What… what are you talking about?

What… what are you talking about?
Michael

Violet’s hands were tight fists in her lap, her face a carefully carved mask of nothing. But I knew that emptiness was a lie, a shield against the storm raging inside her. “Whatever you say, Professor.” Her voice was flat, robotic. A part of me was braced for her to launch across the table and put her hands around my father’s throat.

And the bastard would have fucking deserved it.

Bentley Howser Brooks, however, had everything under control. He placed his expensive briefcase on the table, snapping the latches open with a definitive click. He withdrew a single, ordinary-looking folder, set it down, and then closed the case with a quiet finality, placing it on the floor beside him. “Perhaps you would like to come clean with your sons, Professor Kingsley,” he suggested, “before we explore the contents of this file?”

I watched my father’s Adam’s apple move as he swallowed, his gaze dropping to the folder. He was fighting to keep his composure. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Oh, of course not.” Bentley smiled like a predator toying with its meal and flipped the file open. “A little over three years ago, your research company was hired by Quantum Pharmaceuticals to conduct the second trial for their new artificial sweetener, Excell. Is that correct?” His tone was pure courtroom drama.

My father rolled his eyes. “That is public knowledge.”

“Mmmhm. I suppose you are also aware that the previous research company, let me see…” he pulled out a sheet and pretended to scan it, “, Generex Laboratory Group, refused to continue the study after discovering several alarming trends in their initial data?”

“I am aware of the claims Generex made. Their methods were flawed. Our trial provided conclusive evidence that Excell was a safe alternative to sugar.” His words sounded rehearsed, as if he had been practicing this exact defense for years.

“Despite the fact that one of your test subjects died just two weeks after the study concluded?” Bentley pressed.

“A tragic coincidence. That young man’s death was unrelated. I do not see what this has to do with anything! You are wasting my time!”

“Oh, I am just getting started.” Bentley pulled out another document and slid it across the table. “And I suppose it is another complete coincidence that you received a payment of seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars one week after that boy’s death?”

My jaw went slack. This was news to me. I looked at Richard; his face mirrored my own shock. For the first time, my father’s indifferent mask cracked. “Where did you get that information?”

“It was not easy, I assure you. My first clue was your ex-wife’s hospital bills being paid in one lump sum. My source traced the payment back to its origin. Really, Bennett, you should have used an untraceable offshore account if you wanted to keep your dirty money a secret.”

A single bead of sweat traced a path down my father’s temple.

Richard rested his steepled fingers on the table. “That is interesting. I remember you complaining about being crushed by my mother’s medical expenses.” He turned to Violet to explain. “As part of their divorce, our father was still responsible for her medical bills.”

“It was outrageous!” My father blurted, a red flush creeping up his neck. “Even with insurance, the cancer treatments, the chemo, the surgeries, the palliative care… it came to over two hundred thousand dollars! She had already taken everything in the divorce, and she was still draining me from the grave!”

Hearing him speak about our dead mother with such contempt sent a fresh, violent wave of anger through me. “Richard and I paid off your mortgage,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “We gave you everything we could.”

“So that is it?” Violet’s voice cut through the tension. “You took a bribe from a pharmaceutical company to cover up a boy’s death? You falsified a study, and for what? So you could bury your ex-wife’s medical bills?”

“Miss Blair!” My father used his mega-professor voice, the one designed to make students crumble. “Are you questioning my professional integrity?”

“Damn right I am!” she fired back, her small body trembling with fury. “You stand there acting so righteous, but you let a young man die to line your own pockets! Now tell me, Bennett, what did you do to my father?”

“I did nothing to your father!” My father shouted, slamming his palm on the table so hard his fork clattered to the floor.

Bentley dramatically produced another paper from his folder. “So they paid you to conceal the fact that the Excell formulation causes hypertension and abnormal blood clotting in over ten percent of test subjects?”

“Where did you get this?” My father snatched the paper from Bentley’s hand, his eye beginning to twitch with barely contained panic.

“I had a doctor friend in Prosperity Springs run some tests,” Bentley said smugly. “I do not know about you, but I do not like those odds. A one-in-ten chance of a cardiovascular event? If the FDA had seen these findings, Excell would have been pulled permanently. Quantum must have had a fortune invested to pay you seven hundred and fifty thousand for your silence.”

“I… I do not know anything about that,” my father stuttered, his confidence evaporating.

“Well, I did more digging. Every other researcher on the project received a payout, though yours was the largest. The undergraduates got twenty thousand. The advisory panel got fifty. Dr. Tammy Duncan received one hundred thousand.” Bentley leaned forward, his voice dropping. “How much did they offer Dr. Brian Blair?”

“It was not my fault Brian would not listen to reason!” The words burst from my father, desperate and unplanned.

Bentley pounced. “What do you mean, he would not listen to reason?”

My father dragged a hand over his face. When he lowered it, he looked a decade older, his skin sagging and tinged with a sickly gray. “All he had to do was take the damn money and keep quiet,” he muttered, his voice hollow. “But he was stuck on his ethics. His principles. The final offer was one million dollars. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut.”

“Bennett?” Evelyn’s voice was a fragile, quivering thing. Her hand fell from his arm. “What… what are you talking about?”