweight to secure a folded piece of paper. Jake extracted the paper from beneath the plug, inadvertently sending the metallic object tumbling. It rolled across the floor in a languid, lazy circle, the jewel catching the light producing a kaleidoscope of violet on the bare walls.
Jake's hands trembled as he unfolded the note, recognizing Jessica’s elegant, flowing handwriting.
Jake,
By the time you read this, we will be long gone. I apologize for the deception, but it was necessary. You were never meant to be hurt in all this - merely a means to an end.
We were employed to divert the funds and craft an intricate illusion that Franklin had embezzled the money and vanished from the country. The authorities will undoubtedly launch a relentless pursuit to track him down, but I deeply doubt they'll ever succeed.
You were chosen for who you are - the estranged stepson with security access and intimate knowledge of the estate. From the extensive profile we had of you, we knew that nudity and sex was the best way to manipulate you into what we required. Through your sessions with Dr. Caldwell, you were programmed with trigger phrases that allowed us to use you without your knowledge or consent. You won't remember disabling the security systems or installing the program that drained the accounts, but you performed admirably.
There's no point in even considering going to the authorities. You have no proof, and whether you like it or not, you were complicit in the entire operation.
I can confidently speak for all the women of “Brooks Enterprises” when I say that we thoroughly enjoyed our time with you. We deeply regret having to put you through this ordeal, though you did experience two weeks of incredible sex.
I purposely left you Naomi's plug. When you're alone, take a moment to carefully remove the jewel. Inside, there's something crucial that you must see.
Jake, please move on with your life and put this in the past. You are a wonderful man and you shouldn’t let this experience define you. If it's any comfort, what Emily felt for you was genuine. She struggled with her role in all of this, particularly toward the end.
With genuine fondness, Jessica
Jake crumpled the note in his fist, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. His mind reeled, fragments of memories flashing before him—Emily's odd mood and sad eyes as she left his apartment, the strange moments of disorientation at the party, Dr. Caldwell's soothing voice during their sessions. It all suddenly made horrifying sense.
He had been used. Manipulated. Programmed like some kind of human robot.
The crushing realization that none of it had been real—not the job, not the friendships, not the intimacy—sent him staggering backward until his bare back hit the wall. He slid down to the floor, his body numb with shock.
For several minutes, he sat there, naked and vulnerable, staring blankly at the empty room. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the bare floor, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air—the only movement in the stillness of his shattered reality.
Finally, Jake forced himself to his feet. With trembling fingers, he retrieved the butt-plug from where it had settled against the baseboard. He turned it over in his hands, examining the purple jewel and noticing a tiny seam around its edge. The seam was too tight to try and insert something to pry it off, so he placed his palm on the jewel and rotated it. After a quarter turn, the jewel popped free from its setting. Inside the hollow cavity was a small micro SD card.
His heart hammering in his chest, Jake stared at the tiny device. What could possibly be on it? More evidence of his unwitting participation in their scheme? Or perhaps something that could explain this madness? For a moment, he considered throwing it away, along with the plug and the crumpled note. He could walk out of this empty office and try to forget any of this had happened.
But curiosity won out. He needed to know.
Jake reattached the jewel to the plug and wandered, naked and dejected, back to the locker room and quickly dressed. Leaving the office, he stepped into the elevator and descended to the 7th floor. Deep down, he knew Dr. Caldwell’s office wouldn’t be there, but he felt an undeniable urge to confirm it for himself.
When he reached her office, it was just as he had suspected, completely empty. The waiting room where he had sat nervously before each session was stripped bare, the comfortable chairs and magazines gone. The door to her inner office stood ajar, revealing nothing but vacant space and the faint outline on the carpet where her desk and the chaise lounger had once been. Jake stood in the doorway, the silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of the building's ventilation system. He tried to remember details from his sessions with Dr. Caldwell, the moments when her voice took on that soothing, hypnotic quality, the times when he felt strangely disoriented and tired afterward; however, the memories were frustratingly vague, like trying to grasp smoke.
Jake made his way to the parking garage, his footsteps echoing in the concrete cavern. The drive home passed in a blur of traffic and half-formed thoughts. Back in his apartment, he poured himself a bourbon to steady his nerves and went straight to his laptop, inserting the micro SD card into the reader.
A single file named ‘Jake’ appeared on the screen. Jake hesitated, his cursor hovering over it. Whatever was on this card, he sensed it would change everything. With a deep breath, he double-clicked.
