Chronicles Of An Academic Predator - 11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

June 20, 1962

Northern Indiana

“Happy Birthday,” Stefan said to me in English, sounding justifiably proud of how well he said that. It was truly remarkable how quickly he was picking up our confusing language.

“So you say,” I said, being grumpy. He gave me a patronizing look, as if to humor my bad mood, and that made me grimace. Personally, I found no reason to celebrate birthdays, and I was particularly averse to celebrating my own. I didn’t like having all the attention focused on me, and I found this emphasis on the mile markers of the road of life to be disturbing. It reminded me that I was getting older, and while I wasn’t afraid of aging, I was afraid of running out of time. There was so much I wanted to do with my life. Today, the age issue was a bit more obnoxious, since the guy next to me in the car, the guy I'd been having virtually non-stop sex with, was now officially 10 years younger than me. I tried to find something positive to focus on, and decided that the fact that I’d spend most of my day in the car, driving to Claremont, and thus I’d be able to dodge much of the hubbub surrounding this life event, was some small consolation.

I pondered my last thought, that I’d mentally logged this journey as a trip to Claremont. In the past, I would have never thought of it as going back to “Claremont,” I would have thought of it as going “home.” That had all changed now. I'd been to my condo, bonded with it, and now it was my home. Claremont had fallen in status; it was just a place I went to visit my parents and relatives. It was a truly monumental rite of passage, one that was only now dawning on me. I decided not to think about it too much, so it didn't make me too introspective and bad company on the drive.

The trip passed much too quickly. The conversation between Stefan and me was friendly and relaxed. I guess I'd been right: getting us out of Claremont and off to ourselves had given us time to get to know each other, and get comfortable around each other. But we both knew that we'd be back in Claremont soon, and that things between us would change again. Hopefully we'd be able to solidify our friendship. I cringed at the possibility that we'd return to the animosity that we started out with.

I decided to go ahead and drive to our house first. We rolled in around 4:00 pm, and Tonto's huge white Imperial was parked in front, which seemed to validate coming straight here. I parked in back, where Sammy was out sweeping the walk. Stefan made a point to walk over and say hi, and shake his hand. His English was improving exponentially, and he even carried on a brief conversation with Sam. Sam looked at me with a question on his face, and I just shrugged my shoulders. It was a nonchalant gesture that hid how proud I was of Stefan.

Inside, I found Tonto and my Uncle Barry, along with my parents, lounging in the living room. They mobbed us when we walked in.

“I had a great time in Chicago. I loved it there, and JP's condo is fantastic,” he said to Tonto in very good English. He'd hardly spoken any English before he left, so she beamed with pleasure.

“So the place was nice JP?” my mother asked. I told her it was fabulous and described all the little details that the plans had left out. I made sure to thank Tonto and Barry for the great bed. When I said that, Stefan looked at me and I saw the twinkle in his eye.

My brother and his family came over later, and it was nice to spend some time with them. Jim tended to be just like my father and it was hard to get him to relax, so trapping him at home with my parents tended to force him to slow down just a bit. His wife was really nice, if a little shallow.

Vella really put some work into making me a fabulous dinner, and it was just that much better that she, Sammy, and Abe joined us for the festivities. After dinner, we had cake, and I had to blow out the obligatory candles as they sang that idiotic happy birthday song to me. That was definitely the nadir of my day. I got some cool presents, all built around a theme: art for my condo. My parents gave me two large paintings, very modern, that looked as if they'd been inspired by Jackson Pollack. Tonto and Barry gave me a beautiful sculpture that stood about 5 feet tall and looked like a very modern version of Rodin's “Thinker”. My brother gave me a fountain, which was nice but a little tacky. It would probably work best on my balcony. These pieces would form the centerpiece of my décor, and I appreciated having a direction.

Sammy, Abe, and Vella stood off to the side, and I was worried that they’d feel bad because they didn’t get me anything, which was ridiculous. Just having them here was enough. But Vella shyly pulled out a package wrapped in plain brown paper, about 2 feet by 3 feet. “This ain't much, but I hope you like it,” Vella said. “Sammy's been painting a bit, and he did this himself.” I tore open the paper and there was a painting, done in watercolor, of our house. It was a view of the house as if you were standing by the pool, and there, in my bedroom window, was a blurred representation of me. I noticed that, on close inspection, one could almost interpret a protruding member on the blurred figure, but no one but me would notice. I gave him a look and he snickered, the little bastard. But it was a great painting, really well done. I decided that of all the gifts I’d received, this one was the best.

