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Chief Executive Officer

Derek V. Hunter

    “Loxheed Milton, the name says it all. Loxheed Milton moves product in times of crisis. The company is the world’s #1 defense contractor, ahead of Boeing and Northrop Gruman.” The narrator’s voice-over began on the infomercial playing on the T.V.
    It was the deep, masculine, throaty voice heard on virtually every Hollywood movie preview. On the large HD wide screen television hanging from the wall, the images seen were of patriotic Americans on their lawns; the American flag in various locales and shot from various angles; American workers (of different ethnic backgrounds, male and female, all with big smiles) in offices and operational facilities; and the various weapons systems mentioned below by the narrator. The images continued to change as the voice-over continued, but the thematic content of the images did not. The voice-over went on,
    “Loxheed Milton’s business segments include: Aeronautics, which includes the F-16 and F-22 fighters, and the upcoming F-35 Joint Strike Fighter (Lightning 2); Electronic Systems, encompassing everything from missiles and submarine warfare systems to homeland security systems, radar, and postal automation systems; Space systems, which includes satellites, strategic missiles, and airborne defense systems; and Information Systems and Global Services provides IT solutions, mission solutions, and command, control, and communication systems and reconnaissance/surveillance systems.
    “Clearly, Loxheed Milton covers all the bases in the area Americans care about most: security. Loxheed Milton is the forerunner, the pioneer in America’s line of defense. And not only is Loxheed Milton the trusted provider of defense, it is also one of the foremost bearers of ethical trust as well. No other company values ethical standards and practice more than Loxheed Milton. And it all starts at the top. Long-standing C.E.O. Barry MacDonald will tell it to you himself.”
    The voice-over narration ended as the images changed to a medium-wide shot of Barry MacDonald at a desk in his office. The room was not lavish nor decorative at all, just plain and simple. He looked straight into the camera, with an uncanny, healthy directness.
    “Hello, folks, I’m Barry MacDonald. I’m here to tell you about Loxheed Milton’s corporate vision and values. First of all, our number one priority at this company is Do What’s Right. We are committed to the highest standards of ethical conduct in all that we do. We believe that honesty and integrity engender trust, which is the cornerstone of our business. We abide by the laws of the United States and other countries and we take responsibility for our actions. The second element, just as important, is to Respect Others. We recognize that our success as an enterprise depends on the talent, skills, and expertise of our people and our ability to function as a tightly integrated team. We appreciate our diversity and believe that respect – for our colleagues, customers, partners, and all those with whom we interact – is an essential element of all positive and productive business relationships. The third and last element, again, just as important, is to Perform With Excellence. We understand the importance of our missions and the trust our customers place in us. With this in mind, we strive to excel in every aspect of our business and approach every challenge with a determination to succeed.”
    The image changed from MacDonald’s office to a park where he sat on a park bench with his family surrounding him.
    “Take it from my family, if you’re looking to be employed with Loxheed Milton or be a shareholder, we’re the company you can trust to be the best. Thanks for listening and have a great day.”
    “Yaaay!” A six-year old girl exclaimed in enthusiastic celebration as soon as the DVD infomercial was done.
    Everyone else in the large living room applauded affirmatively.
    “So, it’s a success?” The CEO in the video, Barry MacDonald, asked with a boisterous chuckle. “We got the director of ‘Heart of the Homeland 2’ to do it. I hate using industrial filmmakers to do our videos. Annabelle here,” he patted the six-year-old on her head, “my granddaughter could make a better Loxheed Milton video than the typical industrial filmmaker could.”
    “Right you are, Barry, unfortunately.” A thin, middle-aged balding man who sat somewhat apart from the family said.
    “Being PR executive you would know, Steven.” Barry responded.
    Barry sat in his traditional 1965 Atwater recliner, his large body fitting in snugly, with his family surrounding him. To his right on one couch was Barry’s oldest son Jonathan, Jonathan’s daughter Annabelle, and Barry’s wife Miranda. To Barry’s left was his daughter Melissa, her five-year old son Jimmy, and Barry’s sister Bernice. Behind them were various friends and family sitting in chairs, standing near tables, sitting in recliners and couches. Amongst these people were Jonathan’s wife, Melissa’s husband, Steven the PR executive, several high level executives from Loxheed Milton, and United States congressional representative for the 36^th district, Judith Katzenberger, of which Loxheed Milton’s main offices and buildings of operations were located in.