A pop-up box materialized requesting access to the webcam. Jake clicked ‘YES’.
The monitor suddenly went black, and a small, colorful spinning disc began to whirl at the center of the screen. After several long, anxious seconds, the monitor flickered, then burst into life, revealing a mysterious figure seated in a tall, wing-back leather chair. The room surrounding him was shrouded in darkness, with only a single dim light positioned in the background casting an eerie glow that illuminated the edges of the chair, leaving the figure’s face and features obscured in shadow.
The figure seated in the chair reached up and turned on a light, and the sight that met Jake's eyes left him utterly stunned. The man's face was older, etched with time and marked by faint scars. His dark hair was streaked with gray, but the visage that looked back at him was unmistakable. Jake's eyes widened in shock, his jaw dropping in disbelief.
"Hello, son," Stan Thompson greeted, his eyes twinkling with a familiar warmth and a smile spreading across his face.
"D… d… dad?" Jake stammered, his voice trembling with disbelief. His mind struggled to comprehend the impossible sight before him. His father had died fourteen years ago during a business trip abroad, a devastating event that had occurred when Jake was just a ten-year-old boy. The memory of that time was etched deeply into his heart, leaving a gaping void in Jake's life. Now, on the screen before him was the very image of the man he had lost, a ghost from his past that he never expected to see again. The memories of his father's warm embrace and gentle laughter flooded back, clashing with the impossibility of the moment.
"Yes, son, it's me. I know this must be quite a shock," Stan continued, his voice deep and familiar yet somehow changed, hardened by years Jake hadn't witnessed. "I know you have questions—many questions. First, let me assure you that this is not a recording or some type of video manipulation. I am speaking to you in real-time through a secure, untraceable connection."
Jake's mind reeled, his fingers gripping the edge of his desk to steady himself. The glass of liquor sat forgotten beside his laptop as he stared at the face of the man he'd mourned for over a decade. "This isn't possible," he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "This… this can't be real. You died. There was a funeral. Mother has an urn of your…," Jake’s words faded.
Stan's face shifted, a mix of regret and sorrow carving deeper lines around his eyes as he thought about missing his son growing up. "Jake, listen to me, let me explain.” Stan paused a beat to allow Jake’s attention to return. “I’m not sure if your mother ever mentioned it, but I was once the top financial analyst at Bower Investments. I worked there for years, and Franklin was my boss.”
Jake shook his head slowly, a faint crease forming on his brow. "No, no, Mother never mentioned that," he said, his voice softening as a distant memory from his childhood floated to the surface. He recalled the wistful look in her eyes whenever he asked questions about his father. "It made her sad to talk about you," he added, the words heavy with the weight of past emotions and unspoken stories.
Stan nodded, heartache in his eyes as he continued, “Jake, Franklin always had an unsettling interest in your mother. At every company event or if she came to visit me in the office, he hovered around her, giving her far too much attention. I tried to discuss it with Victoria, but she just laughed it off, saying I was imagining things.”
Jake picked up his glass and took a slow sip of the rich, amber liquid, his mind still spinning from the whirlwind of thoughts racing through it.
“Scotch?” his father inquired, his voice carrying a note of curiosity.
“Uh, no, bourbon,” Jake responded, a little taken aback by the unexpected question.
“Ah,” Stan smiled. “Anyway, fourteen years ago, Bower Investments acquired a new firm and Franklin asked me to go overseas to train them on our financial software system. I was there for two weeks and was on my way to the airport to come home when the cab I was in got ambushed, and I was taken hostage. I ended up spending over thirteen years in a foreign prison, only being released when the corrupt regime was overthrown. I found out Franklin was behind it all, that he had orchestrated the entire thing and that I was supposed to have been executed. I determined that he wanted me out of the way so that he could pursue your mother.”
"My God," Jake breathed, his hand trembling as he set down his glass. "You've been alive all this time?"
Stan's expression darkened, the shadows seeming to deepen around his eyes. "For over thirteen years, I rotted in a cell, Jake, my life stolen from me." His voice cracked slightly. "I missed watching you grow up, your graduations, your first job, everything. And all the while, that bastard Franklin was playing house with my family."
Tears welled up in Jake’s eyes. He turned his head away, trying to shield his emotions from view, and drew in a deep, steadying breath to regain his composure. After a moment, he faced the screen again. "So you… you orchestrated all of this? The con, the theft, everything?"
