The explosion that shook the Richards household at 11:47 AM on February 11th, 1983, was felt throughout the entire neighborhood. Windows rattled in houses three blocks away, car alarms began wailing, and the brilliant blue-white flash was visible even in broad daylight. Within minutes, neighbors came running from all directions, drawn by the sound of shattering glass and the acrid smell of ozone that hung in the air like the aftermath of a lightning strike.
Mrs. Patterson from next door was the first to arrive, still wearing her gardening gloves and carrying the trowel she'd been using to plant spring bulbs. She found Reed standing in the middle of the driveway, staring at the smoking remains of what had once been the garage laboratory, his face streaked with tears and his clothes singed from the energy discharge.
"Reed! Oh my goodness, Reed, are you hurt?" she cried, dropping her trowel and rushing to kneel beside him. Her hands fluttered over him, checking for injuries, but he seemed physically unharmed despite his obvious distress.
"Mrs. Patterson," Reed said, his voice small and hollow. "Daddy's gone. The time machine... it worked, but something went wrong, and now he's gone."
Mrs. Patterson looked confused, glancing at the destroyed garage and then back at Reed. "What do you mean, sweetheart? Where's your father? Was he in the garage when it happened?"
"He went back in time," Reed explained, his ten-year-old voice struggling to convey concepts that would challenge adult physicists. "We built a temporal displacement device based on closed timelike curves and exotic matter containment. The field destabilized during activation and—"
"Reed, honey, you're in shock," Mrs. Patterson interrupted gently, clearly not understanding what he was trying to tell her. "Let's get you away from here. The fire department is coming."
More neighbors arrived in rapid succession. Mr. and Mrs. Chen from across the street, the Kowalski family from two houses down, old Mr. Morrison who had lived on the block for forty years. They formed a protective circle around Reed, their faces filled with concern and horror at the destruction they witnessed.
"What happened here?" asked Jim Chen, a structural engineer who immediately began assessing the damage. The garage was completely destroyed, its roof collapsed inward, walls blackened and twisted by forces that defied easy explanation. "This doesn't look like any electrical fire I've ever seen."
"The electromagnetic field generators must have overloaded," Reed said, still trying to explain what had really happened. "When the exotic matter containment failed, it created a cascade reaction in the temporal stabilization matrix. Daddy said it might be dangerous, but I didn't think—"
"Reed, sweetheart," Mrs. Chen said, kneeling down to his level, "I know you're scared and confused. Sometimes when terrible things happen, our minds try to make sense of them in unusual ways. But you don't need to worry about explaining anything right now."
Reed felt a growing frustration as he realized none of the adults believed what he was saying. To them, his explanation sounded like the confused ramblings of a traumatized child, not the accurate description of a scientific catastrophe. How could he make them understand that his father hadn't died in an ordinary accident but had vanished into the timestream itself?
The fire trucks arrived with sirens wailing, followed closely by police cars and an ambulance. The paramedics immediately checked Reed for injuries while the firefighters began assessing the scene. Chief O'Brien, a twenty-year veteran of the Cambridge Fire Department, had never seen destruction quite like this.
"Son," Officer Martinez said, kneeling beside Reed as the paramedics finished their examination, "can you tell me what happened here? Where's your father?"
"He activated the temporal displacement device," Reed said, hoping that maybe an official investigator would understand. "We built it together over the past year. It was based on Dr. Nathaniel's theoretical work on closed timelike curves and—"
"Easy there, Reed," Officer Martinez said kindly. "I know this is scary. Just tell me in simple words. Was your dad in the garage when the explosion happened?"
Reed nodded miserably. "He was trying to go back in time to save Mommy. But something went wrong with the exotic matter containment, and the temporal field collapsed. I saw him disappear into the vortex."
Officer Martinez exchanged glances with Chief O'Brien. Both men had dealt with traumatized children before, and they recognized the signs of a young mind trying to process an incomprehensible loss.
