T he time had to arrive when Blake Norman went back to his hometown, Harbor Junction in Illinois. Blake, he said to himself, many times in the past twenty years, you’re thirty-five now and you know very well that your old buddy, Baron Largent, is going to do something one of these days and his action will force you to go home to Harbor.
                   Blake nodded, agreeing with himself, as the thought crept slowly through his mind again. And you’re going home now even though you don’t want to go back. You have no reason other than the note to go back to Harbor.
                   He took in several prairie landmarks: ancient Indian mounds, wide fields of summer corn that spread out into the rising landscape, scattered acres of golden winter wheat, and shiny green lowlands. Some areas he thought he remembered when he and his buddies took trips from Harbor to Chicago and St. Louis. Other scenery he concluded he had not seen before.
                   The hurtled toward Harbor, jostling passengers, toward the geographical center of the state. The train rolled at top speed and the whistle sounded as though it was late for its destiny and screeched to let the world know.
                   This may be the train to hell, he thought and shook the fuzzy thinking out of his head. Why did I think that? But, why is this guy, this engineer in such a damn hurry? I’m in no hurry, he thought.
                   And it was true, Blake was in no hurry to return to the small, Midwestern town that had been his home until he left for college at the age of seventeen.
                   He smiled at his reflection, opened his lips wider and approved of the straight row of teeth. Involved in thoughts of his childhood, he didn’t hear other passengers open the coach’s sliding door and enter or exit the passenger car.
                   He pushed his hat backward, on his head and rubbed his forehead as he thought about the small town square in Harbor Junction, the several small businesses, the small college, five hundred students, a single high school and one grade and junior high school. He knew he ran the risk of boring himself guessing about how Harbor Junction got its name.
                   There’s that lazy river, east of town, that feeds into the Mississippi River. Then there’s a large freshwater lake, Lake Lombard, but it has no large piers or docks that could handle any water traffic for the small town to be named Harbor. “And, nothing comes together here,” he said to himself as he tapped his fingers against the window pane at his reflection, “so there can’t be a junction.”
                   Harbor Junction, he thought. Right in the center, well, almost the center, anyway, he chuckled and shook his head.They should have named it Centerville. That would have been more accurate.
                  He remembered how his buddies swam in secret and secluded parts of the lake, stretching their lean bodies, racing one another, to keep in shape.
                   “Who needs suits?” Baron shouted every time they went swimming. And, of course none of the guys wore anything except their pride. It was great fun for Blake and his buddies to race their bikes to the lake, push their bikes on the ground and throw off their t-shirts, shorts, undershorts, shoes and socks without regard as to where they landed.
                   He recalled how the sun sparkled reflecting from the water on their bodies and how the six close friends tanned as the summers progressed. He enjoyed watching his five comrades, as Baron called the group, body’s, along with his own, turn from pale pink and white to gold and finally to deep dark brown. He knew he would never forget how much Baron and Jasper looked like him,especially from the rear. We resembled each other from the front although Baron had honey colored and somewhat curly hair, while Jasper was a deep true toe head and I was and still am rather dark haired with chocolate streaks in it. He smiled at himself again.
                   “You three guys look like paper doll cutouts, from this vantage point,” Baker had said as he snapped a picture of the three, standing watching.
                   “Us?” Blake shouted.
                   “Yep!” Baker shouted to them, checking his camera’s lens.
                   The three boys dove off of the jutted end of the huge rock. Baker ran to the rock’s edge snapped them shots of them in midair. “Butts and elbows,” he shouted as the three bodies plunged into the chilly water.
                  “What does butts and elbows mean, Mr. Morgan?” Forest asked.
                   “Mr. Sherman sir,” Baker said, glancing down at the string Forest wore around his waist that held his dangling life saving scout badge by a safety pin. “I see you’ve come dressed and prepared.” They laughed.
                   “Am I overdressed?” Forest asked.
                   The laughed again.
                  “Hey! Peter!”Forest shouted as Peter approached them. He had been in the water, had climbed out and worked his way back to the top of the rock.
                   “The water’s great, Forest,” he said.
                   “Come one,” Forest said pulling on Peter’s arm. “Catch us, Baker in midair, OK?” He turned to Peter and said, “Are you ready? Let’s go!” They dove and Baker shouted, “Butts and elbows!” The camera didn’t click. “Damn,” he said. “I wonder what butts and elbows really means?” His camera clicked. “Wouldn’t you know it. The heck with it,” he said and tossed it into his bike’s wire basket, picked up the water polo ball, and flew off the rock’s edge, arching high and diving straight into the water, ball in front of his head as he entered the water.