    It was cocktails and appetizers time at the Barry MacDonald household, just prior to Thanksgiving dinner. The main attraction for tonight’s festivities – besides, first, the spirit of Thanksgiving, and second, the Loxheed Milton infomercial – was, as usual, Barry MacDonald himself.
    The man who many referred to as “The Orson Welles of the Weapons Industry,” was, in appearance and certain behavioral quirks, similar to the maverick filmmaker. Barry was huge in width, stood tall at 6'2"’, clean shaven (so like Welles when the director had no beard), had a Wellesian grin, a similar laugh (an enormous, boisterous, deep, pounding chuckle), and also had a love for verbal storytelling. But, as Barry would agree and even promote himself, there was nothing maverick about him. As far back as he could remember, Barry played by the rules. It was a sign of good character to be as forceful, aggressive, and charming as he was and yet never run against the grain. After all, he made it to the top by playing by the rules. The key to life,
    “ ... is not to look out only for oneself, not to screw the other guy over, to constantly, time and time again, put oneself first – me, me, me – but to play the game within the natural bounds of the laws of nature itself. Things are designed exactly for the purpose of harmony and order. There are no chance meetings, accidental rights or wrongs. But don’t get me confused with fate or destiny. There is 100& free will in this universe of ours. We create our destinies. We must make the decision for the good or for the bad.”
    “Well put, dad, as always.” Jonathan said with an amused yet positive smile while clapping his hands. “My father, C.E.O. of philosophy.”
    Everyone laughed good-naturedly at Jonathan’s good-natured crack.
    “Who says C.E.O.’s can’t be philosophical?” Barry said amongst the laughter.
    “Well, that is what’s made you stand apart from the rest.” The 36th district congressional representative added politically. “That and your charm, wit, joviality, keen intelligence, and, of course, your storytelling prowess. I have never seen a more involving and entertaining storyteller.”
    “My Lord, Judith, those lips of yours are beginning to tickle my ass!” Barry exclaimed in bombastic humor, making everyone in the room except the children and Barry’s sister explode in laughter. The laughter eventually subsided. “No, seriously, though, Judith, thank you. I’ve always appreciated what you’ve done for this district and the people have always appreciated what you’ve done for them. I could go on and on with my own form of ass-kissing, but,” people laughed after he said this. “I believe that would be best done behind closed doors! I’ve never been much of an exhibitionist!” This made almost everyone laugh loudly once again.
    “Barry, please, the children.” Barry’s wife said quietly with a blushing smile.
    “Oh yes, I’m sorry, dear. Mr. Big Mouth strikes again.”
    “That’s the name of a Smiths song ...” Barry’s sister Bernice added awkwardly. No one knew what she was talking about and her verbal interjection unfortunately stalled the natural flow of the festivities. One of the executives decided to get the train back on track.
    “Speaking of your storytelling, Barry,” the eldest executive began. “We have yet to hear any tonight. You know we’re all here not only for Miranda’s cooking and to see how big the kids are this year, but also for you and your good times, my friend. We are your audience. We are here to be entertained.”
    “Charles, don’t be so desperate about it. All in good time. What I need,” Barry said as he stood up from his 1965 Atwater. “is some ocean air. Let’s all head to the patio. Bring your drinks, nick-nacks, and children. Miranda, please make me another scotch.”
    “Yes, dear.” Miranda responded as she and everyone else got up.
    Miranda and a few others either went to the kitchen, bar, or the bathrooms while the rest of the gang went outside to the beach-front patio. Bernice was lagging behind, trying to finish her glass of vodka and orange juice. Barry came back to the living room.
    “Who’re the Smiths?” He asked her.
    “A band from the ‘80’s. I’m sorry.”
    “That’s ok ... I would like to know, though, if that drink has vodka in it?”
    “... It does ...”
    “How many glasses have you had since you arrived?”
    “Three.”
    “Don’t have any more.”
    “Ok.”
    Barry looked at his sister with compassion before turning to leave. Suddenly, a crash. Bernice still had some orange juice and vodka in her glass, and as she was taking a sip, her trembling hands were too much. She dropped the fragile glass to the hardwood floor, causing glass, orange juice, and vodka to shatter and splash below. Barry immediately turned around while Bernice almost jumped to the floor in fright.
    “I’m so sorry, Barry ... I’m so sorry ...” she began to cry in dread.