“This is amazing. You have talent Sammy.” I got up and hugged them all. My mother studied the painting carefully, then studied Sammy with a new, considering eye. In the end, despite my apprehension, I ended up having a great birthday.

When the party was over and everyone was leaving, I insisted on driving Stefan home. My excuse was that we didn’t want to transfer all of his stuff into the Chrysler, whereas if I drove him home we could take his things straight from the Pontiac inside, but the real reason is that I wanted to spend some time with him alone. While we were driving down the hill, Stefan asked me to pull over at a siding on the road. It was a popular place for lovers to make out, because it had a nice view of the city.

“Happy birthday,” he said, and leaned over and kissed me passionately. When we stopped, now both hot and bothered, he handed me a small box. “I couldn't think of what to get you, and while this is simple and cheap, hopefully it will remind you of me.” I opened it up and found a gold ring, wide but small, obviously designed for my pinky. The inscription inside said “love forever, SS.” I put it on my right pinky finger and it fit perfectly. “I measured your finger when you were sleeping,” he said shyly.

I kissed him again and only stopped when I realized that someone could drive by and see us, and that as the desire built up, it could lead to us into going too far while simply parked on the shoulder of the road. “That is just the best present Stefan, but you didn't have to get me anything. How could I ever forget you?” I drove him home and unloaded all his stuff, then drove back up the hill to my waiting bed.

By the time I got home I was tired, really tired. The long drive, the party, all the food I'd eaten, not to mention the drinks, had taken their toll. I said goodnight to my parents, then headed to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. I always had a glass of water next to the bed when I slept.

“Night, Vella,” I chimed as I walked into the kitchen. I suddenly noticed Sam sitting at the kitchen table. “Hey Sam”, I said with a nod to him. “Thanks again for the painting. That was the neatest present.” That was a lie, since it had been the best present until Stefan gave me the pinky ring. He beamed with pleasure.

Making out with Stefan had another effect on me, and just thinking about him made me hard as a rock. I was going to have to take care of business before bedtime or I’d get no sleep at all. The windows were still open, but I liked it that way, seeing the lights of town in the distance. I stripped completely, lay down on my back and slowly started stroking my cock.

I fantasized that Stefan was there, that his lips were on mine, and that his hard cock was pressing against mine. I reached around and pushed my own finger into my ass, pretending it was his. As deep as I was in my fantasy, I thought I saw some movement outside. I slowed down my stroke, and tried to look out nonchalantly. Was someone out there, watching me?

My entire focus has shifted. I was no longer worried about my libido, I was curious as to whether I was being watched, and if so, by whom. I maintained a slow stroke while my eyes focused intently on the window. It didn’t take long before I spotted movement, and after I saw it again, I was sure that someone was there. I pretended to still be absorbed in my beat-off session, preparing myself for the next step. I counted slowly to three, then jumped out of bed and rushed out the door. I emerged onto my patio to find Sam standing in the shadows trying to stuff his own dick into his pants, looking terrified.

“Looks like I'm not the only big one around here” I said with a smile, but he was so freaked out he was shaking. “It's cool, don't worry about it Sam,” I said in a soothing way, to try to calm him down.

“If momma finds out what I was doin', she gonna kill me.” He almost cried these words out. The thought of Vella dealing with this situation struck me as hysterically funny, because she’d come completely unglued, but I controlled my inappropriate sense of humor.

“No one is going to know about this, Sam,” I said firmly. He stared at me, wanting to believe me. “Come on inside and relax.” He looked even more skeptical about that, but he didn’t really have a whole lot of options, so he acquiesced and followed me into the house. This time I shut the drapes.

He stood there, staring, still with fear in his eyes. I lay back on my bed, still naked, and started stroking my cock again. I looked up at him and noticed that his look had changed from terror to lust.

I stroked myself, tweaked my nipples, putting on a grand show for him. His pants were bulging. I patted the bed next to me, and he slowly walked over and stood next to it. “Take off your clothes Sam, and join me.” I was really being bold now, but I could afford to be. I’d caught him jacking off while watching me, which meant that the worst he could do to anything I suggested was to say ‘no’. He’d given up his ability to get me in trouble.

