“It’s only a few weeks, sir. And I’ve got the time.”
“Of course, Gould, I know that. I’m sure you’ve got more time than anyone. In fact, have you ever taken a day off?” Sterling Roberts shook his head in answer to his own question. “It’s not that. It’s just, well, I’ve gotten used to having you around. I rely on you, Gould, more than almost anyone else.”
“That’s very kind of you to say, sir, very kind.”
“And with the reunion coming up, I’ve just been feeling a little, well, anxious. Just a little uneasy.”
“I’m sure that’s common, sir. But don’t forget, you’ll be by far the most successful person there. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Of course, but just the same, I wish you weren’t leaving.” Roberts waved a hand in front of his face as if to banish his last comment. “But you’ve got the time and you should take it.”
“Very good, sir. And if that will be all?”
“Go on,” Roberts said, waving Gould out of the office with both hands and forcing a laugh. And with that Gould was gone and Roberts felt more alone than he had since the day the enigmatic man had arrived nearly a year ago.
Of course he hadn’t asked Gould what he’d be doing on his vacation. That wasn’t the type of relationship they had. Gould took care of business, the kind that most people didn’t, or couldn’t, know about, and Roberts rewarded him handsomely for it. He didn’t know how Gould spent the money, where he lived, if he had a family, if he was straight or queer or something else entirely. Maybe Gould was traveling. Maybe to a tropical island somewhere. He couldn’t picture Gould in a Hawaiian shirt or swim trunks. He couldn’t picture him in anything but that black funereal suit because that’s all he ever saw him in. He couldn’t imagine Gould being anywhere but with him. It wasn’t that Gould was a father figure. Roberts had a father and a pretty great one at that. In fact, he had two wonderful parents who’d given him everything he ever wanted and set him up for a life filled with success and prosperity, and even a modicum of fame among those who worshiped the ultra-wealthy. No, Gould wasn’t the parent he needed. But need him he did. Gould took care of things the way no one else had ever been able to. He never asked any questions and he never raised any concerns. He was completely drama-free. Gould was like a fairy godmother. No, more a genie in that he had just sort of appeared one day. Roberts laughed silently at the thought of rubbing a lamp and out popping Gould. Maybe he was more like an AI-assisted device, but one that does much more than tell you the exact date of the Battle of Hastings.
Roberts checked the Bloomberg terminal, looked at some emails, scrolled through Twitter. His stomach ached and he was sweating. It couldn’t just be the reunion. He was looking forward to it. He hadn’t been together with all his brothers–Tag, Bennett, and Parker—in years. No, something else was going on. He could have told Gould no. Obviously he had that kind of power. He had denied vacations to hundreds of employees and not one voiced any objection. But this was Gould, and if anyone deserved some time off it was him. Then he thought of the phone, the one he made sure Gould had on him at all times. It was a phone that only he could call. He could call it anytime, and when he did, Gould would stop whatever it was he was doing and address whatever situation Roberts needed him to address. That phone, like a loaded gun that Roberts knew would eventually go off.
***
Even after the delicious dinner that Consuela made, that he enjoyed with his glamorous wife and two angelic daughters, Roberts still felt uneasy. He retired to his study and poured himself a Macallan’s, an appropriately expensive gift he’d received from a grateful senator. But the 50-year-old scotch did little to alleviate the pain in his stomach that had become a burning sensation. He fingered the phone in his pocket when the ringing of his regular iPhone startled him.
It was a reporter from TMZ. “Mr. Roberts, do you have a comment?”
“A comment on what?” Roberts said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the agitation out of his voice.
“Tag Larsen,” the reporter said. “Didn’t you hear?”
Tag died of a heroin overdose on the set of his latest movie. It really was inevitable but it still hit Roberts hard. He’d tried unsuccessfully over the years, they all had, to get him into a rehab program. Poor Tag. So talented, so handsome, so clever and charming, and now dead just 10 years after they had graduated. Tag, always the life of the party. The most beloved member of the frat. Roberts put his head in his hands and cried for his lost friend.
The next day he arrived at the office early, unable to sleep. He phoned his wife. “I need you to fire Consuela.”
