After sending a sample of hair from Star Bond’s brush, Sergeant Leigh, following orders from Bradford III, spent the night and the next day going through ten journals from the woman’s cell. To him, there was nothing here other than ramblings from the woman to her son. Next, he picked up the stack of letters neatly wrapped by a string with a bow on top. He opened the first letter that was dated twenty years ago. The paper was faded and somewhat fragile, so he took care in unfolding it as he began reading.
An hour later, he received a call from the prison. It seemed the warden had received a court order to deliver all possessions from Star Bond’s cell to Judge Ragen Fontaine’s court by nine a.m. the next day. He disconnected the call, looked at the stack of letters, then continued to read. His task was to complete the review before the deadline.
He was ten letters deep when the first mention of Bradford Chambers Jr. appeared in connection with the name of Congressman Edward Ackerson. Godwin indicated a connection between the two men but did not go into detail. In another letter, the two names were mentioned again in connection with Daniel Tyson.
That name rang a bell. The last name of the man who claimed to be Star Bond’s son was Tyson. This was a significant finding that needed to be reported to Bradford III. Sergeant Leigh picked up his phone and dialed a number.
Bradford III answered the call.
“Dr. Bradford,” said Sergeant Leigh.
“Do you have more information from the journals?”
“No, the letters between Star and Godwin reveal the names of three men. Dr. Bradford Chambers Jr., Congressman Edward Ackerson, and Daniel Tyson are each mention in a letter dated twenty-something years ago. The name of Tyson came up yesterday. The reporter who returned later with a man introduced him as Wade Tyson, son of Star Bond.”
“Star Bond had a son?”
“According to the reporter. I also received a request earlier today indicating a judge has ordered all the possessions of Star Bond be delivered to her chambers by nine tomorrow morning. How do you want me to proceed?”
“Have you read all the journals and correspondence?”
“The journals, yes. I am still filtering through the correspondence.”
“Get through what you can, then turn them over. Were there any other items of significance in the cell?”
“No.”
“Very well,” Bradford said. “You have done well to bring this to my attention. No one else needs to be aware of your findings. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Bradford disconnected the call. He did not recognize the names that were provided, other than his father’s. He did a quick search of his files on Congressman Edward Ackerson. He immediately dismissed him as a threat when his name appeared on a list under Senator Rolfeman. If he needed to be handled, Bradford knew Rolfeman would take care of it.
Next, he did a search on the name Wade Tyson. His name did not appear, but the name Kate Tyson did. He clicked on the file and instantly smiled. This woman was his first real kill with his serum. Hell, she was the reason for his success. Because the woman did not die instantly, he took steps to strengthen the components to make the serum more deadly. Now, within minutes all bodily functions shut down, just as death row prisoners did at one time. It was his own brand of lethal ejection. Eager to see his serum at work, he clicked on the video contained inside the file. It played. I wasn’t as clear as video recordings are today, but he was able to see his assistants administer the serum and leave. The security system in her home captured the entire scene from the moment his people arrived, to the exit of the emergency medical team and her father.
He sat up. Her father’s name was Dan Tyson. This was the man mentioned in Godwin Bond’s letters. How are they connected? he wondered. Is the man even still alive?
He did a quick internet search on Daniel Tyson. Pages and pages of information appeared. The man had a conglomerate of businesses. Each one was run by his sons. Bradford sat forward as he looked closely at the picture. The sons were of different backgrounds and races. The oldest, Montrell Tyson, looked somewhat familiar, but not really. He dismissed the feeling. He must have seen him on television or in a picture somewhere. Then there was Dane Tyson, a Caucasian mixed with European feathers; Wade Tyson, a mixed African American, he was certain was the man in question; Ross Tyson, a blue-eyed, blond-haired Caucasian; and last, Drake Tyson, another African American. He did not recognize these men, but was curious about the makeup of the family. He continued to search until he came upon a story of how the family came to be.
The more he read, the deeper the churning in his stomach intensified. As it turned out, each one of the sons were children that Dan Tyson’s daughter, Kate Tyson, had worked with during her days as a social worker. Their story went on to say that Dan adopted the boys at a young age and raised them himself.
Bradford slammed his fist on the desk. He could not prove it, but his gut was telling him his premonition that he made long ago to his father was coming to fruition. He pressed the button on his phone.
“My office, now.”
Disconnecting the call, he stood up quickly, causing his chair to roll back against the wall. It cannot be, he thought as he ran his fingers through his hair. There was a knock on the door.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes,” Bradford III motioned. “Come in. Close the door.”
The assistant did as instructed; he closed the door, walked in, then took a seat in front of Bradford’s III desk.
“You are one of my most trusted assistants. I fear our prediction may be a reality.” He turned the computer around to face Brady, one of the specimens he grew up with. They were close in ideology. Brady knew exactly where all the disposed bodies were located. Better yet, he had no issue adding more to the list at Bradford III’s order.
“Do we need a team to eliminate them?” Brady inquired.
“No. I need them followed. I need to know every step they make. You will need multiple teams. At least two specimens on each.”
“How soon?”
“Now.”
Brady looked at the picture on the screen. Names were listed beneath it. He nodded. “I will report back on my progress in one hour.”
With that, Brady was gone. Bradford III could see the need to put an escape plan in motion. He dialed another number, waited, then spoke into the phone to another specimen who understood his goal. “Contingency Plan A is in effect.”
“Understood,” the voice replied, then disconnected.
Bradford laid his head back against the chair. The day was upon him sooner than he thought. Emotions were swirling around. Was he happy or sad about the turn of events? He had been suppressing emotions all his life, and honestly did not know the answer.