He lifted his T-shirt over his head, showing me his chest and stomach. He was only sixteen but he already had the outlines of a six-pack. Then he dropped his pants releasing his monster cock. It flopped up and down like it was an elephant trunk, and it seemed almost that big. I mentally noted that his huge penis size seemed to validate the rumor about Negro men being hung.

He lay down next to me naked and started stroking with me. I sat up and looked down at his body, watching him pleasure himself. Slowly I ran my fingers over his chest, gently rubbing his nipples. His back arched, and I realized that with his youth, he wouldn't last long. I moved his hand off his dick and replaced it with mine, slowly stroking him while I sucked on his right nipple. I felt his hand wrap around my cock. We must have lasted no longer than a minute. He came first, shooting his wad all over his ebony chest. I took over beating my own meat and knelt over him, mixing my cum with his when I reached orgasm.

He smiled at me, and I smiled back. I handed him a towel. It was kind of uncomfortable now that we both had cum, and he seemed as anxious to get out of there as I was for him to leave. “Sam, I'm going to leave the door unlocked. Come by and see me anytime, OK.”

“Sure thing JP,” he said, flashing me an evil grin, and he stealthily vanished from my room. I think I was asleep before he made it out the door.

June 21, 1962

I slowly emerged from my morning slumber, and what must have been an amazing dream. As I slowly became aware of the real world around me, I realized that I wasn’t dreaming. Sam was sitting next to me, gently stroking my dick. I stared at him and he got nervous and removed his hand. I grabbed his hand and guided it back to my dick. He smiled that amazing smile and went back to stroking me with a new purpose. In no time at all, I blew my load all over myself. As I lay there, enjoying my post orgasmic bliss, he stood up like he was going to leave, although how he was planning to do that with those tenting pants was a mystery to me.

I sat up so I was sitting right in front of him with his tent staring right at me. I leaned forward and kissed it through the fabric, running my tongue up and down the shape of his cock as it bulged in his pants. Apparently he really liked that, because before he could even pull his pants down, he blew his load in his underwear. He then hustled out, probably running off to get a change of clothes. “See you tonight Sam?” I asked. He smiled in return.

I showered and smiled, thinking about Sam. This was a twisted and dangerous road I was walking down. Not only was I messing around with another guy, which was illegal, I was messing around with a minor, which was also illegal. On top of that, I was messing around with a Negro, and while that was no longer illegal in Ohio, it was scandalous. I started to get hard again thinking about it, about how bad I was behaving, but I was starving, and hunger overruled my more rebellious musings.

I inhaled enough food to cure my hunger, and was glad that my mother wasn’t around. She would have read me the riot act for eating with such bad manners. I ate at a more decent pace and decided to go through my mail while I finished breakfast. I had hoped I would have a letter from André, or maybe even Peter, but I wasn't so lucky. Instead there was a letter from an attorney in Columbus, Jacob Pratt, asking me to contact him regarding a personal matter. That was not a little disturbing. Contact with an attorney was, in my opinion, rarely a positive experience.

My mind began to relentlessly question the various possibilities or reasons that this Mr. Pratt would want to talk to me. I briefly wondered if Isidore or her family had decided to pursue André, but if that was the case, there was no reason for me to get a letter from an attorney. If they’d hired Mr. Pratt to pursue their transatlantic claims, they’d have sought out André, not me. I finished my breakfast and called his office, resigned to the fact that no amount of speculation on my part would solve this mystery. I would have to meet him as he requested. I was surprised that I was able to talk to Mr. Pratt, and even more surprised at how anxious he seemed to see me. I’d figured I’d have to meet him next week, but he asked if I could meet him that afternoon at 2pm. I didn't have any plans, and now my curiosity was fully piqued, so I agreed.

The drive to Columbus was dreary, since it was raining and gross outside. It certainly wasn’t the best day for a drive, but I decided that it was better than hanging around inside the house all day. I made it to the little metropolis that was Ohio’s capital with time to spare, but I headed directly to Mr. Pratt's office anyway. I spent less than five minutes in the waiting area before Mr. Pratt came out to escort me back to his office. I had the distinct impression that even though I was early, he had been waiting for me.

Mr. Pratt was an older man, probably close to 70. He wore a suit and tie, and spoke in crisp, measured sentences. Everything about him was conservative. “Thank you for coming on such short notice Dr. Crampton.”