“But why, she’s wonderful, and she’s the only one we’ve had who actually can make food the girls will eat.”
“Her cooking, I think it’s doing something to my stomach. I really need you to do this.”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Honey, please, just do it.” He hung up quickly and already felt better. His friends said Roberts’ wife was the CEO of their household. That was the joke, but it was true. She kept it all running seamlessly, made his life so easy. She dealt with the nannies, the maids, the gardeners, the drivers, and now she would need to get a new cook. Beyond that she was beautiful and knew exactly how to behave at business and social events. She knew when to be witty and when to be silent. All Roberts’ cronies, his peers if you will, though in truth he was peerless, cheated on their wives. They had mistresses, frequented high-end call-girls, and some even had entirely separate families in different cities or countries. Not Roberts, and while he knew it would never get him any type of humanitarian award, he was pleased with himself for being faithful. When asked why by an incredulous colleague he would usually make the old steak-hamburger joke. And it was true, his wife was the best, most expensive cut of meat, comparable to that Wagyu he’d had in Tokyo several trips ago. No need for a Big Mac when you had that to come home to. Yes he was pleased, pleased and proud of himself.
The day went smoothly and he barely thought of Gould. No crises to avert. No reaching for that phone. The hurdle to the deal with the Saudis had been eliminated. The SEC, he was guaranteed, planned to rule in his favor. The circuit court was on his side. Victory after victory after victory, the way he was used to.
He was even able to get out early enough to make it to the girls’ ballet recital. He prided himself on attending as many of their activities as possible. The other parents marveled at how a man of such stature would always make time for piano concerts, gymnastics competitions, and swim meets. His wife beamed at him. The girls danced wonderfully. That night he didn’t check any work emails, didn’t have a late-night drink. He had vigorous sex with his wife and slept through to the morning. Maybe Gould’s vacation was good for both of them.
***
Parker Linton was the top lobbyist for the logging industry. Despite all his success he was still as wild as he’d been during their fraternity days. Was he on his third or fourth wife? Roberts couldn’t keep track.
“Sterling, my man, I’m down here in D.C. but I can’t wait to see you at the reunion. Get the shots of Jagermesiter lined up.”
Roberts laughed and quickly shooed his secretary out of the office. “I’ll do my best to keep up with you.” Roberts could hear traffic sounds over the phone. He pictured his friend strolling down K Street, a place where Roberts had finalized so many important deals over the years.
“You better,” Parker said. “And you’ll get to meet Alyona. You’ll love her. She’s a total smoke show.”
“I’m sure she is,” Roberts said, laughing again. If anyone could bring a smile to his face it was Linton. Then he remembered what had just happened the previous night. “God, that was awful about Tag.”
“Yeah,” Parker said, “I can’t believe he’s gone. I…”
The phone went dead. Roberts waited a minute for Linton to call back. When he didn’t, Roberts hit the return-call symbol. A woman answered. She sounded out of breath as if she had been running. In the background Roberts heard yelling and sirens.
“Who is this?”
The woman was hysterical. “Oh my God. Oh my God. It was horrible.”
“Miss, please calm down. I was just talking to my friend. That’s his phone you have. What happened?”
“Oh my God, he just fell.” She was screaming so loudly Roberts had to hold the phone away from his ear. “He just fell off the sidewalk right in front of that truck.”
Parker held on for a few hours but at the hospital he had a massive heart attack caused by the severe trauma of his injuries. Roberts sat in his study that night just staring at the computer screen. He poured a third glass of scotch. His hand rubbed at his aching mid-section. He wanted to call Gould, wanted it more than anything. But what could Gould do? Could he build a time machine so Roberts could go back and save his friends, prevent Tag’s overdose, Parker’s freak mishap? Gould couldn’t fix this. Nobody could. Instead Roberts called a different number.