                   They needed no swim trunks or jock straps as they crashed and tumbled playing water polo. The six of us were the best water polo team in central Illinois, he thought. We had the best bodies too.
                   Once again he thought about how each of the other five boys commented and noticed the similarity in their bodies even though none of them were related. They always saw some likeness, physical attribute, manner of speaking, body movement and made the statement,“and we’re not even related.” None of them knew why the noticed their likeness or gave it much thought.
                   They often mistook one another for each other. Blake thought many times about his other friends and said to himself, “they don’t resemble us, but these other five at times look like me.
                  This commentary about the six boys from towns people started in grade school and continued through high school, even when they graduated and each went their separate ways, away from Harbor and to various universities. The standard line was, “How are they going to get along without each other. Those boys are always together.”
                   Blake laughed as he recalled one of the final basketball practices his senior year, when the coach approached Baron, Jasper, and himself.
                   “Hey! You three guys!” the coach shouted.
                   They turned and looked at him.
                   “What coach?” Baron asked.
                   “Do me a favor. Finish putting on your jockstraps but then stand still I want to do some measuring. OK?”
                   “Why, coach?” Blake asked.
                   “Curiosity. That’s all.” He told the boys to stand close to each other and stand straight. “For four years now, you three and one or two others have confused me as to who you really are. I can’t tell you apart.”
                   They laughed.
                   “It’s not all that funny, but it is funny, isn’t it?” He measured Blake’s hips, then Baron’s hips, Baron giggled, the coach nodded his head as he walked on his knees to Jasper and ran the tape around his hips. He looked at the assistant coach and nodded again. “They are identical. Can you believe that? No wonder we confuse them.” He stood and smiled at the boys. “Are you guys certain you’re not brothers?”
                   The young assistant coach looked at each of the young men in turn. “Are you guys certain you’re not related?” he asked. They knew he joked with them.
                   They smiled and then laughed and continued to dress for practice.
                  “No, we’re not related, coach,” Jasper said.
                   “Can we put on our basketball practice uniforms now?” Baron asked.
                   “Sure. I’m not going to measure anything else. I can see no difference. And, it is amazing.”
                   “It’s rather disconcerting too, coach,” Blake said as he pulled his shorts on over his jockstrap. He zippered the fly and fastened his buckle.
                   “How’s that, Blake?” the coach said.
                   “People around here mistake us for one another. And we don’t think we look anything alike, closeup, anyway.”
                   “You can’t fight nature, boys,” the coach said. He rolled his measuring tape around his finger and tucked it into his hip pocket. “Go ahead and get dressed for the practice now...”
                   The scene faded, the whistle blew, as Blake squinted at the passing scenery out the window. A part of Blake wanted for him to have those days back again. The man in him knew it couldn’t happen; it couldn’t be. He cleared his throat.
                   He hesitated to think about the group, six young men, the brains of their class, all with grades so close, students and teachers thought they cheated together. Three were Valedictorian and the other three were Salutatorian, and all of them were satisfied even though there were only tenths of points between their overall grades.
                   Blake sighed. He couldn’t remember doing anything, playing, hiking, scout meetings, patrol meetings, summer camps without the other five young men being with him, nearly always by his side, in his tent, climbing small foothills, playing, running, swimming, active in sports and competing. And when none of them were present, with him, he wished they were and didn’t feel comfortable without one or two of them near him.
                  Competing.That’s the key word. Blake frowned again. How did it ever get started? He turned and smiled at the couple as the train coach’s sliding door slammed open and a young, attractive woman and man, entered the coach. His smiled quickly faded as his mind raced back in time four years ago, when it was his freshman year in college.
                  First, he saw the small town, his fraternity house, and then suddenly he was inside the house on the second floor, on that fateful day, as he finished an early afternoon shower, stepped out of the shower room, walked naked the short distance to his study room and rubbed his hair briskly.
                  He breathed deeply into his towel, sucking moisture out of it and rubbed his face. He quickly patted his body, down the front and back and between his legs, threw his towel over the back of his study chair and pulled on his track practice outfit: fleece sweat pants and pullover and then put on his thick ribbed crew socks. He shook his long straight hair and enjoyed the feeling as still wet hair strands swiped against his head.
