It might seem trite to others, Jackson understood that. Lost your fortune? So what? Who gives a damn? But Jackson gave a damn. Year after year he had counted on that money to free him from his father’s tyrannical persecution. When that long-held hope was abruptly torn away, the absolute shock had carved a definite change in him. What was rightfully his had been stolen from him, and by the one man who shouldn’t have done it, by a man who should have loved his son and wanted the best for him, respected him, wanted to protect him. Instead Jackson had gotten an empty bank account and the hate-filled blows of a madman. And Jackson had taken it. Up to a point. But then he hadn’t taken it anymore.
Jackson’s father had died unexpectedly. Parents killed their small children every day, never with good reason. By comparison, children killed their parents only rarely, usually with excellent purpose. Jackson smiled lightly as he thought of this. An early chemical experiment, administered through his father’s beloved scotch, the rupturing of a brain aneurysm the result. As with any occupation, one had to start somewhere.
When those of average or below-average intelligence committed crimes such as murder, they usually did so clumsily, with no long-range planning or preparation. The result was typically swift arrest and conviction. Among the highly intelligent, serious crimes evolved from careful planning, long-term approaches, many sessions of mental gymnastics. As a result, arrests were rare, convictions even rarer. Jackson was definitely in the latter category.
The eldest son had been compelled to go out and earn the family fortune back. A college merit scholarship to a prestigious university and graduation at the top of his class had been followed by his careful nurturing of old family contacts, for those embers could not be allowed to die out if Jackson’s long-range plan was to succeed. Over those years he had devoted himself to mastering a variety of skills, both corporeal and cerebral, that would allow him to pursue his dream of wealth and the power that came with it. His body was as fit and strong as his mind, the one in precise balance with the other. However, ever mindful of not following in his father’s footsteps, Jackson had set a far more ambitious goal for himself: He would do all of it while remaining completely invisible from scrutiny. Despite his love of acting, he did not crave the spotlight as his politician father had. He was perfectly content with his audience of one.
And so he had built his invisible empire albeit in a profoundly illegal manner. The results were the same regardless of where the dollars had originated. Go anywhere, do anything. It didn’t only apply to his ducklings.
He smiled at this thought as he continued to move through the apartment.
Jackson had a younger brother and sister. His brother had inherited their father’s bad habits and consequently expected the world to offer up its best for nothing of comparable value in return. Jackson had given him enough money to live a comfortable but hardly luxurious existence. If he ran through that money there would be no more. For him, that well was dry. His sister was another matter. Jackson cared deeply for her, although she had adored the old man with the blind faith a daughter often shows to her father. Jackson had set her up in grand style but never visited her. The demands on his time were too immense. One night might find him in Hong Kong, the next in London. Moreover, visits with his sister would necessitate conversation and he had no desire to lie to her about what he had done and continued to do for a living. She would never be a part of that world of his. She could live out her days in idle luxury and complete ignorance looking for someone to replace the father she believed had been so kind, so noble.
Still, Jackson had done right by his family. He had no shame, no guilt there. He was not his father. He had allowed himself one constant reminder of the old man, the name he used in all his dealings: Jackson. His father’s name was Jack. And no matter what he did, he would always be Jack’s son.