***
They were the four horsemen, the four musketeers, the fab four, the fantastic four. By senior year they ruled the best, most admired, and most powerful fraternity on campus. Roberts, Tag, Linton, and Bennett Royce. They were all inseparable but Bennett was Roberts’ true best friend. They were the most alike and while they all found success after college, it was Roberts and Bennett who had reached that rarified stratosphere where so many aspire to and so few land. Bennett was in town for work. In fact, Roberts was going to fly him to the reunion on one of his private planes. But he needed to see him immediately, tonight. Bennett suggested Roberts stop by his hotel suite for a drink, then they could hit the Palm for a late dinner.
Roberts was very familiar with the downtown Four Seasons. He took the elevator up to the penthouse suite and called out to his friend. The luxurious living room area was dark, as was the bedroom. A small sliver of light shone from the nearly closed bathroom door. Roberts tentatively pushed it open. He gasped, put a hand over his mouth, then staggered backwards and ran out of the suite. His friend was hanging from the light fixture, the shower curtain having been fashioned into a noose. Roberts’ elevator hadn’t even arrived at the lobby when Gould answered the private call. “Of course, sir, I’ll be right there.”
***
It was just the two of them on the luxurious private plane. Roberts’ wife would fly to the reunion separately the next day. He was going up early for a ceremony in which the business school would be renamed for him. Roberts had donated generously over the years. He thought it was important to give back to the institution that had done so much to make him the man he was. Roberts felt a great sense of accomplishment. He also felt more relaxed than he ever could have imagined, especially after the events of the last few days. It was Gould. Just having him back had righted the ship. Of course his three best friends were gone but life goes on. He owed it to his wife, his daughters, and most of all the shareholders to keep it together. And he couldn’t have done it without Gould. He felt the slightest twinge of guilt at having cut short the man’s vacation but he was the boss after all.
Roberts put down his copy of the Wall Street Journal, took a sip of his scotch. Should he offer Gould a drink? He’d likely just turn it down, being such a conscientious employee. And why waste the good stuff on an underling.
“So Gould, it’s just the two of us and we’ve got a bit of a flight ahead of us. What do you say you tell me a little about yourself.” Roberts had meant it as a question but he realized it came out sounding more like a command.
“Sir?”
“You know, anything. Do you have any hobbies? What about family? I don’t even know if there’s a Mrs. Gould.”
Gould’s mouth turned up at the corners in a slightly amused smile, accentuating the crow’s feet near his pale blue eyes that turned down sadly at the corners. Roberts realized he had no idea how old Gould was but now realized he must be at least pushing 60.
“I did, sir, have a wife. Sarah.” Gould looked at Roberts for a signal that he should continue. “We were married for 22 years. I still remember the day she left.” Gould shook his head sadly. “The second hardest of my life.”
Roberts was amazed and delighted that Gould was opening up to him. It was much more entertaining than the stock market news. “Second hardest?” he asked to encourage the man to continue sharing. But Gould didn’t seem to need encouragement.
“We had a son, Eli. A sweet and loving boy but a bit different. These days he would likely be diagnosed as being on the spectrum.”
Roberts nodded. “I see,” he said. “The girls have a boy in their grade who has something like that. Terrible. Not easy for the parents. I count myself lucky at how normal my girls are. Don’t think for a second that I take it for granted.”
“Of course not, sir. I know how much your family means to you.”
Roberts smiled at finally being recognized for the great family man he was. “So you were saying about your boy, Eli was it?”
“Yes, Eli, sir. And as I said, a wonderful son in so many ways but he struggled socially. Sarah was incredible with him. She had such patience. But it was a strain on our marriage. I thought she babied him, protected him too much. She insisted he needed her protection.”
“It’s the difference between us,” Roberts interrupted. “Women and men. Maybe it’s carrying the child for nine months. But I know what you’re talking about. Of course with girls it’s different. You have a whole different set of things to worry about.”
“Yes sir, I’m sure.”
“But anyhow, so was that it, what broke up your marriage? If so, you’ve nothing to feel bad about.”
“Thank you, sir. And I suppose that ultimately was it. We weren’t even sure if Eli would be able to go to college. Don’t get me wrong, he did very well in school but there was that whole social component.”
Roberts refilled his glass. His hand instinctively rubbed his stomach where a dull ache was again forming. The damn reunion, he thought.