"I've spent the last year planning Franklin's downfall," Stan confirmed, his voice hardening with resolve. "I assembled the best team money could buy. The woman you knew as Nina Caldwell wasn't just a therapist—she's one of the most skilled psychological manipulators in the world. Margaret and her girls are master grifters who specialize in long-term cons. They created an entire fake company, complete with false histories, backgrounds and clients, all to get close to you and ultimately, to Franklin."
Jake felt sick to his stomach. "But you used me," Jake said, his voice breaking. "They turned me into a puppet, made me rob my own family."
"Franklin is not your family," Stan's voice turned cold as steel. "That bastard destroyed our lives, Jake. He stole fourteen years of my life, fourteen years with you and your mother. He deserved everything he got."
Jake ran his hands through his hair, trying to process the magnitude of what his father was telling him. "What happened to him?" Jake asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
Stan's smile was devoid of warmth. "Let's just say he'll never hurt anyone again. He's finally paying for what he did to us."
Jake stared at the screen, his emotions swirling like a chaotic storm—joy, anger, confusion, and grief all crashing against each other. “I… I don't understand," he stammered, his voice trembling. "If you have been in prison, where did you get the funds to pull this off?”
A broad smile slowly spread across his father’s face, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I had a benefactor," he replied cryptically. Just then, a shadow moved from the edge of the screen, and a figure entered the frame, bending down next to his father.
"Hello, Jacob," his mother said, her face radiant with a warmth and joy he had not seen in years, her eyes sparkling as she gazed into the camera.
"M-Mother?" he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. "What… how…” Jake's mind spun as he struggled to comprehend this new revelation. The bourbon in his glass trembled as his hand shook. "Wait, you knew? All this time, you knew he was alive?"
"No, darling," Victoria's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I only found out three months ago. Stan reached out to me through an intermediary. At first, I thought it was some cruel joke, but then…" Her voice caught. "Then he sent me proof. Things only he would know."
"It took some convincing," Stan admitted. "Your mother didn't believe me at first."
"Can you blame me?" Victoria retorted, though there was no real anger in her voice. "My supposedly dead husband contacts me out of the blue after thirteen years?"
Jake watched them interact, noting the easy familiarity between them—a connection that had somehow survived years of separation and believed death. "Your mother was devastated when she learned the truth," Stan added, placing his hand over Victoria's where it rested on his shoulder. "She had no idea what Franklin had done."
Victoria's voice cracked. "All these years, I believed the lies Franklin told me. That your father had died in an accident overseas. He even arranged for the funeral and for the remains to be cremated." Her voice hardened. "He used my grief to worm his way into my life, to take advantage of my vulnerability. And I let him."
Jake felt dizzy with the rapid succession of revelations. He sank into his chair, setting his glass on the desk. "So the money… all those billions…"
"Will be returned," Stan assured him. "We made sure that every penny that belonged to legitimate investors and charities could be easily tracked down by the authorities. The only funds we kept were Franklin's personal fortune, which amounted to a little less than a billion dollars. It was money that he had accumulated through decades of cunning fraud and ruthless exploitation."
“Jake, honey,” Victoria said, her voice wrapped in a motherly warmth he hadn't heard since he was a boy. “We are so sorry for having to keep this from you and for the way you were used like a pawn in a game you didn't know you were playing. But we genuinely believed that the ends justified the means. I hope that with the knowledge you now possess, you can find it in your heart to forgive us."
A single tear escaped from the corner of Jake’s eye and rolled down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away. "So what happens now?" Jake asked, his voice a little steadier as the initial shock began to recede.
Stan and Victoria explained their plan as Jake listened intently, occasionally asking questions and making suggestions. When the discussion was completed and they said their goodbyes, Jake sat there staring at the darkened screen, contemplating everything. He felt emotionally drained, as if he'd lived through a lifetime in the span of a single conversation.
The apartment fell silent around him, the weight of revelation settling like dust after an explosion. Jake poured himself another bourbon and walked to the window, staring out at the city below. People moved about their daily lives, oblivious to the fact that his entire world had just been turned upside down and reconstructed in ways he never could have imagined.
The sound of his phone ringing cut through his contemplation. He glanced at the caller ID and saw an unknown number.
"Hello?" he answered cautiously.
"Mr. Thompson, Mr. Jacob Thompson? This is Special Agent Sarah Martinez with the FBI Financial Crimes Division. I'd like to schedule a time to speak with you regarding your stepfather's disappearance."