"We're going to figure out what happened," Officer Martinez assured Reed. "But right now, we need to make sure you're safe. Do you have any relatives we can call?"
"Uncle Gary," Reed whispered. "But he doesn't understand science. He never liked Daddy's work."
Over the following hours, the Richards house became the center of intense investigation activity. Fire investigators, police detectives, and even federal agents arrived to examine the scene. The destruction was so unusual that it triggered protocols for potential industrial accidents involving experimental materials.
Detective Sarah Thompson had been called in specifically because of her experience with cases involving academic research facilities. As she walked through the destroyed garage, she tried to piece together what had actually happened.
"Have you ever seen anything like this?" she asked Fire Chief O'Brien as they examined the twisted remains of equipment that looked more like science fiction than anything she'd encountered in her fifteen years of police work.
"Never," O'Brien admitted, studying the patterns of heat damage and metal deformation. "The melting patterns suggest temperatures well beyond what you'd expect from an electrical fire. And look at these metal fragments—they're twisted like they were subjected to enormous magnetic forces."
Reed watched from the driveway as investigators photographed and catalogued every piece of debris from his father's time machine. When Detective Thompson approached him for a formal statement, he tried once more to explain what had really happened.
"My father was Dr. Nathaniel Richards," Reed began, his voice steady despite his exhaustion. "He was a theoretical physicist specializing in temporal mechanics. After my mother died, he became obsessed with the possibility of traveling backward through time to prevent her death."
Detective Thompson listened patiently, taking notes as Reed continued his explanation.
"We spent months building a temporal displacement device based on the Alcubierre drive principle, modified for time travel instead of faster-than-light travel. The machine used exotic matter with negative energy density to create closed timelike curves in localized spacetime."
"Exotic matter?" Detective Thompson asked, genuinely trying to understand.
"Matter with negative energy density," Reed explained. "My father acquired it through his connections at CERN. It's only stable under specific electromagnetic containment conditions. When the containment field failed during activation, it created a catastrophic temporal distortion."
Detective Thompson studied Reed's earnest face, seeing no signs of deception or confusion. The boy spoke with the precision and vocabulary of someone far older, using technical terms with apparent understanding. But the story itself seemed impossible.
"Reed, I want you to know that what you're telling me is very important," she said carefully. "But some of these concepts—time travel, exotic matter—they sound more like science fiction than science fact. Are you sure you understood what your father was working on?"
"I helped him build it," Reed insisted, frustration creeping into his voice. "I calculated the electromagnetic field configurations. I helped calibrate the temporal stabilization matrix. I know exactly what happened, but nobody believes me because they think children can't understand advanced physics."
Dr. Patricia Morrison arrived at the scene late that afternoon. As Evelyn's former research partner and one of the few people who had known the Richards family well, she had been contacted by the police to help provide context about Nathaniel's work and mental state.
"Reed!" she exclaimed, rushing to embrace him. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I came as soon as I heard."
"Dr. Morrison," Reed said, relief evident in his voice at seeing a familiar face. "Maybe you can help them understand. Daddy was working on temporal mechanics, trying to build a time machine to go back and save Mommy. Nobody believes me when I explain what happened."
Dr. Morrison looked at the destroyed garage, then back at Reed's earnest face. She had known Nathaniel for over a decade, understood his brilliance and his capacity for obsession. After Evelyn's death, she had noticed his increasing isolation from the academic community and his growing interest in theoretical work that pushed the boundaries of accepted physics.
"Reed," she said gently, "your father was certainly working on some very advanced theoretical projects. But time travel... that's still firmly in the realm of speculation, even for someone as brilliant as your father."
"But the equations work!" Reed protested. "Einstein's field equations allow for closed timelike curves under specific conditions. With sufficient exotic matter density and precise electromagnetic field control, temporal displacement is theoretically possible!"
