Page 7 of Charlie
“I looked into your background and found a few details that makes me optimistic that you’re perfect for the job.” Turning in his chair, Mr. Robertson pulled out another set of printed papers and handed them to me. “You should recognize this paper. You authored it.”
I let my fingers run over the title:Mind control: Myths and Facts.It was a paper I’d written in psychology.
“You have seventeen pages describing the ways cult leaders brainwash their victims.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, and quite a few describing unhealthy company dynamics that take place in modern-day business. Some of which I’d like to discuss with you another time.”
I moved in my seat. “As I said, I’d like to help, but just because I know a bit about how cults work doesn’t change that I’ve only met your grandson a few times, and that was years ago. What makes you think that he’d be interested in anything I have to say?”
“Hmm… come with me. There’s something that I want you to see.” Mr. Robertson got up and swung a hand, gesturing for me to go first.
He took me back through the grand entrance and into a small elevator. “I used to run up and down those stairs, but now, my hips don’t like them much.”
On the second floor, we got out and walked to a bedroom with large, robust furniture in dark wood. Unlike the rest of the house, it was a little untidy in here with random-looking objects spread around.
“This used to be Charles’ room.” Robertson walked over and touched a globe on the desk that stood against one of the three windows in the room. “After our last conversation when he cut me off, I came in here hoping to find clues… and maybe to feel a bit of a connection because I missed him.” He sighed. “But either way, I found something that led me to you.”
My heart did a flip as I kept listening.
“I never cleared out this room after Charles bought his penthouse apartment in downtown Chicago. Turns out that he left some boxes here and in one of them there were some of his diaries and a few objects.” Robertson moved to the bed and picked up a blue journal.
“I didn’t take Charles for a guy who would keep a diary.” Maybe it was the mystery of it all that had me on edge and making such an insensitive comment. “I’m sorry, it sounded like criticism, but I just meant that it’s unusual, that’s all.”
Robertson held the journal in his hands. “Emmy taught him to use it as a tool when he was younger. She kept a diary from before I met her and over the forty-two years of our marriage, she often tried to get me to keep one of my own. According to her, journals offer a safe place to vent out the thoughts and emotions that we find it so hard to share with the people around us. With Charles being painfully shy and introverted, I suppose writing down his feelings became a stress reliever of sorts.” Robertson lowered the book and frowned. “I don’t believe in snooping around in other people’s diaries, but in this case, I’m trying to find a way to help my grandson out of the claws of a cult, and I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“I understand.”
“Good. I don’t need to remind you that you’ve signed an NDA. I’m going to leave you here to read what he wrote about you.”
Charles wrote about me?Butterflies tumbled around my stomach as if a sudden gush of wind had knocked them off course.
Feeling like I was in a surreal trance, I watched Robertson place the journal on Charles’ bed before walking past me and stopping by the door.
“I’ll see you downstairs. If you decide to take the assignment and help me get Charles out of the cult, his journals will give you important insights into his personality and background that can serve you in winning his trust.”
“Thank you.”
The old man stood for a second with his hand on the door handle. “If you get Charles to leave the cult for good, I’m prepared to give you a million dollars.”
My jaw hung low. “That’s… a lot of money, but it’s not necessary. I assure you: I’m happy to help if only you pay my expenses.”
“I’m getting old and my health is declining fast. Believe me when I say that a million dollars is nothing compared to what I’d give to make peace with Charles before I die. The sad reality is that I’ve worked my entire life to create an empire for my heir, and now he doesn’t want it.” His shoulders sagged and he looked thoughtful.
“Did Charles say that?”
His eyes glazed over again. “He said he needed to do some soul searching. It’s ironic, isn’t it? I never did much of that, but these past months I’ve had a lot of time to think. I worked so hard to give him a privileged life but at the same time, I made him a target for charlatans and criminals like O’Brien. That’s why I’ve changed my will. If I die before Charles is outside the influence of the cult, he won’t get his inheritance.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. I’m hoping O’Brien will release his claws on Charles once he learns there’s no inheritance. If he does, I’ll have given Charles something worth more than money.”
“So, you’re saying that if I don’t get Charles out of the cult, he’ll lose his entire inheritance. How long do I have?”
“If we’re lucky, a few months.”
I stared at the old man. “Are you… dying?”
