Page 4

CHAPTER 4

MARCUS, AGE 14

“Dad?”

I huff a breath at the sight of my dad passed out on the couch. He told me he was going to rest for a minute, but he’s been asleep for almost an hour. I feel bad. He’s exhausted, and I know he’s feeling down about the store closing.

All around me are boxes of random sports equipment that he’s been working on selling online. It’s practically a full-time job offloading all the stuff that didn’t sell at the liquidation sale. And that’s on top of the two jobs he’s been working. I don’t know how bad it is, because no one tells me anything real, only “it’s going to be okay” and “we’ll get through this together,” but I know we’re in serious debt. I’ve seen the bills and overdue notices that come in the mail.

True to his word, my dad didn’t go down without a fight. He put everything he had into fighting AJames Enterprises, and for a minute, I thought he might succeed. He had the majority of the town on his side, but the town council signed off on the project. I overheard him telling my mom that the board members were likely paid off, but he couldn’t prove it in time to stop the wrecking crew.

Two smaller boxes on the coffee table are supposed to go up to the spare room that is used as storage and a place for guests to sleep. Figuring it’s one thing I can do to help, I pick up the boxes and trudge upstairs. The door to the room is open, and several boxes have already been pulled out of the closet. I shake my head at how tragically unorganized my dad is. But that’s why he has me. I used to go to the store and file all his paperwork and receipts for him, so I have an idea of what needs to be done here.

With a stack of empty folders, masking tape, and a marker for labelling, I get to work organizing the mess of files my dad brought home from the store. If I don’t take care of this now, he’ll be beyond stressed when it comes time to do taxes.

An hour into the project, I think I’ve got all the stuff for the business organized and packed away so we can find it easily when we need it again. Stacking the boxes neatly, I slide them into the back corner of the closet, so the labels are facing out. The bottom box hits something that I can’t see. There’s a long coat or something in the way.

I pull the obstructing item, another box, out of the corner and rearrange the file boxes, then start packing everything else back into the closet. The box I pulled out earlier is a different size and shape than the rest of the file boxes, so it’s not going to fit as neatly as I like. It’s a file box with a handle, but it’s made out of fabric or covered cardboard rather than the uniform plastic filing boxes I’ve moved the rest of the files to.

The case isn’t secured at all, so I open it and start digging through the contents, trying to figure out where to incorporate everything into my new system. It only takes me a minute to realize that none of this is household or tax related. I’ve stumbled on some of my dad’s personal stuff. I feel a bit guilty poking around in his pictures and memories, but now that I’ve opened it, I’m curious.

Most of the photos are of my dad, maybe a few years older than I am now, and another boy who is likely closer to my age. The boy looks familiar, but I gloss over him to stare at my dad and grandma, who died when my dad was a teenager. These pictures were probably taken only a couple of years before her car accident. Oh, and this one must be of her wedding, and the house they lived in. Holy cow. He never said they were rich. But all these pictures were taken at some kind of mansion, with a pool. In one of the pictures, the boys are a bit older, but they’re sitting only a foot away from each other, legs dangling in the pool.

Why haven’t I seen these pictures before, and why would he hide them?

In one of the file folders, the top page is a letter typed on thick stationery with the AJames Enterprises logo at the top. The heading says, “ Notice of Cease and Desist ”.

"Hey Marc, you up there?"

"Yeah, Dad! I'm in the office!"

Startled at my dad's voice and footsteps moving up the stairs, I scramble to put everything back inside the file box, it back into the farthest corner of the closet before he steps into the room.

"Hey bud, what's all this?"

"I just did a little organizing."

"Have I ever told you that you're my favorite child?"

"I'm your only child," I point out, grinning.

"Doesn't make it less true." He sighs. "Man, I'm beat. What do you say we order pizza for dinner so I don't have to cook?"

"Aren't we supposed to be saving money and not eating out?"

"We'll do pick up instead of delivery, and there's a two for one special, so it's a good deal. Come on, we can handle a pizza night."

Despite knowing better, because I just spent the last few hours filing financial documents, I force a smile. He looks so exhausted, I can't bear to argue with him.

But the contents of that box stay with me for a long time, raising questions about my father and his connection to AJames Enterprises.