Dr. Morrison stared at Reed in amazement. The boy was quoting graduate-level physics with perfect accuracy, discussing concepts that most undergraduate students would struggle to understand. But his explanation, however technically sophisticated, still described something that seemed impossible.
"The important thing right now is making sure you're taken care of," she said finally. "Your Uncle Gary is driving up from Springfield. He should be here by evening."
Gary Richards arrived at 8 PM in his fifteen-year-old pickup truck, looking completely out of place among the emergency vehicles and investigators that still crowded the street. He was a stocky man in his forties, wearing work clothes and carrying himself with the wary posture of someone who had never been comfortable around his brother's academic world.
Reed watched from Mrs. Patterson's living room window as Gary stood in the driveway, staring at the destroyed garage with an expression that mixed grief, anger, and something that might have been vindication buried in the layers of heartbreaking sadness at losing the brother that, for all their countless disagreements, he still loved.
"Damn fool," Gary muttered to Detective Thompson, loud enough for Reed to hear through the open window. "I told him years ago that all this science nonsense would get him in trouble someday. Should have stuck to teaching instead of playing with dangerous experiments."
"Mr. Richards," Detective Thompson said carefully, "we're still investigating what exactly happened here. Your nephew has been providing some... detailed explanations about his father's work."
"Reed's a smart kid, too smart for his own good sometimes," Gary said, his voice carrying the same dismissive tone Reed remembered from family gatherings. "Gets these crazy ideas from reading too many science books. Don't put too much stock in whatever science fiction stories he's been telling you."
Reed felt his heart sink as he listened to his uncle dismiss his explanation without even hearing it. If Gary wouldn't listen to him, who would?
When Gary finally came inside to collect Reed, their reunion was awkward and strained. They barely knew each other, having seen each other only a handful of times over the years at family gatherings that had always been tense affairs.
"Sorry about your dad, kid," Gary said, his voice gruff with emotion he was trying to hide. "Whatever happened out there, whatever foolish experiment he was working on, it's over now. You're coming to live with us."
"It wasn't foolish," Reed said quietly. "He was trying to save Mommy. The temporal displacement device worked—I saw it activate. But the exotic matter containment failed and—"
"Reed," Gary interrupted, his voice sharp with the same impatience Reed remembered from his childhood visits. "Enough with the science fiction nonsense. Your father had an accident in his laboratory. That's all anyone needs to know."
The investigation concluded three days later with an official finding that Dr. Nathaniel Richards had died in a laboratory accident involving experimental electrical equipment. The extreme heat generated by the equipment failure had allegedly incinerated any remains, explaining the absence of a body.
Reed read the report with growing dismay, seeing how the investigators had rationalized away every piece of evidence that pointed to the true nature of his father's work. The twisted metal was explained as electromagnetic damage. The unusual burn patterns were attributed to exotic electrical phenomena. The complete absence of a body was dismissed as the result of extreme temperatures.
"They don't want to understand," Reed told Mrs. Patterson as she helped him pack his belongings for the move to Gary's house. "It's easier to pretend it was just an ordinary accident than to admit that my father actually succeeded in building a working time machine."
"Oh, sweetheart," Mrs. Patterson said, folding Reed's clothes with gentle care. "Sometimes when we lose people we love, our minds try to find extraordinary explanations for ordinary tragedies. It doesn't mean we're wrong to feel that way—it just means we're human."
Even she didn't believe him. Reed realized with growing isolation that he might be the only person in the world who truly understood what had happened to his father. The burden of that knowledge felt impossibly heavy for a ten-year-old boy to carry alone.
February 14th, 1983, Reed's tenth birthday, was marked not with celebration but with a memorial service for his father. The timing felt cruel, as if the universe was determined to ensure that Reed would never again be able to celebrate his birthday without remembering loss.
The service was held in the Richards family living room, the same space where Reed had once been surrounded by love and laughter. Now it felt hollow and strange, filled with people who spoke in hushed tones about the man who had been the center of Reed's world.