    “It’s ok, Bern. But please, go to the kitchen and get some paper towels or a cloth or something. Crying over it isn’t going to help.”
    “Right, right, of course. I’m such an idiot.”
    Bernice rushed towards the kitchen, but Barry got in the way. He looked her directly in the eyes with a stern fixation. He was in utter and complete control of himself.
    “Bern ... don’t slip.” He commanded quietly.
    “Yes ...”
    “There is no way in hell you’re going to make a scene. If you do, this is your last Thanksgiving here. Understand?”
    “Yes, I do. I’m sorry.”
    “That’s alright. Just remember: composure.”
    “Right.”
    “No more alcohol.”
    “No more.”
    Miranda soon came from the bar with a tray of various drinks, including Barry’s scotch whiskey. She caught the moment between Barry and Bernice and knew what was going on. Bernice rushed towards the kitchen as Miranda offered to help clean the floor. Bernice said she would take care of the mess herself.
    “She’s got it.” Barry said as he took his drink from Miranda’s tray. Barry looked into Miranda’s concerned eyes with assurance. “She’ll be fine.”
    Outside on the patio, eventually everyone gathered as the sun set. The Manhattan Beach beach-front property was the ideal location for a sunset gathering. Barry took a sip from his scotch while enjoying the beautiful Pacific Ocean, then began a story from his old navy days. The salty sea air triggered some memories.
    Barry had so many anecdotes, stories, and tall tales that he never ran out of telling new, fresh ones. Even his wife and kids hadn’t heard this one before. Only rarely would Barry forget he’d already told a story before to someone. By the end of this particular tale, everyone laughed good-naturedly and applauded enthusiastically. Barry was in fine form this evening.
    Inside the house, the doorbell rang. Barry’s El Salvadorean maid of 25 years was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on Thanksgiving dinner. She stopped what she was doing and let the two other El Salvadoreans continue with the preparation. Once her hands were clean and dry, she walked to the front door and opened it. There before her was a person she hadn’t seen in years. The sight of him almost made her heart stop. It was Edward, Barry’s middle child and youngest son. He had a generous, friendly smile, but that wasn’t what made her uncomfortable. It was the rest of him.
    Edward had a razor sharp, shiny, clean-shaven, bald head. He began balding prematurely at the age of 17, then soon decided thereafter to shave the rest of his hair on a daily basis. He had penetrating bright blue eyes, the blueness from his mother, the penetration from his dad. Father and son had the same arresting, forceful eye contact. Edward’s skin was paler than pale. He lived and breathed the night, and hated sunshine. He shaved his eyebrows, along with the rest of his face and body, and wore pitch-black lipstick. He was smooth and serpentine. His clothes were also pitch-black, with his high collar German leather Heichtmann jacket, a 19^th Century Dandy-style laced black shirt, tight leather pants, and foreboding military boots. Some would call his representative style, Goth.
    “Hello, Martha.” Edward said gently while still smiling. “Long time no see.”
    “Senor Edward ...” she was still in shock as she tried to collect herself. “It has been 8 years.”
    “I know. I’m here because my mother invited me to Thanksgiving dinner. May I come in?”
    Martha hesitantly let Edward come in from the post-dusk night air. She was a bit confused about what to do, but before she could do anything, Jonathan’s daughter Annabelle ran from another area of the house. She jolted upon seeing Edward.
    “Hi. You’re probably my niece.” He said with calm amusement.
    Annabelle said nothing, afraid that this might be Satan himself in front of her. Then, she decided to scream,
    “Grandma! Daddy! The devil’s here!”
    Edward laughed as Martha went to calm Annabelle down. But the six year old ran away before Martha could get to her. Soon, Miranda and Jonathan appeared, with Annabelle hiding behind her father.
    “Oh my God ...” Miranda said in exasperation.
    “Mother, Jonathan ... hello. Happy Thanksgiving.” Edward said simply.
    “What’re you doing here?” Jonathan asked.
    “Well, our mother invited me, as she does every year. It’s just this time I decided to show up. I guess she didn’t tell you.”
    “Yes, but ...” Miranda said nervously while Jonathan looked at her.
    “I don’t think she was expecting me to come this time, not after seven rejections. If you’d prefer I leave, I can.”
    “No ...” Miranda replied passively, making Jonathan give her a surprised look. “I did invite you, after all. Martha, please make another place at the dinner table for Edward.”