                   He sat, ran his fingers back though his dark hair, smoothing it backward to get it out of his face, and pulled his chair closer to the desk. He needed to study now before he and Jasper ran to track practice. He flipped open his history text and began to read. The telephone rang. He stared at it, speculated who called him and slowly stretched out his arm. He picked up the receiver.
                  “Hello,” he said. Holding the receiver away from his head, he frowned as the voice talked rapidly.
                  “Aren’t you a little bit early for our weekly confab, Baron?”
                   He listened.
                   “What? You’re gonna do what, Baron?” He pushed his chair back from his desk.
                   He listened. His heart raced. “I can’t believe you’re serious. I thought we decided the plan wasn’t all that smart...”
                   He caught Baron’s excitement.
                   “When, did we decide?”
                   Blake cleared his throat.
                   “Oh well, I think when we were on that senior’s only scouting trip to the Midlothian Woods. You know, Baron. Last spring?”
                   He ran his fingers through his hair again. He wanted it to dry faster.
                   “Well, yes, Baron, but...”
                   He listened to the hurried words and interrupted his friend. “Are you in Harbor now, Baron?”
                   “You are?”
                   He yawned.
                   “Well, listen, old friend.”
                   Blake looked up as Jasper walked into the room.
                   “I can’t come home to Harbor, now...”
                   “Who is it?” Jasper asked.
                   “Baron,” Blake said.
                  “Ah,” Jasper said and plopped down int the overstuffed reading chair. He dangled his leg across an arm of the chair and ate a candy bar.
                   “I know you didn’t ask me to come now, Baron...and...”
                   Jasper laughed and put his hand under his fleece track pants and scratched himself. He laughed.
                   “Well all right, buddy, where are you going now?”
                   Blake put his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Jasper, “He’s going to start the plan!”
                   “What?” Jasper said, opening his mouth wider, chewing slowly, and almost dropping his candy bar.
                   “Your uncle died?”
                   “When did that happen?” Jasper asked. “Did you know he died?”
                   “No,” Blake said. “Ah, and you are his only heir?” Blake rubbed his forehead. “Slow down, Baron, you’re going to fast for me...”
                   “When did your uncle pass away, Baron? I didn’t hear anything from anyone about it.”
                   “Me either,” Jasper said. He began eating his candy bar again.
                   “Well, it is important Baron. Your uncle was important in your life and my life when we were growing up. He did a lot for you, and, well for all of us. . .”
                   “Yes, Baron, I know what we talked about working the plan, but we were kids then...and well, yes, it seemed like an interesting, if not...well different idea.”
                   “He wants to work the plan, now?” Jasper tossed his candy bar wrapper into the waste basket. “Great idea. This school is boring anyway.”
                   “Not for me, it isn’t,” Blake said. He looked into the mouthpiece.
                   “I haven’t asked you about your inheritance. What it amounts to because Baron, it’s none of my business...”
                   “Ask him. I’d like to know. I know it’s a bundle.” Jasper pushed at Blake with his foot.
                   Blake shook his head. “Yes, yes. Curious, I guess is as good as any word for it...”
                   Jasper yawned
                   Blake paused. His jaw dropped as Baron told him about his inheritance.
                   “What? How much?” Jasper asked. He slid down in the chair and spread his legs wide.
                   “In stocks and cash...over 72 million dollars,” Blake whispered.
                   “A tidy sum,” Jasper said scratching himself between his legs.
                   “I didn’t realize he had that much invested, Baron.”
                   He moved the receiver and slowly rubbed his ear.
                   “Oh, you did?”
                   Jasper laughed. “He did what?”
                   “And it is all yours now. Wow!”
                   “Oh, he knew how much loot was involved,” Jasper said, stood and stretched.
                   “Wait, are you telling me that you’re going to use that money to carry out the plan?”
                   “Good thinking,” Jasper said. “I’m all for that...”
                   “Oh, Baron. We need to talk.”
                   “Why?” Jasper asked. “Let me talk to Baron.”
                   “No! No!” Blake shook his head at Jasper. He spoke into the mouthpiece again. “No, Baron, I can’t leave school now, but...”
                   He looked up at Jasper who combed his hair checking the top and sides in a small vanity mirror.