“I just got back from Chicago, so this time worked out well,” I told him pleasantly. My charm was wasted on him.

“There are some of your grandfather's affairs that concern you,” he said imperiously. I hid the shock behind my stone façade, even as I wondered what mischief my grandfather was stirring up from the grave. My grandfather had been a tough old bastard. Anything he'd left behind was bound to be unpleasant.

“I didn't know my grandfather had any business which concerned me.”

“He did, or perhaps it is more accurate to say that he does,” Mr. Pratt observed in his dry way. “Specifically, your grandfather left a trust, the proceeds and control of which revert to you upon your reaching age 26. According to my records, you attained that milestone yesterday. Happy Birthday.”

I was stunned. I knew that my grandparents had left money to my father and Tonto and their children in a trust, and I knew that my grandparents had also set up specific trusts for Jim and me to fund our educations. I also knew that my lengthy academic career had all but drained mine. But beyond that, I wasn’t aware of any additional money left to me or to Jim. I covered my shock with politeness. “Thank you Mr. Pratt. I had a very nice birthday. But this is all a surprise to me. I knew of no trust other than the one used to fund my education.”

“This is entirely different than that trust,” he said authoritatively.

Then I thought about Jim, and wondered if he got a trust when he turned 26. Jim surely would have told me about that, especially if there was one for me too. I asked Mr. Pratt about that. “What about my brother? Did he get a something when he turned 26?”

“Dr. Crampton, I don't know why you weren't told about this trust, and I don't know what provisions your grandfather may have made for your brother. I am simply following the explicit instructions as laid out by your grandfather. He left this letter of explanation for you, and the proceeds of the trust have been invested pending your assumption as trustee. You'll find a list of assets attached. I will, of course, begin transferring these assets into your name. What address would you like me to use for future statements and correspondence?” He was dodging my question by trying to distract me with the mechanics of the trust, but I let him guide our meeting. He handed me a large packet, and gave me a form to complete with basic personal information requested. It was a simple document, and I completed it quickly. I had almost, by habit, written down my address in Claremont as my primary means of contact, but I changed my mind and put my Chicago address down instead.

“Does anyone else know about this trust, or these letters?” I wondered who else was complicit in this deal, whatever it was, and who else didn't tell me about this.

“My instructions, Dr. Crampton, were to maintain absolute confidentiality regarding this matter. As far as I know, there are only two people who are aware of the trust and the packet you are holding in your hand, and those two people are both in this room.” He was such a typical lawyer, completely unable to state the answer to my question in simple terms like ‘no, only you and I know about it.’

No further good would come from questioning Pratt, so I opted to be gracious. “In that case, I must thank you very much for your discretion and diligence. After I review this information, may I contact you if I have any questions?” I was anxious to study the packet, but I calmed myself and took my time.

“You are always welcome to contact me Dr. Crampton, but I fear you will be wasting your time. I cannot add any additional information beyond what you will find in the contents of that packet.” I wasn't clear if he would not or could not, but obviously I was going to get nowhere with him. I thanked him and shook his hand, then walked out with my packet.

Hunger reminded me that I hadn't eaten since breakfast, so I decided to take my packet to a restaurant and read it while I ate. There was a popular steakhouse close to Mr. Pratt's office, so I walked over there and requested a secluded table. That drew a raised eyebrow from the hostess, but I gave her a buck and she was more obliging.

She handed me a menu and I put both it and the packet in front of me. A cute young waiter was there in a flash, so I ordered, getting everything out of my way except the packet. It was pretty thick. I undid the seals and removed an envelope. It was addressed to John Paul Crampton, and, from what I can remember, it was in my grandfather's handwriting.

June 22, 1936

Dear John Paul,

You are only one day old now, but by the time you read this you will have turned 26. The first thing you'll be wondering is why I waited until you were 26 to give you this letter and trust. In this case, I'm using my own life experience to influence my decision. It wasn't until I was 26 that I was mature enough to play an active role in Crampton Construction, so I'm hoping you have matured as quickly as I have.

To the point. My son, Jack Crampton, is not your biological father, and I, concurrently am not your biological grandfather. Some nine months ago your mother had a brief affair with another man. I was aware of it, because I know everything that happens in town, but your father was not and still may not be. I did not choose to interfere in the emotional aspects of their marriage, but there were certain legal matters that did require attention, and I took it upon myself to settle those on your behalf.