    “Yes, Ma’am.” Martha replied and quickly went back to the kitchen.
    “I see that hasn’t changed.” Edward remarked.
    “What?” Jonathan asked defensively.
    “The same maid, the same orders, the same duties, the same house ... who says there isn’t an aristocratic tradition here in America? The Weapons Industry can certainly boast of a few families with that prestige.”
    “Regardless of what mom may say, I’ll have to ask you to leave if you’re planning on upsetting everyone here.”
    “I make no plans to upset anyone.”
    “You certainly have done your fair share of that already.” Miranda said tragically, almost with an air of theatricality, which, because his mother was never very theatrical, almost made Edward laugh.
    “Yes, mother dear ... but no, I didn’t come to pick a fight. I simply came to see the family after all these years. Don’t expect anything important to come from my lips.”
    “Very funny.” Jonathan responded. “Well, fine then. Why don’t you come out to the patio. Dad’s telling tales.”
    “So things really have changed.” Edward said as his brother and mother chuckled lightly while they all began walking towards the patio.
    “We’re letting the Devil come to dinner?” Annabelle whispered to her father.
    “No, no, sweetie,” Jonathan laughed. “This is your uncle.”
    “Oh.” She replied in confusion while looking at Edward.
    “Just call me the uncle from hell.” He said to the six year old with a reassuring smile.
    “Edward ...” Miranda scolded.
    “Sorry, mother.”
    The four of them soon arrived at the patio. Everyone who was already there were laughing exuberantly at one of Barry’s stories. Once seeing the second-born Goth son, people froze and the laughter fizzled. There almost seemed to be real, true, honest to goodness ice in the air.
    “What the hell?” Barry quietly erupted.
    “I apologize for my dramatic appearance – dad, sister, everyone,” Edward began his introduction, “but I just had to come to Thanksgiving dinner this year.”
    Barry lost his temper for a good three minutes straight, shouting expletives and curses at Edward. Barry’s yelling became uncomfortable for everyone by the third minute. Edward smiled despite the verbal assault. Then Barry realized the mistake he was making. People began to look at him differently. Why was Barry so angry? This new visitor was polite and didn’t seem deserving of the attack, however distasteful his appearance was. Barry caught himself and switched gears as fast and smooth as a person could. He smiled large and came towards Edward with warm, open arms.
    “Now that I got that off my chest,” the patriarch joked. “give your father a hug.”
    Edward allowed Barry to hug him. Suddenly, the mood on the patio changed. The ugly violence of Barry’s curses was forgotten. The charming, jovial Barry everyone knew and loved returned. That was the true Barry, after all.
    Martha the maid came outside to the patio to announce dinner was ready. Now was the time for Turkey. Barry and his family and friends made the trek inside to the dining room. There before them was an opulent Victorian dining table, chairs, chandelier, cabinets in a large, welcoming dining room. On the table were four large turkeys on silver trays, Massachussettes stuffing, Italian cranberry sauce, black and green Greek olives, a small Caesar salad for each person, and more. It was the works. Everyone congratulated Miranda on the feast and she thanked them. Edward knew better. The only thing his mother probably did was decide on turkey and Caesar salads. The rest was up to Martha and her crew. Edward gave a quick glance and smile to Martha as she stood by in stoic silence.
    Barry sat at the head of the table, with Miranda on the other end, and everyone else on the sides. The food was exquisite beyond measure. Most people had taste bud orgasms. They congratulated Miranda a few more times and she blushed a few times. Once the excitement for the food began to calm down, the next obvious step was to focus politely on the intruder. Edward’s appearance was quite hard to ignore. Like his father, he had a flair for the dramatic and easily became the center of attention wherever he went.
    “What do you do?”
    “Where do you live?”
    “What line of work are you in?”
    “Are you a fashion designer?”
    “Musician?”
    “Painter?”
    “Photographer?”
    “Writer?”
    “I actually work in the weapons radar systems and control panels for Northrop Gruman.” Edward replied in straightforward deadpan. Everyone either fainted or froze in confusion. “Sorry, no, just kidding. I’m a musician. Surprise there, right?”
    “You have your dad’s sense of humor.” One of the executives joked. Everyone laughed.