                  “I don’t speak for Jasper. He can speak for himself...”
                  “Indeed,”Jasper said, flattening his hair more.
                  “Don’t tell me that Baron. Use your common sense. The inheritance is not my money. It is your money. Money from your family to you.”
                   “He can give me some of that money, if he wants to,” Jasper said, turned and sat on the edge of Blake’s study desk.
                   Blake heard Jasper’ words. “Baron, it doesn’t matter that we would never have to work a day again, with all that money, but...”
                   Jasper frowned and picked up Blake’s history book. He flipped through the pages..
                   “Yes, of course, that sounds good, but I have my life to live. You have your life to live, and...”
                   “I read this last night,” Jasper said.
                   Blake looked up at him. He thought Jasper’ eyes were bloodshot. “Baron, have you talked to any of the other guys about this?”
                   “Oh, I’m first, huh?”
                   “I’ll talk to him,” Jasper said. He set the book on its end and spread he pages. Blake took the book and laid it down.
                   “Well, Baron, old buddy,” Blake said, “I’m sorry to hear about your uncle. Do you have any other relatives? Funny, we’ve know each other since kindergarten in Sunday School, and I know your aunt, mother and father are gone, and now your uncle, but I don’t know of any other relatives you might have.”
                   “Is he an orphan, now, too?” Jasper chuckled. “Geez!”
                   “Oh, well I didn’t know, buddy,” Blake said. His tone was warm.
                   “Come on, Blake. It’s getting late. We’ve got to run track. Let’s go. Spring’s gonna be gone before we get that championship trophy. . .”
                   “Yes, I know I don’t have any other relatives, either. Well, Baron, you know, if you remember, that my parents were killed in that weird auto accident when we were in third grade...?”
                   “I remember,” Jasper said. He pinched his lips tight.
                   “Yes, I know you remember, Baron.”
                   Jasper grabbed the telephone and said, “Hi Baron. This is Jasper.” He handed the telephone back to Blake.
                   “He said hi back to you. He wants to talk to you next.”
                   “Good,” Jasper said. He walked behind Blake’s chair and stared out the french windows. “It’s gonna rain. We better get running.”
                   “Baron, what are we talking about?” Blake said.
                   “I can’t leave school. I just can’t. It will take most of the money from my folk’s insurance to get me through the four years...”
                   Interesting, Jasper thought. Now with Baron’s uncle passing away, all six of us have no parents. They’re all dead and we’re still young guys. Strange. Very strange situation.
                   “What do you mean I will not see you again? That’s nonsense! I have to see you again. I’ll be home, in Harbor, at Thanksgiving and...”
                   “Where’s he going?” Jasper asked and leaned close to Blake, propping his head on his hands, trying to hear Baron’s voice.
                   “You won’t be there?”
                   “He won’t be there?” Jasper asked.
                  

                  And furthermore, he wasn’t there, Blake thought as the recollection of Baron’s telephone call, with Jasper present, faded and he spied the outskirts of Harbor Junction. Haven’t seen Baron for over twenty years now, and Jasper either, for almost that long, but I feel Baron’s never far from me. I can’t explain the feeling. Wherever Baron is I guess Jasper is with him too. He missed them.
                   The train slowed and the whistle blew. The conductor picked up his ticket and winked at him. Blake nodded indicating he knew he neared his destination. We’ll soon be in the station. I’ll be glad to get off the train.
                   His thoughts turned to the wire he received from Baron. He didn’t know Baron’s location, but felt that the wire’s origin was very distant. He thought about the wire, the ominous tone and had read it over and over many times. He entertained the thought that Baron had gone over the edge and wondered what Jasper’s roll in the plot might be. He hoped Jasper was no longer with Baron, but he didn’t know. He knew where he had to go.
                   He stepped down the train station’s steps carrying his overnight bag and his briefcase. He thought about how fast the past twenty years had gone by and now that he was back in Harbor, he would miss not seeing Baron and Jasper and Forest, Baker and Peter. He saw each of them in his mind as he hurried toward a taxi, its driver leaning against the side, smoking a cigarette. The driver came to life, stood up straight, nodded and opened the rear door for Blake. He flicked his cigarette.
                   “Yes sir!” he said as Blake tossed his bag and briefcase inside.
                   Blake got in and settled into the rear seat as the driver closed the door and hurried to get in the driver’s seat. Blake tried to determine if he knew this man.