Since there was no body to bury, the focal point of the service was a large framed photograph of Nathaniel taken during happier times. It showed him in his laboratory, holding one of the model rockets he had built with Reed, his face bright with the enthusiasm that had made him such an inspiring teacher and father.
Reed sat in his father's favorite armchair, wearing his only suit—a navy blue outfit that Evelyn had bought him for special occasions. It was slightly too small now, another reminder of how much his life had changed since his mother's death.
The guests were an eclectic mix that reflected the different aspects of Nathaniel's life. Professor Williams from MIT was there, along with several other colleagues from the physics department. Dr. Patricia Morrison represented Evelyn's side of their scientific partnership. A few neighbors who had known the family for years sat quietly in the back.
Most prominently, Professor James Wheeler—the same man who had given Reed his planetary mobile when he was born—stood to speak about his former student and colleague.
"Nathaniel Richards was one of the most brilliant theoretical physicists of his generation," Professor Wheeler said, his voice carrying the weight of genuine grief. "His work on electromagnetic field theory and quantum mechanics pushed the boundaries of human knowledge. But more than that, he was a devoted father who shared his love of science with his son in ways that inspired everyone who knew them."
Reed listened to the eulogy with mixed emotions. Professor Wheeler spoke eloquently about his father's published work, his contributions to the academic community, his role as a loving husband and father. But there was no mention of his greatest achievement—the successful construction of a working time machine. That accomplishment would remain unknown to history, dismissed as the fantasy of a traumatized child.
Dr. Morrison spoke next, sharing memories of Nathaniel and Evelyn's partnership both professional and personal. "They were soulmates in every sense," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "Nathaniel never fully recovered from Evelyn's death. In many ways, I think he spent the last two years trying to find a way back to her."
Those words hit closer to the truth than Dr. Morrison realized, and Reed felt tears streaming down his face as he understood that at least one person had glimpsed his father's true motivation.
Several neighbors shared brief remembrances of Nathaniel as a kind and brilliant man who had always been willing to help with problems that required scientific knowledge. Mrs. Patterson talked about the times Nathaniel had helped repair her television or explained why her roses weren't blooming properly.
"He had a gift for making complex things simple," she said. "Reed inherited that same gift. Even as a young child, he could explain scientific concepts in ways that made perfect sense."
Throughout the service, Reed remained largely silent. When invited to speak about his father, he simply shook his head. How could he possibly explain to these people what Nathaniel Richards had really accomplished? How could he make them understand that his father hadn't died in an accident but had deliberately stepped into the unknown in pursuit of love?
Gary Richards stood somewhat apart from the academic gathering, clearly uncomfortable among the professors and researchers who had been his brother's colleagues. When it came time for family to speak, he offered only a few brief words.
"Nathaniel was always the smart one in the family," Gary said, his voice rough with emotion he was trying to suppress, as for all their differences his love for his brother was genuine, as was his pain from losing him. "Sometimes too smart for his own good. But he loved his family more than anything, and that's what I'll remember about him."
After the formal service ended, the guests moved through the house, sharing quiet conversations and memories. Reed found himself the center of attention as family friends and colleagues offered their condolences and tried to provide comfort.
"Your father spoke about you constantly," Professor Williams told Reed during the reception. "He was so proud of your scientific aptitude. He used to say you were asking graduate-level questions before you could properly tie your shoes."
"He taught me everything I know about physics," Reed replied, his voice steady despite his grief. "We worked together on all his projects. Even the final one."
Professor Williams looked puzzled. "Final project? I wasn't aware Nathaniel was working on anything specific lately. He'd been quite secretive about his research since Evelyn's death."
"He was working on temporal mechanics," Reed said carefully. "Theoretical work on closed timelike curves and exotic matter applications."