    What kind of music did he do? Most would call it Goth or Industrial. The more melodic and romantic the songs were, he’d refer to them as Goth. The harder edged and angrier songs were Industrial. He made references to bands such as Fad Gadget, Cocteau Twins, Virgin Prunes, Gary Numan, Skinny Puppy, Ministry, and Nine Inch Nails, then quickly realized that was stupid. They had no idea who those bands were. He described his music as non-conformist, expressive, inventive, mysterious, dark, ethereal. He passed a postcard around the dinner table advertising a gig he was doing at a club in Los Angeles. Most of the people were taken aback by the darkly erotic imagery. Miranda made sure the kids didn’t see it.
    A lot of the people said they never met a Goth person before. Was it true, they asked, the rumors about Goths? Did they think they were vampires? Did they drink blood? Sharpen their teeth? Worship pagan gods, even the Devil Himself? Sacrifice animals? Practice magic? No, no, no, no, no, no, and no, Edward answered with a smile. He was enjoying this. Why exactly then did Goths dress the way they did? Self-expression, he responded. As the French philosopher Michel Foucault said, the aim one should have is to turn one’s life into a work of art. Barry was silent, but hated his son when he mentioned Foucault’s name and that quote. Now, Edward continued, one doesn’t have to play dress up to turn one’s life into a work of art. In fact, that’s secondary to the psychological side. Art in one’s mind. For Edward, it was just fun to dress up and look the way he did. Why did people dress in any particular style at all? Why put on business suits? Why California casual?
    They were impressed with Edward’s intelligent answers. Little did they know that Goth people could be so collected and elegant. Based on this meeting with Edward, it really did seem that they were misunderstood by society. Surely, Jonathan said, there must be a few Goths who worshipped the devil, sharpened their teeth, or killed a few cats. Probably, the younger brother replied, but none that he knew.
    That was an unfair assessment, Jonathan’s wife added, since every group had its rotten apples. There were alcoholics who beat their wives and listened to country music, but that didn’t mean if you listened to country music, you’re an alcoholic and you beat your wife.
    Edward gave an inconspicuous glance at his aunt Bernice after the comment about alcoholics. Barry noticed the glance, almost as if he was waiting for it. Edward caught his father noticing and said, And of course just because the CEO of Enron was a rotten apple doesn’t mean all CEOs are rotten apples. Kenny Lay was just that: a rotten apple amongst golden ones. Everyone chuckled. Tonight’s eventful Thanksgiving dinner was becoming more a success than the usual MacDonald Thanksgiving dinner. Edward’s surprise appearance provided some spice.
    Barry saw how his friends, business partners, and a few family members approved of his son. If only they knew, the patriarch thought. If only they could see through this façade and see the real Edward. Sure, he may be all dressed up in his usual strange way, but in his demeanor he was not being himself. If only they could know all the years of torment, pain, and frustration Edward created in the family, all the discord and wrong.
    If only they knew Edward was a problem child; that he threw temper tantrums like no one had seen before; that he almost killed his older brother with a baseball bat at the age of six; that at nine he was expelled from school; that at eleven he accused his poor, tormented aunt Bernice of molesting him when it was he who had molested his younger sister; that he got into fight after fight at school, claiming the other kids were picking on him; that every time he talked to a psychiatrist or someone at school, he always harassed and offended them and always refused their help; and when Edward was in his early 20’s, he actually physically attacked his father. After that day, Barry and the family gave him an ultimatum: reform his ways and get help, or never see the MacDonald family again.
    Remembering this ultimatum, Barry looked at his wife. Was it true as Edward said? Had she been secretly inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner, year after year? She didn’t deny it so it must be true. How could she? The Family had decided Edward should be shunned. He was given a choice and he chose to deny the family. He chose himself. Barry could see his wife’s discomfort. He could see her shame. She knew she had done wrong. She knew she had disobeyed her husband, she had disobeyed the family. Couldn’t the other family members see through Edward’s performance? Jonathan was restless, Melissa uncomfortable. Jonathan was probably with his father, he always was, but Melissa he could never understand. She was always so quiet. Miranda was also quiet and uncomfortable, as was Bernice.
    But the others, they were actually taken in by Edward. They accepted him and that was exactly what “The Prodigal Son” wanted. That was why he returned, that was why he decided to show up this time. He wanted to show everyone he was normal. But Barry knew, god damn it, he knew better. Barry decided to put an end to this. He couldn’t take it anymore.
