I didn’t need Owen to tell me the phrase side hustle wasn’t the right one for what my father was doing. Somewhere in a part of my brain I was suddenly trying to ignore, I knew very well that my dad was a con man. A criminal, taking money from people who were desperate enough to buy his lies.
Even so, I was as sure as I could convince myself to be that there was no connection between what he was doing and the decision to buy me a car early.
I got this crazy feeling of freedom even in the idea of it. Cruising along, listening to some tunes, stopping anywhere I liked to stretch my legs or check something out.
Mom reminded me the next morning that I might need to be patient.
“You know your father. When it comes to a car, he’ll want to check everything twice and weigh all the options until he’s sure he’s making the best decision.”
“I’m getting a say too, though, right?” I said. “He’s not just going to go ahead and pick one out without talking it over with me.”
“I imagine he’ll talk it over with you,” Mom said. “But I expect he’ll make the final decision. After all, it’s a fairly big purchase, and he has the know-how when it comes to these things.”
“Right, sure,” I said. I knew that was true, and I knew it would be ridiculous to be disappointed if I didn’t get to pick out my own car. I wasn’t paying for it, and it wasn’t like my father was going to get me something that wasn’t good.
Telling myself those things didn’t seem to make much difference though. It was disappointing to picture myself really, really wanting one car and getting another one instead.
I tried to think of things that might persuade him to seriously consider whatever I preferred, and while I didn’t come up with a whole lot, I thought it would be interesting to see how the conversation went.
So, I was pumped when Dad texted me to grab an Uber and come downtown to his office. By the time I got there, everything I’d planned to say had vanished. My heart was beating with the thrill of expectation, and I no longer cared which vehicle it was going to be. All I could picture was my father passing me a set of keys, slapping me on the back, and telling me to drive safely.
The reception desk was, as usual, unattended. I think there used to be someone working it, but Dad decided long ago to use a service instead. So, if you call his office, you get someone working from home, making appointments and so on for clients who no longer need to employ a full-time office worker.
Dad’s office door was open and when he saw me, he closed the folder on his desk and waved me in with a smile.
“How’s your day going, son?”
“Great. Yours?”
“Actually, that’s why I asked you to come down. I need you to look at some images with me and see if you can help me sort something out.”
“Okay, sure.” He must have narrowed it down and wanted my input on a few top choices.
“Bring that extra chair around here so we can look this over together.”
I did that and plunked down, ready to say whatever I could to influence his choice of a car for me.
Then Dad pressed play on a recording and the blood in my veins started to make whooshing sounds in my ears.
This wasn’t images of cars. It was video footage from the fake medical clinic, footage featuring me and Aki. I knew instantly that Dad was suspicious, but there was no way he’d be able to tell that I was one of the people in the video. Not with the thrift-store clothes and the headwear all but completely covering my face.
I decided to play it as cool as I could manage.
“What’s this?” I said. Because that would be the natural question to ask if I wasn’t involved.
“It’s a place where another part of my business operates,” he said. He was watching the computer screen and didn’t even glance in my direction. “Someone has broken in.”
“Huh,” was all I could manage to say.
“They somehow got in using a keypad entry,” he added.
How, in all the scenarios I’d thought about, had I overlooked that? Of course he’d know whoever got in had to have had the code for the door lock.
Fighting nausea, I leaned forward as if I was studying the scene. My mouth had gone so dry I didn’t know if I could say another word. And then, the intruder in the ball cap — the intruder that was me — made a mistake without even realizing it: he looked up.
Dad tapped his keyboard and froze the image in place.
For a couple of seconds there was an agonizing silence as we both stared at the screen. My face clearly stared back at us.
Finally, when the tension was so tight it felt like something was squeezing my chest, Dad spoke.
“Well?”
I couldn’t look at him. And my throat felt like I’d been in the desert for days. I somehow made my legs cooperate enough to get up, cross the room to the corner where a mini fridge sat, and get a bottle of water.
When I returned to the desk I tugged my chair around to the other side, sat down, and forced myself to look at my father.
I don’t remember ever feeling so scared in my life. Not even when I was trapped and bleeding in the house my father rescued me from as a child. And yet, in spite of that, something was welling up in me. Not quite anger and not quite defiance. It was a kind of strength born of disgust.
It was also, in part at least, thanks to my dad. I couldn’t begin to guess at how many times he’s given me advice on how to handle confrontation.
“Never accept the defensive position, son!” he’d say. “Always, immediately, switch to the offensive.”
So I did.
“I saw you. When you were supposedly out of town,” I said.
He shrugged like that was of no importance whatsoever. But he didn’t answer, and I knew why. I knew because of something else he’d told me numerous times.
“The dumbest thing people do when they’re under pressure is talk. You see it all the time in true crime shows. Someone’s in the interview room and they think somehow they can explain their way out of a situation.”
He’d pause there to laugh — a sound full of scorn.
“A smart person keeps their mouth shut. Because they understand one vital thing, which is this: if they’re going to convict you, make them do it without your help.”
I don’t know how steady I looked, sitting there with my insides in a state of turmoil. But one thing was clear to me. There was no way I could wait him out. He had all the practice, and he had a certain coldness that I was sure I lacked.
All the same, I was determined not to start talking. I knew if I started, I’d keep on and on until he knew everything I’d been up to and what I’d learned.
And that, as he’d so diligently taught me, was not going to work in my favor.
And so, when I felt the pressure building and sensed I wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer, I took another swallow of water and got to my feet.
“Looks like this conversation is over,” I said, wondering at my own nerve.