Your natural father is Bill Hendrickson. He is probably unaware that you are his natural son. As I write this letter, those who are aware of your true parentage are me, your mother, and George Hendrickson, Bill's father. All have sworn to maintain that silence. I doubt that your mother is aware of this letter or trust, so, assuming that George and I are dead, you are the only person who is aware of the contents of the packet now in your hands.

You may ask why silence was deemed vital. There are several reasons. First of all, and most importantly to me and George, we wanted to maintain the reputations and integrity of our families. We have all worked hard to reach the positions of responsibility and stature we now hold, much too hard to risk it over a family scandal. Next, we felt that you would have a more normal and supportive childhood if there were no conflicts over your parentage. I hope that has proven to be true. And finally, such a revelation would probably dissolve two marriages, and that would undoubtedly harm the environment that your siblings would be raised in. It seemed to be in everyone's best interest to preserve confidentiality.

There were, however, legal issues to resolve. As a son of Bill Hendrickson, you would presumably be an heir to his estate, which, God willing, should be quite large. Such a legal claim would undo all of our efforts to keep this issue silent. Therefore, acting in your interests, I have negotiated a settlement with George Hendrickson, whereby he has provided $40,000 in exchange for you renouncing your patrimony. I accepted that renouncement on your behalf.

I had considered just absorbing the money into our family, but I didn't feel that would be fair to you, as it is your patrimony, not ours. Therefore I have placed it in trust for you, and, hopefully it has been managed well and will provide you with substantial resources of your own.

I would like to ask, or if need be to beg you, to strongly consider maintaining the confidentiality of this whole affair. You will undoubtedly develop into a smart young man, and I'm sure you can see the damage that revealing this information would inflict. I don't know whether I liked you, or you liked me, so I can't rely on our relationship to influence your decision. I'm a difficult person to know, and even more difficult to love, so chances are that wouldn't work anyway. Instead, I rely on your inherit intelligence, compassion, and logic to respect my wishes.

Regardless of what happens, I pledge to you that I always will treat you and consider you as my true, biological grandson. I hope, as you read this, that you feel I have honored that pledge.

Alexander Crampton

Just as I finished reading the waiter brought my lunch. I set the letter aside, staring at it, trying to digest both its contents and my lunch simultaneously. It was difficult. All my life I had been a Crampton. I had identified with my family, cloaked myself in their power, money, privilege, and pride. They had educated me, they had raised me, they had loved me, and, in my father and brother's case, they had done it under false pretenses. In reality, they didn't love me; they loved the man who they thought was their son or brother. Two thirds of my family and my entire identity had just been carved away from me.

I thought about the familial impact that had on my life. It meant that my sister-in-law was really my half-sister, which was especially galling based on how intellectually underdeveloped she was. And it meant that Tonto was not my aunt, another person tricked into loving me. And it meant that Stefan was not my cousin. I pondered that for a second and that actually was a positive. At least my relationship with him wasn't incestuous. The thought of incestuous led my mind to Billy, my best friend bar none except André, my childhood companion, yet he wasn't my cousin either. I suddenly felt completely alone, as if all of these people who were such a big part of me were ripped away from me. It almost felt like they had died, since the family link had been severed.

The loneliness was enhanced in a truly unsettling way by my overwhelming disgust with this whole situation. The levels of deceit were incredible, and now that I’d been sucked into it, it was if I'd been part of this whole lie. I was not part of it, I was in fact the lie, personified. Those people whom I loved, like Tonto and Billy, had all been fooled into caring about me. I’d entered their lives under false pretenses. That I hadn’t done this willingly, that I’d just been an unwitting accomplice, only took away the guilt, and there were enough other negatives that that didn’t really help much.

“Pardon me, sir,” the young waiter said, cutting into my tortuous thoughts. I looked up at him and managed to remember not to seem as discombobulated on the outside as I was internally. “Would you like something else to drink?”

I realized that I’d been subconsciously stuffing food into my mouth. I was about to order a glass of water, but my eyes glanced on the packet that had contained all this information and I changed my mind. “A double vodka, straight.”

He looked at me strangely, then pasted on a smile. “Certainly, sir.” I ignored his funny look, then stared aback at my grandfather’s letter, reabsorbing myself in the chaos it was wreaking on me. The bomb that had just been dropped on me was short-wiring my brain. Family and the obligations that went with it were probably my most core value. Without that, I wasn’t sure if I’d even be able to survive.

