While eating his breakfast, his phone dinged with a text. There it is. Derek checked the text.
SSA:
Date: 7-22-2051
UBI Number: 432-05-272
Derek Reeves
2200 E St. SE
Apartment 30
Washington, DC 20020
Your UBI benefit has been deposited into your account and is available for use.
Information About Current Universal Basic Income Benefits
Your current UBI benefit is 1,046.00 (We must round down to the whole Fed Coin).
Current Applied Additions and Deductions
UBI Starting Benefit: 2400
Dependents: None +0
Gender: Male -500
Ethnicity: Caucasian -500
Microchip Implantation: No -200
Criminal Record: None +600
Social Credit Score: 43 -428.22
Monetary Credit Score: 257 -325.32
While he ate, Derek summoned an AutoLyft with his phone. He finished his breakfast, washed the dishes, and left the apartment. He took the stairs. The elevator had been broken since he arrived, but the old brick building was only four stories anyway.
Outside, the temperature was already in the eighties, barely a cloud in the sky. Derek checked the time on his phone—8:05 a.m. The AutoLyft economy car parked along the curb, the exact time the app had stated. A beautiful young woman exited the vehicle, bleary-eyed, but dressed to the nines.
“Good morning, Derek,” said the dark-skinned woman.
“Morning, Destiny,” Derek replied, passing his neighbor on the way to the same AutoLyft, the AI smart enough to limit empty trips. Derek waved his chip card at the rear passenger door. It unlocked, and Derek entered the vehicle. He’d already set his destination, so the car drove toward Georgetown, eventually parking at the police station.
Derek went inside the precinct. Facial recognition cameras and a heavy-duty tablet built into the reception desk greeted him. A few officers milled around behind the bulletproof glass. The tablet was scratched, no doubt the object of frustration. Derek waved his chip card over the tablet, letting the department know he was here for his appointment.
Despite Detective Barrett’s annoyance, Derek kept a standing appointment with the detective every Monday at 8:30 a.m. for the past eight months, each meeting lasting approximately two seconds, just long enough to say, “Nothing new.”
Derek sat in the empty waiting area, which was nothing more than a line of plastic chairs. Despite their agreed-upon time, Barrett often made Derek wait up to an hour before delivering those same two words. A tall woman in a pantsuit approached the waiting area, making a beeline for Derek. He stood, his heart rate increasing, wondering if they had found April.
“Mr. Reeves?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“I’m Detective Osgood.”
They shook hands.
“Where’s Detective Barrett?” Derek asked.
“He retired,” she replied.
Derek cocked his head in confusion. “Why didn’t he tell me that last week?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have any news about April Murphy?”
She nodded. “I’ve moved her case from active to cold.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, we won’t work on the case unless we find new evidence.”
“How are you gonna find new evidence if you’re not lookin’ for it?”
She placed her hands on her hips. “We probably won’t.”
“So, that’s it?”
The detective spoke faster, obviously eager to end the conversation. “I appreciate your interest in this case, but I won’t have these weekly meetings like Detective Barrett. It’s a waste of my time and yours.”
“What if I only came by once a month?”
She shook her head. “No, Mr. Reeves.”
“Please, Detective.”
“Have a nice day.” She turned and went back into the restricted area of the police station.
Derek went back outside and sat in his appointed AutoLyft, thinking about April. He’d been fixated on finding her. He knew that. But what else did he have? The farm was gone. So were Ricky and Carlos. His parents were dead. He had no wife. His only child, Lindsey, was a Roth now. He tapped on his phone, searching for Rex Barrett, Washington, DC. Maybe Barrett can talk more about the case now that he’s retired.
Derek found three listings on a People Finder site. Two were too young, but one was fifty-four, which seemed about right. He spent ten Fed Coins to purchase the report that promised Barrett’s address and familial information. Apparently, Detective Barrett lived in Northeast on Trinidad Avenue and was married with two college-age kids. Derek sent the AutoLyft toward Northeast.
The AutoLyft stopped in front of the four-unit brick building on Trinidad Avenue. Derek walked to the front door and pulled. It was locked. He pressed the buzzer for unit three. No answer. He tried several more times. Still no answer. Derek sat on the stoop and waited. Nearly an hour later, an old woman exited the front door.
Derek stood and said, “Hi—”
“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want it,” the woman said.
“I was lookin’ for Detective Barrett. I’m an old friend. I thought he lived here?”
“Used to. Whole family up and moved out a few days ago. They kept me up all night.”
Derek furrowed his brows. “They moved at night?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Any idea where they went?”
“I asked his wife that. She wasn’t real specific. Just said Central America. It was obvious she didn’t wanna talk about it. Can you believe that? We’ve been neighbors for twenty-two years, and she won’t even tell me where they’re going. You think you know people.”
42
Jacob’s Swiss Family Reunion
Jacob stood by himself, the sun warming his face, the manicured lawn soft under his feet. His hands rested on the wrought-iron railing as he gazed at the sparkling blue lake below and the Swiss Alps in the background. His extended family laughed and talked and plotted and schemed. It was in the mid-eighties, hot enough for most of his relatives to retreat under the outdoor gazebo, but he welcomed the sun and the soothing effect of her rays.
Lindsey walked away from the lake, a towel around her body, her hair wet. She walked on the forest path alone, hugging herself. The family reunion hadn’t been easy on her. She had received a few snide comments and thinly veiled insults. She’d overheard one cousin tell another that she was a gold digger, just like her mother. Another said she’d never be a Roth because it wasn’t in her blood.
Jacob walked away from the mansion, toward Lindsey, hoping to intercept her before she disappeared into the guest house. They called it the guest house, but it was every bit as large as Jacob’s Virginia estate, yet tiny in comparison to the Roth mansion.
“You okay?” Jacob asked as he approached.
Lindsey stood on the front stoop of the guest house. She turned toward her father with red, puffy eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m the only one who’s stock.” A tear snaked down the side of her nose.
“That’s not true. Your mother and I are natural born too—and all the adults for that matter.”
“I’m the only kid though. Everyone’s smarter than me. And prettier. And just … better. I don’t belong.”
Jacob moved closer, now within touching distance. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Lindsey wiped her eyes.