I started toward the door. Not hesitantly, like I wasn’t sure about leaving, but with purpose. To be honest, I’d have loved to get out of there, go somewhere I could be alone and sort things out.
“Ethan,” Dad said behind me.
I stopped, but I didn’t turn around.
“Sit down, son.”
I did as he’d asked, and when I was seated, I forced myself to look him straight in the face. What I saw surprised me. There was something different there, something I’d never seen before. I knew he was rattled, which almost made me feel sorry for him, but the beginnings of sympathy disappeared with his next words.
“Look, Ethan, I’d hate to see you mess up the plans we’ve just made for you.”
Strangely, even with everything else that had happened up until then, when I look back on my life someday, I’m positive that those words, and that moment, are going to form a line marking the before and after.
Because when I heard that statement, when its full meaning hit me, I knew Owen had been right. The plan to buy me a car ahead of schedule was a setup, a pre-emptive strike to keep me in line.
The first flush of emotion that hit me was shame. Strangely, it makes me feel good to say that. Not regret. Not disappointment, but embarrassment at how eager I’d been to be bought. I’m no fool. Even without Owen pointing it out, some part of me had known the truth. I’d refused to face it because I was so busy imagining all the great things having a car was going to do for me.
Right. More like destroy whatever decency and integrity I had.
Then anger came roaring through me like a blast of heat. To be honest, I welcomed it. It drove out whatever nervousness and hesitation I’d been fighting. In a strange way, it calmed me, and let me speak without wavering.
“So, I’m supposed to just act like everything is normal, like you haven’t been lying and hiding what you’re doing from me and Mom?”
He almost smiled.
“Your mom is a smart woman, son.”
“So, you’re saying she knows?” I knew, as I asked, that there was nothing he could tell me that would convince me that was true.
“Actually, I’m saying she’s aware on some level that things aren’t quite as they seem, but she’s never asked. Not one time. Which means she’d rather not know.”
I didn’t believe that either. My mom is smart, but there’s no way she’d just ignore it if she suspected something fishy was going on.
“Or maybe she trusts you,” I said evenly.
Dad ignored that. His eyes narrowed as he spoke.
“The problem here, Ethan, is that you’re reaching conclusions without having all the facts.”
“So, there are good reasons for what you’re doing?”
“Just what is it you think I’m doing?”
This was the place he’d been heading since he texted me to come in. I knew it instinctively, or maybe it was because of all the “tips” he’d given me over the years. I bet he never once thought I’d be using them against him.
My father was digging to find out exactly what I knew, and the only strength on my side was in not telling him. The problem was, I had to give him something — to hold back as much as I could and still confront him.
“There are medical beds in that place,” I said after deciding that was the safest approach. One thing I knew was essential was that I didn’t give away the fact that I’d found the brochure full of lies and bogus claims. I knew the camera hadn’t captured that bit, not only because of the angle in the video we’d been watching but also because if he’d known that, this part of the conversation wouldn’t have been taking place.
“And instead of assuming we’re doing something good, you jump to the opposite conclusion?”
“If you were doing something good, why would you be hiding it?”
“Who’s your friend in the video?” he asked.
Another tactic. Switch subjects suddenly to throw the other person off and possibly make them blurt out an answer. But I was following one of his top rules, which was to always count slowly to three before answering anything. So not only did I avoid the trap, I also went with another one of his tricks and countered with a question of my own.
“Who are your friends in this scheme?”
“Look, Ethan, whatever idea you may have gotten, the fact is, we’re helping a lot of people.”
“Secretly,” I said, with no effort to hide my sarcasm.
“Just because something hasn’t been approved for use by the medical community, that doesn’t mean it’s not good.”
We went back and forth on that for a bit as I tried, with no success, to pin him down. He wouldn’t say anything specific — not about what it was or what it supposedly helped. And he was just as slippery when I questioned the legitimacy of his involvement, considering he had no medical training or background whatsoever.
He spent a couple of minutes talking about how, even if their “alternative method” didn’t help everyone, it did something else that mattered.
“It gives them hope,” he said. “And hope can have a powerful impact on a person.”
“Actual medicine gives them hope too,” I answered. “Drugs and treatments that are scientifically proven.”
“Not everyone wants to take a conventional path,” Dad said.
“Especially if someone persuades them not to.”
He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe I was being so closed-minded, and we went around the whole thing again. Eventually, I gave up and changed the topic.
“So, if this isn’t approved, I’m guessing it could lead to trouble for you, so why do it? Why not avoid the risk and stick to your legitimate business?”
I don’t know exactly what it was that I saw in his reaction. A flicker, instantly guarded, a micro-message, like a strobe light of truth, but whatever it was, my response to it was immediate.
How or why I felt so certain of this, I could never explain, but in that moment I knew, absolutely knew, that there was no real business.
And as soon as that realization came to me, a lot of things made sense that had always seemed just a little “off” before. The vagueness of his descriptions of what he did. My father is a guy who likes to talk up his accomplishments. The way he’d always answered my questions by disappearing into a maze of words didn’t fit at all.
I took a chance and said it.
“There is nothing else, is there? This ‘medical’ thing is your entire business, am I right?”
Naturally, I got no answer to that.
What I did get was a warning, barely disguised.
“We can talk about this some other time, Ethan. You’re upset right now, and I can see you need firmer answers. But keep a couple of things in mind for the moment. Besides helping people — which we are doing, whether you believe it or not, this venture provides a very comfortable living for our family. If anything happened to disrupt that, it would turn our whole world upside down. Imagine what that would do to your mother.”