The anguish was too great, so I grasped at anger by thinking about those people who had perpetrated this catastrophe. The first person my mind landed on was my mother. If there was one person who was the most to blame, it was my mother. She was the reason for all of this in the first place. If she hadn’t been such a fucking slut, if she'd been a faithful wife, none of this would have happened. All those years she'd known about this. All those years we'd been so close, I'd always considered myself to be her favorite child. It was as if by unspoken agreement that my father liked Jim better, and my mother liked me better. And yet despite our closeness, she had been was lying to me about one of my most fundamental things. I wanted to have my mother here in front of me right now, to call her a bitch and a slut, to tell her that I couldn't love someone who could lie to me about who my real father was.

“Here you are sir,” the waiter said, setting the vodka in front of me. I picked it up deliberately, then drank it as if I were doing a shot.

“Thanks,” I told him. “I’ll have another one.”

“Right away, sir,” he responded, even as he gave me an odd look as he scurried off to get me what I wanted.

The alcohol flew through my body like a wave breaking over me, and it seemed to usher in a more thoughtful approach to this thing. I visualized the situation, and decided it was almost certain that she’d been bullied into agreeing to this whole thing by my grandfather. She was calm and confident in Claremont society now, but back then she probably would have been more insecure. She would be an easy target for a despot like my grandfather.

Then my mind shifted again, going further down that rabbit hole. She may have been bullied into this deal, but my grandfather had been dead for 15 years now, which made me wonder why she didn’t bother to tell about this after he was gone. According to my grandfather, she didn't know about this letter or the money. There was no record, no proof, as far as she knew. Her plan must have been to just let the secret die with her. That turned this whole charade into a potential multi-generational lie. I guess it was conceivable that she'd tell me on her deathbed, but I decided that was unlikely. She’d lived the lie so long, it had probably become the truth as far as she was concerned.

I shook my head in disgust even as I redirected my focus onto my father, or at least the man that I thought was my father. At this point, I was the man who he thought was his son. He was the big dupe in this whole thing, and my heart went out to him. His slutty wife does one of the other guys in town and he has no clue. And she didn’t have an affair with just anyone. No, she’d picked Bill Hendrickson, another member of Claremont’s aristocratic circle. I wondered if Bill Hendrickson had ever snickered unknowingly at my father, knowing he’d fucked his wife. It was a private humiliation, but a humiliation nonetheless.

“Here’s your drink, sir,” the waiter said again. I picked up this drink, so tempted to down it like I had the last, but I took a small drink and set it back down.

“Thank you,” I said. “Can I have my check please, and I’d appreciate it if you’d box up my food.”

“Certainly sir,” he said. He looked a bit relieved as he took my uneaten food with him to box it up.

I picked up the glass of vodka and glanced at my reflection in the crystal. I adjusted it to get a better view of my face at just the moment the waiter came back. I almost laughed at how strangely he looked at me. I must indeed look rather odd, staring at myself in the reflection of a vodka tumbler. I looked at my image and grimaced. This letter explained very clearly why I don't look like my father. I tried to visualize Bill Hendrickson as I looked at myself, and I could grudgingly see where I’d inherited some of his features. My father had evidently never questioned our lack of physical similarities, making me wonder if he’d even noticed it.

I had a good and a warm relationship with my father. We didn’t bond over the business, which was such a big part of his life, but we shared other interests. Whether he’d known about me not being his natural son, or even if he’d just had subconscious doubts, he’d never shown me anything but the love and devotion any good father would give to his son. I chided myself for being unfair to him, by making him sound like he was just an average father, when he’d gone way beyond that. He was running the biggest and fastest growing construction company in Ohio and probably in at least the upper Midwest, and even though that took up a big part of his time, whenever I needed him, he’d been there for me.

I felt my love for him swell. I’d been thinking of this whole affair as a dirty business that was best aired out, and I was loath to perpetrate the lie, but that didn’t take my father into consideration. If he knew about this it would devastate him. And when I had that realization, that was the moment I realized I would have to honor my grandfather's wishes and maintain his confidence. I could never reveal this secret. I could never do that to my father. I would have to join the ranks of the lying, cheating hypocrites and maintain the code of silence. Only now, instead of being an unwitting conspirator, I would be an active one.