Gould continued. “But he got into a very good school and I convinced Sarah that we should let him go. And things were going well, at first.”
Roberts squirmed in his seat. Something was nagging at the back of his cranium but he didn’t know what or why. And his stomach was now in full revolt. He downed the last of his drink and refilled the glass. “So a happy ending after all,” he said, for now he wanted the story to be done. He wanted Gould to just sit there silently, to function as a part of the plane’s decor.
“I said ‘at first. Things went well at first’,” Gould said in the corrective, condescending manner that reminded Roberts of his least favorite elementary school teacher, Mrs. McGrath. He hated her and now he hated Gould and the sound of the man’s monotone delivery.
Gould, seemingly unaware of the change in his boss’s attitude, continued. “Then, out of the blue, Eli tells us he’s joining a fraternity. He says the brothers specifically picked him to pledge. I was thrilled that my son was doing so well. I deluded myself into thinking that all his social disorders had suddenly vanished and he would emerge as a popular, well-adjusted young man. But Sarah knew it was a bad idea. She told me we had to tell him no, that he couldn’t join the fraternity. She said it would be a disaster for a boy like Eli. I convinced her to give it a chance.”
Roberts couldn’t take this mawkish, maudlin story any longer. He picked up his newspaper forcefully and opened it so that Gould was completely blocked from his vision. “That’s enough, Gould. I’ve got work to do.”
Gould ignored him. It was as if Roberts, by encouraging the man to open up, had unleashed a monologue that would never end. “Of course Sarah was right. The fraternity chose Eli as a joke, someone they could mess with, someone they could torture, a small, defenseless animal. So while all the pledges were put through hell, our son got by far the worst of it. And, of course, Eli Gould was the least equipped to deal with it.”
The glass of scotch and the newspaper slipped from Roberts’ hands. Eli Gould? Eli Gould! “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Roberts screamed. He was now doubled over in pain. “I order you to shut the hell up.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I need to finish,” Gould said. “That final night of rushing, before the pledges were chosen, the fraternity threw its biggest bash of the year. You remember, don’t you, sir? Tag, Bennett, Parker, and you, the ringleader, the master of ceremonies, the CEO. They all followed you, willingly of course. But it was your idea I’d find out later, after interviewing some of the other frat brothers and students who had been at the party. They wouldn’t talk to the police but as you know, sir, I have a way of getting things done, a way of getting people to tell me things. So I found out it was your idea to have poor Eli take all his clothes off, your idea to force a bottle of Jack Daniels down his throat, your idea to make him parade through the party naked and drunk out of his mind and terrified. I hear he started screaming and pulling at his hair. Someone said he was pulling it out in blood-encrusted chunks. He did it so many times as a child, the high-pitched wailing, then the hair pulling, then just taking off at full speed. God, that boy could really fly once he got going. I remember once chasing him for blocks after he’d fled a supermarket, just barely catching him before he ran into oncoming traffic.” Gould paused for a moment, almost savoring the painful memory. “But this time there was no one to save him when he raced out of the house at full speed, head first right into that old oak tree on the fraternity house lawn.” Gould shook his head wearily and got up from his seat.
Roberts by this point was writhing in pain. “How are you gonna do it? How are you gonna make this one look like an accident? You can’t just crash the plane. The pilot will stop you. What are you planning?”
Gould was nearing the emergency door. “It’s done, sir. It will ultimately look like a burst appendix. A very slow-acting toxin I started administering on my very first day on the job. I’d already waited so long by that point, what was another year.”
Roberts looked at the bottle of scotch. “Please, Gould, please. You’ve gotten to know me. I thought we were friends. You must have some regrets?”
Gould grimaced and took a threatening step toward Roberts. “Did you, Sterling, have any regrets?”
“I never cheated,” Roberts said. He was trying to shout but his voice was by now barely a whisper. “I was faithful. I went to ballet recitals. I gave back.” And that was that, the last feeble bit of a defense that he was able to mount.
Gould strapped on a parachute and opened the emergency door. Roberts, he thought, should have asked him sooner about his hobbies.
[Image Credit : Photo by NEOM on Unsplash ]
by 
Simon Nadel
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