                   “Where to?” he asked.
                   “The Largent residence,” Blake said.
                   “Nobody lives there now,” the driver said and looked back at Blake through the rearview mirror.
                   “I understand that...”
                   “But, there isn’t anyone for miles around either. Hasn’t been for years...”
                   “I know that too,” Blake said. “I have permission...”
                   “Oh, I didn’t mean that, sir,” the driver said.
                   He started the engine. “You look familiar. Did you ever live here?”
                   “Yes, my name, sir, is Blake Norman and...”
                   “Well, son of a gun,” the driver said. “We were just talking about you guys...”
                   “You guys?” Blake asked.
                   “Yeah. You know. Hey, Blake, you don’t recognize me, do you?”
                   “I’m sorry, but...”
                   “Don’t be. My doctor said all the drinking I did, the war and all, aged me something terrible...”
                   “You are?”
                   “I’m Ollie Haskins...”
                   “Of course. You were a year behind me in school...”
                   “I was a year behind the six of you, you mean. The wunderkind as you were called.”
                   Ollie continued talking excitedly as he drove the taxi slowly through the small town, that never had heavy evening traffic, even on shopping nights: Friday and Saturday evenings. Blake never liked being referred to as a marvel, but he knew, as did everyone in Harbor Junction, that he and the other five boys, had the best grades, almost identical grade averages, were top athletes, won awards until the awards meant little to them, and as the taxi passed the one small movie theater in Harbor Junction, he wondered why he or any of the others never asked why such a unique situation existed, for six young males, in a small Midwestern city, in the United States. Why? Blake wondered as he had many times in his life..
                   He closed his eyes, to rest, as Ollie continued talking and he was glad Ollie never asked questions. He told Blake what had happened to different people they were in high school with. “...And, some are dead, a few are somewhat famous, and there was much talk around here about the death of old man Largent...”
                   “Do you mean Baron Largent’s uncle?” Blake asked, rubbing his face.
                   “The same.”
                   “What do you mean, Ollie?”
                   “The gossip is some people think somebody killed the old guy...”
                   “Why do they think that?”
                   “I’m not exactly certain, to tell you the truth, but there were rumors that the guy was poisoned...”
                   “I never heard that,” Blake said. He thought about this conversation with Baron when Baron told him of his uncle’s passing. “Wouldn’t that information have been in the newspapers?”
                   “They think it was kept quiet.”
                   “Why?”
                   “Money. That’s why!”
                   “Money? What money?”
                   “The Largent money. Baron was the last remaining Largent. I guess you knew that...”
                   “Yeah.”
                   “Well, the spin around here is that money changed hands and...”
                   “I don’t believe that...”
                   “Most people don’t, but...”
                   He drove down the hill and out of town onto the four lane highway.
                   “Well another story had it Mr. Largent died of a crushed skull because he fell down the stairs in that large house of his. The one you’re going to.”
                   Blake shook his head and squinted out the side window. “We’re almost there, aren’t we?”
                   “Yep! For sure!” Ollie said. “Just another few minutes.”
                   Blake wasn’t certain what he was going to do, but he knew he had to find Baron. Mr. Baron Largent, sir, he said in his mind to his old friend, I’ve got to stop you from completing this nonsense. And, I’m going to do everything in power to catch up with you.
                   Blake thought about his course of action as Ollie drove onto the circular concrete drive of the Largent house. It appeared to be smaller than he had remembered. Baron and the guys and me enjoyed many hours of fun in that house, he thought. The wood trim needs painting. The bricks need washing too. I wonder why Baron hasn’t kept the place in shape. “It looks older than I thought it would,” he said.
                   “It is older, Blake. But nobody comes here anymore.”
                   “Not even Baron?”
                   “Nope. Hasn’t been any visitors out this way for a long time.”
                   “I wonder why?” Blake said as the taxi rolled to a stop. They looked up the wide front stairs. The four columns showed peeling paint. Blake was perturbed. The men looked at each other.
                   “See?” Ollie said. “Nobody’s been here in a long time. I’m not even certain the doors are locked. You know, Blake, even when we were kids, people didn’t lock the doors to their houses or their cars or anything else...”
                   “I know,” Blake said. “Tell me! How much is it?”
                   “Nothing for you, buddy,” Ollie said, shook his head and waved Blake’s hand away.
                   “Are you married?” Blake asked.