"Temporal mechanics?" Professor Williams frowned. "That's highly speculative work. Theoretical at best. Nathaniel never mentioned pursuing anything in that field."
Reed felt the familiar frustration of not being believed, even by people who had known and respected his father. "He built a working prototype," Reed insisted. "I helped him. The temporal displacement device was functional—that's what caused the explosion."
Professor Williams exchanged a concerned glance with Dr. Morrison, who had been listening to the conversation. Both adults clearly thought Reed was creating elaborate fantasies to cope with his loss.
"Reed," Dr. Morrison said gently, "grief can make us imagine things that feel very real. It's natural to want to believe that your father was working on something extraordinary. But time travel... that's still firmly in the realm of science fiction."
Reed wanted to scream with frustration. These were supposed to be brilliant scientists, people who understood advanced physics and theoretical concepts. Yet they couldn't—or wouldn't—accept that Nathaniel Richards had achieved something genuinely revolutionary.
As the reception continued, Reed found himself increasingly isolated. Well-meaning adults patted his shoulder and offered empty condolences, but no one truly listened when he tried to explain what had really happened. They saw a traumatized child creating fantasy explanations for a tragedy he couldn't understand, not a brilliant boy who had witnessed scientific history.
The afternoon stretched on interminably. Reed endured countless conversations about his father's "conventional" achievements while the truth about his greatest accomplishment remained unacknowledged. By the time the last guests departed, Reed felt more alone than ever.
As Gary loaded Reed's belongings into his pickup truck that evening, Reed took one final look at the house where he had learned to love science and lost everything that mattered to him. The destroyed garage stood as a monument to his father's final experiment, though no one would ever understand its true significance.
"Time to go, kid," Gary said, not unkindly. "Nothing left for you here."
But Reed knew that wasn't true. Somewhere in that rubble lay the remains of technology that had successfully bent spacetime itself, evidence of humanity's first functional time machine. His father's greatest achievement would be forgotten, dismissed as the delusion of a grieving child.
As they drove away from the only home Reed had ever known, he made a silent vow. Someday, he would be smart enough and strong enough to prove that his father had succeeded. He would master the universe's secrets so completely that nothing he loved would ever be taken from him again, and he would ensure that Nathaniel Richards' true legacy was remembered.
The universe always had more secrets to reveal, his father had taught him. Now Reed would spend the rest of his life trying to unlock those secrets, driven by the memory of everything he had lost and the desperate hope that knowledge might be enough to prevent such losses in the future.
—
The three-hour drive from Cambridge to Springfield passed in tense silence, broken only by the rumble of Gary's aging pickup truck and the occasional comment about traffic or road conditions. Reed sat pressed against the passenger door, his single suitcase and box of treasured possessions wedged between them on the bench seat. The box contained his most precious belongings: the model rockets he and his father had built together, his mother's research journals, the letter Nathaniel had left for him, and a small framed photo of his family during happier times.
Gary Richards was a stocky man in his mid-forties, his hands permanently stained with motor oil and his face weathered by years of factory work. He wore a faded flannel shirt and jeans, clothes that spoke of practical necessity rather than fashion. Everything about him seemed to reject the academic world that had defined Reed's life.
For the first hour, they drove in complete silence. Reed stared out the window at the changing landscape, watching the tree-lined academic neighborhoods of Cambridge give way to industrial suburbs and working-class communities. The world outside the truck looked increasingly foreign to him, a stark reminder of how far he was traveling from everything familiar.
"Look, kid," Gary finally said as they passed through a small industrial town, "I know this ain't easy for you. Losing your dad and all. But you're gonna have to understand that things work different in my house than they did in your parents' place."
Reed remained silent, staring out the window at factories and working-class neighborhoods that looked nothing like the tree-lined streets of Cambridge. The contrast was jarring—instead of ivy-covered buildings and manicured lawns, he saw smokestacks and chain-link fences, auto repair shops and corner stores with neon signs advertising cigarettes and lottery tickets.
