7. Jack
7
JACK
The W-Bot headquarters stands as a six-story structure in downtown L.A. On the outside, the building maintains its nineties aesthetic, which is not typically associated with innovative companies these days. According to some news articles, the building is bursting with W-Bot’s rapid growth, so they’re planning to relocate.
I step inside. The atmosphere is that of a typical tech company office—clean-cut, modern design, with open spaces adorned with eccentric, futuristic furniture.
I approach the receptionist, pretending to be interested in a job in building security.
“Do you have any experience?” the lady asks. “This is a senior role that requires at least five years of field experience.”
“I worked as a PSC at various US installations overseas.”
“Impressive.” The lady nods, although her tentative face says she’s unsure what PSC means. I guess it can refer to anything from Private Security Contractor to Paranoid Snake Charmer. She hands me a tablet and gestures toward the screen, saying, “Scan the QR code for the online form.”
I pretend to scan it while studying the big, backlit W-Bot logo behind her. “Has the company rebranded?” I ask casually.
“What do you mean?”
“The logo. It looks different.”
The receptionist chuckles. “You have a sharp eye! Well, actually, the logo did change a few months ago.”
“The background, does it represent a microchip or something?”
“Good guess, but not quite. You see, behind the ‘B,’ there’s a faint sketch of Mr. Botha’s profile. His fiancée drew it.”
I squint, attempting to discern the lines. A company logo often reflects its owner as much as its philosophy. My question about rebranding would always be relevant—either the answer was a yes or a no. It was more sophisticated than asking bluntly, ‘What does your logo mean?’
So, W-Bot not only bears Willem’s name but also encapsulates his face. He is the central figure in everything, serving both the symbol and the substance. I wonder what Ava must’ve gone through when she decided to leave him. First, she chose freedom instead of riches. Second, she showed remarkable courage by breaking the chains of his control. She’s stronger than steel, yet she’s as delicate as a rose.
Acting like I’m completing the form on my phone, I take in my surroundings and listen to conversations. Willem is currently out for a lunch appointment. So, it seems the departed man has returned to satisfy his hunger, possibly craving his favorite sandwich.
I inform the receptionist that I’ve submitted my application, then leave the building. I immediately call Ava and tell her, “Willem is alive.”
She gasps. “Oh, thank God!” She pauses to catch her breath. “Where is he? ”
“I haven’t seen him, but I just left the W-Bot headquarters and overheard his name being mentioned.”
“Jesus, Jack. Don’t let him see you.”
“He’s not there. But I’m applying for a position as a security guard.”
“You didn’t get the job on the spot, did you?”
I chuckle. “Look, he’s apparently out for lunch. Do you know where he usually goes?”
“Either Flavio’s or Mamasita, around the corner. Or, if he’s with a client, he usually takes them to Fountain, two blocks away,” she explains. Then she sighs, “Jack…”
“Yes, Ava?”
“I managed to sketch the kidnappers.”
“Good job!”
“Sam has seen them, and he’ll try to use face recognition to identify them. I’m going to send them to you now.”
I open the message and gaze at the sketches. Just like her other works, the faces are astonishingly lifelike. The person has a thick beard and beady eyes, which are nearly engulfed by his equally bushy eyebrows. The other has a round face and full lips, giving off a strong, imposing vibe.
“We’ll find Willem, and we’ll track down these men. Then, we’ll bring Quinton back home, I promise,” I say through gritted teeth as I walk around the locality to investigate the three restaurants she suggested. At Fountain, I spot Willem walking through the door alone, then taking a seat at a table set for seven.
“Hey, I have to go,” I say and end the call.
Dressed in a pinstripe suit, he blends in with the other businessmen in L.A. He’s fit, probably a testament to his gym membership, and has a clean-shaven face with sleek black hair. He walks confidently, although he appears shorter than I initially imagined—maybe even shorter than Ava .
I enter the restaurant and request a table. After being presented with a few options, I choose one that provides both privacy and the ability to eavesdrop on their conversation. Without flinching at the steep prices, I place my order just like any ordinary customer. I suppose a prestigious three-star Michelin restaurant in the heart of Los Angeles is allowed to command such premiums.
While observing Willem, I fiddle with my phone, pretending to be engrossed in something important. Then, a new sketch arrives from Ava.
This time, it makes me smile.
I text her in response.
Me
So Sam’s dog didn’t eat your Elmo?
Ava
LOL. They’re besties now.
My food arrives almost at the same time a group is arriving. Three men and their partners are being guided to Willem’s table.
They exchange handshakes, and it becomes evident that Willem is the only one dining alone. His discomfort is palpable, especially as the conversation revolves around his upcoming wedding. He insists everything is going according to plan, but his repeated quick movements to hide his face tell a different story. He can hide from his guests, but from where I am, I can see his shattered ego.
The final blow comes when one of the guests asks about Ava’s whereabouts. This man seeks revenge. It’s why he took Quinton. It must be devastating for such a proud man to be deceived by his supposedly obedient fiancée.
By stirring the conversation to business, Willem seems to have weathered the storm brewing inside him. He wears a friendly smile, occasionally showcasing his control. If it were just me and him, I would take pleasure in obliterating his skull, wiping away any trace of a smile. But the reality is, until Quinton is safe in Ava’s arms, I can’t lay a finger on him.
Willem seems even more relaxed as they discuss the development of W-Bot’s new headquarters in Hawthorne. So that construction site I visited earlier is destined to be the new home for the company.
He casually remarks, “Well, it’ll be more than a state-of-the-art facility. Even those powerful dark web mobs backed by the Russian oligarchs will pale compared to what we’ll be capable of. I could hack the whole AT 3
I don’t do emojis, but receiving that heart is inexplicably satisfying.
