FEND AEROSPACE SET TO MAKE HISTORY
The article was kind. It painted Charles in the best light possible. It could have been much worse had the controversy with his son made headlines.
Charles was sick with worry about Max.
The FBI was saying that Max was linked to the hacking, and that there were possible ties to a terror-linked group in Syria.
Charles knew that couldn’t be true. But he still didn’t understand why Max had run from the FBI. Seeing the footage of those motorcycles racing across the bridge out of Washington, D.C., was shocking. He wished he could have talked some sense into his son. Whatever the trouble he was in, there was nothing worth the risk that he was taking. And there was nothing his father wouldn’t forgive. Charles just didn’t want something awful to happen to Max.
He wondered if this all wasn’t his fault somehow. Perhaps he had pampered Max too much. He had shown so much promise as a boy. Max had buried himself in his studies and athletics at his elite prep school. Princeton had introduced him to a great group of friends, and a world of opportunities. But college also introduced young men to a world of temptation. Charles worried about the choices his son had made as an adult. This generation today…
After Max graduated college, he had worked for the Department of Defense for a few years in Washington. Charles hadn’t understood why he had chosen that path. His father could have helped Max get into the best business or law school, if that was what he wanted to pursue. He could have helped him get a job at one of the Big Three consulting firms, or something on Wall Street. Charles’s network was world-class.
But Max hadn’t wanted any of that. He’d wanted to try something on his own. Charles admired that spirit, in a way. He’d given his son the benefit of the doubt. But then Max had abruptly left the Department of Defense and traveled to Europe to work as a freelance consultant. He had taken money from his trust fund and bought a home in the South of France, sparing no expense. Charles should have objected, but hadn’t. He still didn’t know why.
That’s when the stories had started rolling in about Max’s wild parties and behavior. He sounded like he was out of control. It got bad enough that board members had mentioned it to Charles. They didn’t want to see Max someday inherit the company if he was really as wild as depicted.
So Charles had flown to France, hoping to stage an intervention. The father and son had spent a week together, hiking along the Nietzsche Path near the medieval village of Eze. Walking along the path, seven hundred feet over the Mediterranean Sea, they spoke candidly about their lives.
Charles watched his son easily navigate the steep path, shaded by olive trees and tall oaks. Max looked tan, fit, and in good spirits. Healthy and in control. It didn’t match up with the persona that was being portrayed in the media. But he seemed down about something. Bothered.
Later that day, they sat at an outdoor restaurant near the seaside town square, sharing a bowl of steamed mussels and fries. Charles confronted his son about the stories he had heard. He told him that he was worried that Max would end up wasting his life here in France. He didn’t want him to succumb to the temptation wealthy children often faced. Max was better than that.
Max had told his father that he had expected the talk, but not to worry. Max assured him that things would change. He was thinking about leaving France and was interested in taking a more stable job in the States.
Charles had been incredibly relieved. He offered his son a job on the spot. Max told him that he thought he needed a business degree first. He didn’t want to walk into a company without the requisite knowledge and skill to do the job. While Charles wanted to ask him what the hell he had been doing out here if he wasn’t gaining any business skills, he let it go. Charles told his son he could join Fend Aerospace whenever he was ready. And if he wanted to earn another degree to help him prepare, that was absolutely fine.
Now Charles wondered just what it was that had triggered Max to make such a dramatic life change. While the direction was opposite, it was very similar to the way he’d suddenly dropped his DoD job. It was almost like someone else had instructed him to make the move. Like it was out of Max’s control…
“Mr. Fend, you have a phone call. Your sister, sir.”
Dolores? At this hour? Perhaps she was calling about the news article.
His assistant walked over and handed Charles his phone.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Charles. It’s Dolores. I would like to visit Mom’s grave today. I was wondering if you would join me?”
It wasn’t Dolores. It wasn’t her voice. He overcame the urge to ask who it was, because he was pretty sure that he knew.
“Of course. What time shall I meet you?”
“How about half past three? Will that work?”
“Sure thing.”
“Wonderful. And, Charles, I would really like to spend the time together, just the two of us. Please be a dear and come by yourself.”
“Will do.”
He hung up the phone and called to his assistant to have his car ready in the driveway.
“Which car, sir?”
“I’ll take the Mercedes.”
“Very well, sir.”
Charles looked at his wristwatch and thought carefully about what to do next. He knew what he wanted to do, and what he had agreed to do.
Duty won out.
He dialed the number from memory. The voice on the other end answered immediately.
“It’s me,” Charles said.
“What is it?”
“You were right. He called.”
Max and Renee pulled into the empty parking lot of a small private school. The kids were out for the summer, so no one would see them walk through the property.
Max looked at Renee. “You stay here. If you don’t hear from me in twenty minutes, leave and go back to the hotel. I’ll call you tonight.”
“Be careful,” she told him, affection in her voice.
Max smiled. “I’m always careful. That being said, if I don’t call…”
“You don’t need to tell me what to do in that situation. I’ll know.”
Max squeezed her shoulder and turned, closing the car door behind him. He walked through the school playground, ducking under a bright blue-and-red jungle gym. Fresh mulch covered the ground.
He hopped the white picket fence to the rear of the playground and walked through a grove of trees until he came to a flat open field.
The graveyard. His mother’s graveyard.
Max visited it about once per year, although normally he entered through the main drive. The entire cemetery was the size of four football fields put together. A few trees provided occasional shade, but most of it was wide-open field.
Max’s mother had died when he was very young, but he tried to keep her memory a meaningful part of his life. The grave markers were all flush with the ground. Simple granite, mostly. Max walked towards hers. A location he knew well.
The blistering hot Florida sun beat down on him from above. Her grave was just to the east of a large oak tree. He could see a figure standing over the spot. His father’s black Mercedes-Benz sedan was parked nearby.
Max didn’t see anyone else.
The figure was a man. That much was for sure. But he was facing away from Max. Max reached into his fanny pack and gripped his pistol with both hands. His eyes scanned the Mercedes, and the trees. Still no sign of anyone else.
The man turned to face him when Max was about thirty feet away. Max smiled.
For a moment.
The door of the Mercedes opened, about twenty-five yards away.
“Dad?”
“It’s alright, Max.”
Max stood his ground, still holding his concealed weapon. He shook his head. “Dad. Who else is here?”