    “Edward, why don’t you have a drink?” Barry asked politely.
    “I still don’t drink alcohol, dad.” He responded just as politely.
    “Why not? You’re old enough now.”
    “I think you can remember the reasons why.”
    “I’m sorry, I don’t. Inform us.”
    “I’ve seen what alcohol can do to people.” Edward said as he glanced at his aunt then turned back to his father.
    “You’ve become the expert on it, have you?”
    “If you mean I became an alcoholic in the years since I left, no.”
    “Well, there’re other things you’re an expert on, though, right? You still doing coke, speed, or whatever it was you were doing before?”
    There was a slight gasp and hush amongst everyone but Jonathan, Melissa, Miranda, and Bernice.
    “Really, dad, that was rather melodramatic and after-school special of you. I was trying my hardest to make this a decent evening.”
    “Barry,” one of the executives said calmly, “maybe now isn’t the time for this kind of conversation.”
    “No, the truth needs to come out. It’s time to end Edward’s performance.”
    “I was enjoying my ‘performance’ so much, though.” Edward shot his smile at Barry. Barry hated that smile.
    “Tell them the truth. Tell them who you really are.”
    “And who would that be? That might take all night to explain.” Edward continued with his casually sarcastic smile.
    “God damn it! Tell them!” Barry pounded on the table. The ugly side of Barry was coming out again, the side no one at the dinner table, except perhaps Edward, wanted to see. “You’re a drug addict, a liar, and a miserable despiser of mankind.”
    Edward couldn’t help but laugh at his father, which made Barry even more incensed.
    “Alright then, let’s get to these accusations.” The Goth said while collecting himself. “What I’ll say will unfortunately contradict what my dad thinks of me. Well, at least the last two. The first is somewhat true. I usually do six lines of cocaine every month, although I’ve been known to not do any at all for months at a time. I don’t do anything else, no cigarettes, no pot, no other kinds of drugs, no alcohol, not even coffee or energy drinks. Just a few lines on occasion, usually in social situations or just right before sex. I would hardly call that an addiction, not like my aunt’s.”
    “Don’t you dare start talking about Bernice!” Barry snapped.
    “As for the liar accusation, I’m afraid I’m going to have to include my aunt, in my defense.”
    Most of the people at the table began to get extremely uncomfortable. They were not accustomed to seeing Barry like this and certainly didn’t enjoy seeing him this way. He was always in control. More than anyone they’d met before, Barry seemed to be born to be in charge, to know not only other people’s limits, but his own. Society cried out for in-control CEOs like Barry, it cried out for leaders of all kinds for people like him. Now, though, he was anything but in-control.
    Whenever someone tried to leave the dinner table, to use the bathroom, get something to drink, or to bluntly say they were leaving the dinner altogether, Barry told them to sit down. Edward joked that his father was a sadist: he wanted to torture everyone. At least let them use the bathroom.
    Edward laid out his argument for why he wasn’t a liar. As a child when someone asked if he did something wrong or he was accused of something, he would deny it only if it wasn’t true. When his aunt molested him, he told the family psychiatrist what she had done. The psychiatrist told Barry, whereupon Barry fore-bade Edward to ever see that psychiatrist again. Edward was to see psychiatrists who were professional and not prone to accepting the lies of a problem child.
    Soon thereafter, Edward continued, he was accused of molesting his sister. He was 11, she was 10. He didn’t deny that he and his sister played doctor, but he did clarify that it was for mutual pleasure and curiosity. Edward did not force himself onto his sister like his aunt did onto him. When the 10 year old Melissa was asked at the time what happened, she responded that she wanted to play doctor. Barry assumed Edward told her to say that. Melissa never talked about it again, and tended not to talk about much at all as she got older. Nevertheless, Barry was able to find a psychiatrist who agreed with him. The family took the legal action within their means to send Edward to a mental institution for troubled youth.
    As for the accusation for “hating mankind,” Edward said, Barry was one to talk.
    “How so?” Jonathan asked sternly. He was always intimidated by his younger brother, but felt he must help his father somehow. “I can’t think of anyone else who has mankind more on their mind than dad does.”
    Edward laughed and asked if they watched the Loxheed Milton infomercial earlier in the evening, as he knew Barry liked to do so in years past. “Loxheed Milton – the name says it all.” Edward poked. “The world’s #1 weapons dealer. Billions and billions of dollars made from human beings killing other human beings. Millions of deaths at the hands of Loxheed Milton. Don’t imagine that was mentioned in the infomercial.”