                   “Yep. Me and the missus have three kids: teenagers now.”
                   Blake grabbed Ollie’s wrist. Ollie was surprised by Blake’s strength. “Take this then and buy your wife and kids something different. . .”
                   “Hey!” Ollie said dropping the money. That’s a lot of green. The fare is nowhere near that amount...”
                   Blake opened the door and stepped out.
                   “Blake, do you want me to wait? I will, you know.”
                   “No. I see your phone number on the side of your cab.” He set his bag and briefcase down on the driveway. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave.”
                   “Hey, Blake. If there are any telephones in that house, they’re not working. Of that I’m certain.”
                   “I have a cel phone. I’ll call you, Ollie. Thanks,” he said picked up his bag and briefcase and walked slowly toward up the four wide stairs to the front door. He tucked his briefcase under his arm and opened the door. It creaked open slowly, sounding ominous, Blake smiled and stepped inside. He looked up the wide staircase to the second floor. The grandfather’s clock is still here. Not working though. Furniture still in the hall, in the main sitting room, and as he turned left he noticed the diningroom was still furnished. Blake, you rogue, where are you? Where did you go? What are you doing?
                   He knew the layout of the upper floor and decided not to investigate the furnishings. He thought about their secret meeting place and knew he would have to go down into the basement to find it. He recalled how the six buddies, the group that everyone said was ‘different’ met there, played there and enjoyed themselves there. He heard Baron say, “This is better than a tree house, because we’re all by ourselves and nobody knows this room is here. . .”
                   “Not even your uncle?” Peter asked.
                   “Oh yeah, he knows about the secret room. But he would never come down into the basement except to get food, canned goods, potatoes, in the huge storage room on the other side of the basement. We can do anything we want here. Take our clothes off...” Blake recalled the excitement of the room. He set his bag and briefcase down, walked the short distance to the door that led to the basement, and was moved to hurry down the basement stairs.
                   The air smelled of dust with a faint aroma of washing powder. He stepped onto the concrete basement floor. It’s still painted red. He counted the basement poles. Six. Which pole has the hook that opened the secret door?
                   He walked to the farthest pole and pulled down on the hook. A wide door in the corner of the room creaked open and suddenly stopped moving. He looked at the opening. Two feet wide, he thought as he stepped into the dark room. He reached for the light switch and flipped it up. The room lighted. Blake was startled to discover the house had electricity. That means someone pays the bill and the person can be traced. He shivered recalling memories, hearing voices he hadn’t heard in too long a time. “Where are the guys now? What are they doing?” He ran his finger along the long conference table. Baron’s idea, he thought as his finger traced a crooked line in the dust as he walked toward the head of the table. Why are papers still on the table? What do they mean?
                   The quiet of the room impressed Blake. He looked down at the stack of bond papers and noticed three blue folders that looked like bound reports. He looked at the labels on the report covers, frowned and his heart began to beat faster. He read the titles to himself. He read, Number One. The Experiment Is Defined. “The experiment? What experiment?” He glanced at the next report and noticed its thickness compared to the other two and also the first report was on top of the second and there are three of them. Number Two. The Experiment Is Monitored. He pushed it aside and read the title of the third folder. Number Three. The Experiment Must Be Ended.
                   He looked around the room as if expecting someone to enter. He shivered. What’s wrong? Something isn’t right here. He noticed a sheet of bond paper with writing on it. It’s Baron’s old typewriter. I know it. He picked it up and began to read it.

How long have these papers been here? What do they mean?
He pulled the end chair out from the table, recalled Baron had called it The Chairman’s Chair and sat as he prepared to read the reports. The secret room was heavy with mildew and dust. He looked down the old long corporate table at the empty chairs. There was one chair at the far end of the table and two on either side, placed on the chairs’ front legs leaning against the table’s edge. He wondered where his compatriots, now men, lived and what they had accomplished. He yearned to see them again. He feared reading the reports and didn’t want to read an account of what he feared the reports contained.
What is going on? he thought and rubbed his forehead. Why did Baron want me to come here and find these papers?
“Where is Baron?”
A sadness invaded his emotion. Baron, Baron, what have you done? He opened the first report and began to read. He read what he feared. He read about a vast conspiracy—a grand plot involving all members of the board. All six members of the board. He gasped as he continued reading.

Excerpt from Chapter One — Blake Norman