I lean against a pillar and continue to observe as Willem’s guests depart in their separate cars. When Willem is alone, a man with a thick beard approaches him, the very same man depicted in Ava’s sketch!
I capture several pictures of the encounter. Determined not to lose sight of them, I hurry back to my car and trail behind. Soon, I discover their destination is Willem’s Beverly Hills residence. As they enter the complex through the front gate, I retreat to the broken hedge with my shades, mask, and gloves on. As if I had rehearsed my moves, I manage to get close enough to see the code to open the house’s front door. I slip into a corner and wait, almost mimicking a potted tree towering beside me.
Finally, the two individuals return and depart from the estate. Armed with the acquired code, I cautiously enter the mansion. So this is how the other half live—or rather, the privileged two percent of Americans.
Numerous studies, living rooms, and libraries spread throughout. I don’t have to imagine that this property belongs to Willem Botha; his presence is evident in every corner. The walls are adorned with exhibits showcasing his awards, framed photos capturing his achievements, and a dedicated wall displaying the chips produced by W-Bot, resembling a museum devoted to himself. Among the displays, there are also prominent photos of him with Ava and Quinton, carefully arranged like pieces of art in a gallery.
I head upstairs, where I discover even more libraries and a room equipped with a telescope and astronomy gadgets. The whole house feels so detached from reality that I don’t even know what to make of it.
Next, I search the master bedroom, disregarding the fact that it used to be Ava’s when she was with Willem. I set my emotions aside and scan their belongings, including those in the walk-in closet, which is almost as big as my entire apartment in Oahu. But just like a meticulously cleaned five-star hotel room, Willem hasn’t left anything useful behind.
Adjacent to the master bedroom is a door that remains locked. It doesn’t use a conventional lock. Access requires the use of a swipe card.
Feeling slightly irritated, I move on to the next room—Quinton’s nursery.
It’s the first time I sense a touch of humanity in this house. The walls around me are adorned with charming murals of African animals, most likely Ava’s creation. In every corner, colorful furniture and storage boxes light up the room. And that unmistakable baby powder scent…
Was Quinton here when Ava served Willem his tea? What went through her mind, carrying her baby for the last time in this house? Yet, there are no remnants of those moments. Like the rest of the house, everything appears impeccably neat, as if untouched by any past events.
My attention then falls on the twin-framed photos resting on a dresser, bearing the words ‘before’ and ‘after.’ One captures Ava heavily pregnant, while the other shows her cradling Quinton in a hospital room. Her face and hair are wet with perspiration, and Quinton still bears the mark of newborn blood. It must have been taken shortly after she gave birth.
My gloved fingertips trace the glass covers, and a new sense of responsibility washes over me. I’ve always envisioned my future solely with the Marine Corps until the day I die. My duty has always been to my country and the brave men ready to defend it. A woman, let alone a family, has never factored into that equation .
I gaze at Ava’s radiant face in the photos. People will call it a mother’s glow, but to me, it’s like a lighthouse guiding me out of the darkness. When I’m out of here, when Quinton is safely back in his mother’s arms, I’ve got to rethink the straight path I’ve carved before this moment. Because I know this paternal instinct that I never thought existed in me will not go away.
I call Ava. “I’ve searched around the house. I can’t find anything. Is there a basement here?”
“No. The garage is the lowest level.”
“An attic?”
“Neither. The highest room is Willem’s stargazing room.”
“I’ve already checked there,” I murmur. “By the way, the W-Bot receptionist mentioned your sketch of Willem in the company logo.”
Ava lets out a frustrated sigh. “He made me do it. But to his credit, I think the logo looks tasteful.”
I chuckle. Suddenly, I hear noises. “Shit! He’s back.”
“Just hide, Jack. As long as you’re not in the bedroom or his study, you’ll be fine.”
“I’m in Quinton’s room.”
“He may or may not go there. There’s an extra bedroom next to it that the babysitter used. Try hiding behind the corner armchair there.”
I quickly make my way to the suggested hiding spot, barely managing to fit myself. Fortunately, whoever is inside the house doesn’t even venture up to the second floor and leaves shortly after.
With no new discoveries in my search, I trace my way out empty-handed but filled with fresh nuggets of emotion.
I report back to Sam, and he then fills me in on his findings based on Ava’s sketches of the kidnappers. The round-faced man, who has been identified as a resident of Helena, has a history of being involved in kidnapping cases in Montana, Utah, and Wyoming.
“How about the bearded one?” I ask.
“We’re still looking for him.”
“He’s here with Willem. I’ll send you photos. My guess is he’s from California. He seems close with Willem.”
“Every powerful man has his puppet.”
“Sam, I don’t believe Quinton is in L.A. The round-faced man and Quinton are still in Montana. Most likely, they have more accomplices, probably including a woman.”
“We’ll keep working on it.”
I explain, “I think they’re planning to make a demand soon, but they want to do it outside of California. Willem and Ava may not be celebrities yet, but they are recognizable here. But in Montana? Ava is unknown—and you can easily find a location where you can commit a murder without anyone knowing. Plus, it would simplify the logistics. Ava is already there, so she doesn’t have to travel and risk being seen.”
Sam agrees with my analysis. He then asks, “When are you flying back?”
“It’s late. I probably won’t be able to catch a flight tonight. I’ll follow Willem some more. See what he’s up to. Tell Ava I’ll call her soon, and I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Ava is currently surrounded by people who genuinely care for her. Staying here another night wouldn’t make much of a difference. But she’s a mother desperately waiting for the safe return of her baby. Reflecting on my own mother’s inability to cope when she lost me, I know that even one night matters greatly. I’ll make sure she doesn’t feel alone tonight, even if I have to be on the phone with her till morning.