—oOo—
As Jake gazed out the window of the airplane at the wispy clouds below, he reflected on the whirlwind of the past three months. As they had agreed, he had not spoken with his father since the shocking day when he discovered the astonishing truth that Stan Thompson, the parent he thought he had lost forever, was still very much alive.
The FBI had meticulously investigated and concluded that neither he nor his mother had any involvement in the elaborate financial fraud or the mysterious vanishing of Franklin Bower. Despite an ongoing international manhunt for Franklin, the FBI deemed the case essentially closed, as the pilfered funds had been successfully traced and recovered.
Victoria had meticulously cataloged and sold off the extensive collection of artwork and put the grand estate on the market, before setting off to begin her new life with her long believed dead husband.
When the plane landed, Jake gathered his luggage and made his way through the airport. The humid, tropical air hit him immediately as he stepped outside. Palm trees swayed gently in the ocean breeze, and the scent of salt water mixed with exotic flowers filled his nostrils.
He hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address his father had provided. The cab wound through narrow streets lined with colorful buildings, past local markets bustling with activity, until they reached the marina. Jake paid the fare and stepped out, carrying his bags as he walked down the long wooden dock. Boats of various sizes and shapes bobbed gently in their slips, the sailboat masts creating a forest of white poles against the brilliant blue sky.
At the end of the dock sat an impressive yacht, its sleek white hull gleaming in the afternoon sun. The name ‘Second Chance’ was painted in elegant script across the stern. Standing on the deck of the boat, holding hands and watching him approach, were his reunited parents.
As Jake drew closer, he could see the broad smile spreading across his father's face. The years of hardship had weathered Stan Thompson's features, but his eyes—the same striking blue that Jake saw in his own reflection—sparkled with life and joy. Beside him, Victoria looked radiant, relaxed in a way Jake hadn't witnessed since his childhood.
Jake felt a lump forming in his throat as he quickened his pace along the dock, his footsteps echoing on the wooden planks. When he reached the yacht, Stan extended his hand to help Jake aboard, but instead of taking it, Jake dropped his bags and pulled his father into a fierce embrace.
"Dad," he whispered, the word feeling both foreign and familiar on his lips. Stan's arms tightened around him, and Jake could feel his father's body trembling slightly with emotion.
Victoria joined the embrace, completing the family circle that had been broken for so long. Jake closed his eyes, allowing himself to be enveloped in the warmth of his parents' love, feeling like a child again.
When they finally separated, Stan picked up Jake’s bags. “Come along, son, I’ll show you to your stateroom.” He led Jake below deck, where polished wood paneling and soft lighting created a cozy atmosphere. "This is your cabin," Stan said, placing Jake's luggage on the floor. "Your mother insisted on making it perfect for you."
Jake glanced around the spacious stateroom, noting the fresh flowers on the small desk and the neatly made bed with its crisp white linens. A photo frame stood on the bedside table – an old family picture from before everything fell apart, when Jake was just a boy. He picked it up, running his thumb over the smiling faces frozen in time.
"We have a lot to catch up on," Stan said, his voice thick with emotion. "But for now, why don’t you get changed and head up to the sundeck and pour yourself a cocktail. I need to go see the captain and let him know we are ready to go.”
Jake nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. His father gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaving him to settle in. Alone in the cabin, Jake sat on the edge of the bed, emotions washing over him in waves. The betrayal he'd felt at being manipulated and his longing for Emily still lingered, but it was gradually being overshadowed by something else – the miraculous gift of having his father back.
Placing the picture back on the nightstand, Jake rummaged through his luggage and changed into casual shorts and a light shirt. He made his way to the sundeck, where he found a small well stocked bar with top shelf liquor and mixers. The yacht's engines hummed to life beneath his feet as he poured himself a rum and Coke, the ice clinking pleasantly against the glass.
He heard a soft noise behind him and turned around to find a young woman standing there, wearing a vibrant pink bikini. Her once long, silky dark hair was now cut shorter, framing her face in a new way. Her eyes, now a warm hazel, replaced the bright blue ones he had passionately gazed into, and gone were the glasses that used to perch on her pert nose. She took a step towards him and extended her hand with the friendly smile he knew so well. “Hello, Jake, I’m Claire.”
Thanks for reading. Likes and favorites are greatly appreciated, and your comments are always welcome.