"Your father always thought he was better than the rest of us," Gary continued, his voice carrying old resentments that seemed to have been festering for decades. "All that fancy education, all those degrees and awards. Nobel Prize winner, big shot professor, too good to visit the family except when he needed something."
Reed turned to look at his uncle, seeing the bitterness etched in Gary's weathered features. "My father was a good man. He worked hard to understand the universe and help people."
Gary snorted derisively. "Help people? Kid, your dad spent his whole life playing with theories and equations while the rest of us were out here doing real work. When's the last time one of his fancy formulas fixed someone's car or put food on the table?"
"Science has practical applications," Reed said quietly, though he could hear how defensive he sounded. "Medical research saves lives. Engineering makes transportation possible. Physics—"
"Physics," Gary interrupted with a harsh laugh. "Let me tell you about physics, kid. Physics is what happens when you drop a wrench on your foot. Physics is understanding that if you don't tighten the bolts right, the wheel falls off. That's practical physics. Not whatever fantasy world your father was living in."
Reed felt anger building in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm. Getting into an argument with Gary wouldn't help anything, and he was completely dependent on this man's grudging hospitality.
"But look where it got him," Gary continued, his voice taking on a cruel edge. "Dead at forty-two because he was playing with things he shouldn't have been messing with. Time machines and space rays and God knows what other comic book nonsense. That's not research, that's fantasy."
"He wasn't playing," Reed said quietly, his first real words since leaving Cambridge. "He was conducting legitimate scientific research."
Gary's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Legitimate? Kid, I knew your father since we were children. He was always chasing after impossible dreams, always convinced he was going to change the world with his big brain. Never wanted to get his hands dirty with honest work."
The contempt in Gary's voice was unmistakable, and Reed began to understand that this wasn't just about different approaches to life. There was genuine hatred here, a lifetime of resentment that Gary had been carrying toward his more successful brother.
"You want to know the truth about why I agreed to take you in?" Gary asked, glancing at Reed with cold eyes. "It wasn't out of family loyalty or love for your dear old dad. It was that trust fund. Twelve million dollars, kid. That's a lot of money, even with all the restrictions they put on it."
Reed stared at his uncle in shock. He had hoped, despite everything, that Gary might care about him as family. But hearing the truth stated so bluntly was like a physical blow.
"See, every month, the trust fund pays for your 'care and maintenance,'" Gary continued, making air quotes with one hand while steering with the other. "Food, clothing, housing, education expenses. And since I'm your legal guardian, that money comes to me first. Sure, it's supposed to be spent on you, but who's to say what counts as necessary expenses?"
The implication was clear, and Reed felt his stomach turn. Gary was essentially admitting that he planned to profit from Reed's presence in his household.
"Now, don't get me wrong," Gary said, his tone becoming mockingly reasonable. "You'll get fed, you'll have a roof over your head, you'll go to school. I'm not completely heartless. But you're gonna earn your keep, and you're gonna learn some respect for honest work instead of all that theoretical garbage your father filled your head with."
"In my house," Gary continued, "we deal with real things. Cars that need fixing, pipes that leak, electrical problems that need solving. Practical stuff that actually matters. None of this theoretical nonsense that gets people killed."
As they entered Springfield, Reed saw a world vastly different from the one he'd known. Instead of university buildings and research facilities, there were factories, auto repair shops, and modest residential neighborhoods where houses sat close together with small yards and chain-link fences. It was a working-class community where people fixed things with their hands and measured success in terms of steady paychecks rather than academic achievements.
"Your father thought he was too good for places like this," Gary said, gesturing at the industrial landscape around them. "Thought he was destined for bigger things than the neighborhood where we grew up. Well, look how that turned out."
Reed wanted to defend his father, to explain that Nathaniel's work had been important and meaningful. But he could see that Gary's resentment was too deep and too old to be changed by anything a ten-year-old could say.