I thought of my grandfather, and what a crusty old bastard he was. He was right about one thing: he was tough to love. It would be just like him to dream up something like this so as not to jeopardize his family and position. He'd sold me out for $40,000. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended by that price. It didn’t really matter, since the deal was done. It was probably possible for me to sue someone about it, but I knew I wouldn't do that, and my grandfather had known that too. He’d orchestrated this whole scheme and set the players in motion, knowing they’d do exactly what he wanted them to do. He’d even maneuvered a two-day-old boy into a situation where, 26 years later, he’d have to do just as he’d been instructed. It was masterful and diabolical at the same time.

There were a lot of other papers with the letter, so I decided to see what else had been dropped into my lap. There were copies of the trust and some legal documents, but most of the pages were financial statements. There were records here going back to 1936, delineating all of the revenues and expenses of the trust. I flipped to the last one, showing the current assets. The value, as of March 31, 1962, was almost $400,000. That was a big enough sum to make my eyes bulge. I looked at the list of assets and noted that some was invested in real estate, some was in bonds, but most of it was in stocks.

I guess to some people, falling into a windfall like this would have been a very happy event, but for me it was almost more of an inconvenience. Since I had all of this money, I would have to manage it, and that meant I would have to deal with brokers, lawyers and accountants. In the meantime, I'd been so spoiled sponging off Crampton money, that this wouldn’t really make any difference to my lifestyle. It wasn’t resonating with me. I was independently wealthy, very wealthy, yet that didn't come close to replacing what I’d lost.

“Thank you very much sir,” the waiter said as he put the bill on the table. I just nodded at him in a pleasant way. I put all of the papers and the letter back into the packet then looked at the bill. I was feeling a little tipsy, and all this wealth made me feel exceptionally generous. I tossed a $5 bill on the table and walked out to my Pontiac, leaving the young waiter almost a 100% tip.

The alcohol had dulled the pain, but it hadn’t sabotaged my faculties. I’d promised to maintain this secret, and that meant that these documents had to be stored safely. I walked back to Mr. Pratt's office and asked to see him. He seemed surprised and a little alarmed that I’d returned.

“Dr. Crampton, while I am glad to see you again, as I told you, I can't answer any additional questions about that packet.” I hadn’t even mentioned the trust, but he was so defensive, he’d leapt to that conclusion, and shown me that he knew all about this trust. I raised an eyebrow to challenge him, so he’d know he wasn’t being such a crafty old fucker after all.

“Mr. Pratt, I'm wondering if you have a place where you could safely store this packet for me. I would prefer that it not accidentally fall into someone else's hands.” His expression changed briefly, just for a second, to relief. He’d been relieved when he’d figured out that I was going to honor my grandfather's wishes.

“Certainly Dr. Crampton. We charge...” I stopped him.

“I'm sure you can bill me in Chicago. As you are aware, I can afford it,” I said in much too smarmy a way. It was possible that the alcohol had impacted me more than I’d thought.

“Of course,” he said, and took the packet from me.

As if it were some perverse form of symbolism, the weather had cleared up and the sun was shining. I walked to the parking lot and my beautiful red Pontiac. I thought about how I'd wanted a Ford Thunderbird instead, and how my father had refused to even consider it. According to genetics, I was a Hendrickson, so I should be driving a Ford. That made me laugh, and my laughter sounded hysterical even to me, so I calmed myself down and focused on driving.

I'd gotten back to Claremont and was trying to decide where I should go. Stefan was having his English lessons, and he was the only one I really wanted to see. Since he was unavailable, I decided to bite the bullet and head home. Even though it was sunny, the roads were still slippery from the earlier rain. I was deep in thought when I came to one of the many blind curves on Skyline. Coming down the hill, on the other side of the road, was a large utility truck. I saw it, and even though it was within its lane, I moved to the right to give it more room. I turned the wheel, and it seemed as if nothing was happening, so I turned it more, only I’d turned it too much. I felt the right tire rumble as it plowed through the gravel shoulder, so to get back on the roadway, I turned the wheel to the left to compensate, but it was too little too late. The car slid sideways, even as it bumped over the ground, then the bumping ended when I went airborne. As I was falling, it seemed like I was weightless, floating for an eternity, and it was such a tranquil feeling I almost enjoyed it. Then suddenly there was a shattering crash, followed by searing pain, and then everything went black.