"Let me make something clear, kid," Gary said as they approached his neighborhood. "While you're living in my house, you're gonna follow my rules. No more of this 'gifted child' nonsense. No special treatment because you're supposedly smart. You're gonna learn to work with your hands, play sports like a normal boy, and stop thinking you're better than everyone else."
"I don't think I'm better than anyone," Reed protested.
"Sure you don't," Gary said sarcastically. "Just like your father never thought he was better than his factory worker brother. Just like your mother never looked down on the rest of us simple folk."
Reed had never heard anyone speak about his mother with such venom, and it shocked him into silence. Gary's hatred extended beyond Nathaniel to encompass Evelyn as well, and by extension, Reed himself.
"Here's what's gonna happen," Gary continued as they turned onto his street. "You're gonna go to regular school with regular kids. No special programs, no skipping grades, no advanced classes. You're gonna play sports whether you like it or not. And every weekend, you're gonna work in my garage learning practical skills instead of burying your nose in books."
Reed felt a chill of dread at this pronouncement. Gary was essentially planning to suppress everything that made Reed who he was, to force him into a mold that would never fit.
"And if you think you can appeal to the trust fund people or get help from your fancy professor friends, think again," Gary said with a cold smile. "I'm your legal guardian now. What I say goes. And if you cause me trouble, well, there are plenty of military schools that would love to straighten out a difficult boy."
The threat was clear, and Reed understood that he was truly powerless in this situation. Gary held all the cards—legal authority, financial control, and the ability to make Reed's life miserable if he didn't comply.
"But don't worry," Gary said, his tone becoming falsely cheerful as they approached his house. "My family doesn't need to know about our little understanding. As far as they're concerned, I'm just a loving uncle taking in his orphaned nephew. Mary and the kids think you're some kind of poor little genius who needs our help and support."
Reed realized with growing horror that Gary was revealing himself to be completely two-faced. The man who was speaking to him now with such cold calculation would transform into a different person the moment they reached his family.
"So here's how this works," Gary continued, pulling into his driveway. "Around my wife and kids, you'll see me being the concerned guardian, maybe a little rough around the edges but fundamentally caring. But when it's just you and me, kid, you'll see who I really am. And you'll remember that everything you have—food, shelter, clothing—comes from my generosity."
Reed stared at his uncle in disbelief. The man was essentially admitting to being a manipulative fraud who planned to abuse Reed while maintaining a facade of respectability for his family.
"Why?" Reed asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Why do you hate us so much?"
Gary's expression darkened. "You want to know why? Because your father got everything handed to him while I had to work for scraps. Because he got the brains, the scholarships, the fancy career, the beautiful wife, while I got stuck in a factory. Because even after all his success, he never once offered to help his own brother."
The bitterness in Gary's voice was decades deep, and Reed began to understand that he was paying the price for grievances that had nothing to do with him.
"When our father died," Gary continued, "Nathaniel got his inheritance and used it to go to college. I got nothing because the old man thought I was too stupid to make anything of myself. Your father could have shared, could have helped me get an education too. But he kept it all for himself."
Reed didn't know what to say. He had never heard this side of the family history, and he couldn't judge whether Gary's grievances were legitimate or simply the product of jealousy and resentment.
"So yeah, kid, I hate your father. And I hate the fact that even in death, he's still getting the better deal. His son gets twelve million dollars while my kids will be lucky to afford community college. But at least now I get something out of the bargain."
Gary turned off the truck and sat in silence for a moment, collecting himself. When he spoke again, his voice had completely changed, becoming warmer and more paternal.
"All right, Reed," he said, his transformation into the caring uncle beginning immediately. "Ready to meet your new family?"
Reed watched in fascination and horror as Gary's entire demeanor shifted. The cold, calculating man who had just threatened him was replaced by someone who seemed genuinely concerned for Reed's welfare. It was like watching an actor slip into character