    Upon hearing this, the Loxheed Milton executives and Judith the congresswoman demanded to leave. Edward had truly ruined this Thanksgiving dinner by showing up. But Barry fore-bade anyone from leaving. They had to see this. The charming Goth they initially knew was now showing his true colors. If anyone needed to use the bathroom, Jonathan would escort them there and back.
    “Your father,” Judith the congresswoman said nobly, “has been a pioneer in ensuring America’s defense for decades. He hasn’t made billions of dollars in killing people.”
    Even the Loxheed Milton executives gave a look to their congresswoman. Did she really believe what she said or was she just a good actress? Edward caught the executives’ glances, but they were also quick to hide the looks. They were now just as indignant as Judith.
    “It is a pretty wacky and unfair assessment of your father, Edward.” One of them said smoothly.
    “I think the argument you folks are trying to make is that the millions of people who died from the weapons, bombs, weapons systems, etc., etc., that Loxheed Milton built were killed justly. Those people were sometimes killed directly by the U.S. military or sometimes by countries and people Loxheed Milton sold the weapons to. You’re saying that those killings –”
    “They weren’t killings. It was war.”
    “In war people don’t get killed?’
    “They do, but –”
    “It was justified killing, then. Little children and their mothers killed in El Salvador, Columbia, Nicaragua, East Timor, Vietnam, Palestine, Iraq, Afghanistan, etc. etc., with Loxheed Milton weapons. And all so you can show the shareholders what a profitable company you are.”
    “You make it sound as if your very own father pulled the trigger against a baby’s head.” Judith said with a strange, unsettling laughter.
    “He might as well.” Judith’s odd laughter unsettled even Edward.
    “Edward! Please, stop!”
    “No, Miranda ... let him finish.” Barry hushed his wife with his quiet, pensive authority.
    “You want me to go on? Ok. Why don’t we take a look at all the deaths Loxheed Milton was responsible for since my father took his seat as CEO. When was that, dad? 1982, right?”
    “That’s correct.”
    Edward went on in detail with a wide range of Loxheed Milton arms sales to foreign countries, often to right-wing military dictatorships, whereupon those dictators massacred not only “rebel forces” but also hundreds of thousands of innocent civilians. Then he went into direct U.S. military action, often times with Loxheed Milton weapons and weapons systems, whereupon more hundreds of thousands of not only “America’s Enemies” were killed, but, again, innocent civilians. In the recent Iraq invasion, he noted, the conservative estimate of civilian Iraqi casualties was around half a million people, which was more than Saddam Hussein had killed during his reign of terror.
    “Well, it’s obvious you’ve done your homework.” One of the Loxheed Milton executives said. “But, unfortunately, the research was compiled from left-wing nut job sources. Very little of what you said is true.”
    “What I said didn’t happen? If you look into the records, all the –”
    “Well –”
    “I imagine if we had Loxheed Milton and U.S. military documents right in front of our faces, right now, none of it would contradict what I just said.”
    “It’s just the way you put your spin on it, young man.” Another executive interjected. “You have no idea of what’s at stake, nor are you able to look into the souls of people like your father. After all these years, do you honestly believe that someone like him would consciously undertake a murderous campaign to slaughter hundreds of thousands of people for the last 25 years, and all just for profit and shareholders?”
    “No, I don’t think that’s how he sees, and I honestly don’t think that’s how any of you see it.” Edward looked into the executives’ eyes. He knew his father was an idealist. These executives, though, were not. Edward’s penetrating blue eyes unnerved the executives. “I think my father has been blinded by a foolish idealism. That’s the only way he can live with himself. I’m not sure how anyone could be a part of Loxheed Milton, especially making high-level decisions, and live with themselves.” One executive turned away and whispered something in another executive’s ear. “The sad thing is,” Edward continued, “besides the obvious horrible, rotten tragedy of it all, is that my father’s idealism has had a price. Besides all the Third World innocent deaths, there was a more personal price that was paid. He paid for it in his life and in his family and we’ve suffered for it. I suppose it doesn’t matter much, compared to the large scale destruction, but still, it’s there.”
    “Edward, please, stop ...” Miranda pleaded through tears, as she’d begun crying several minutes ago. She couldn’t take this any longer.
    “Alright, mother ... I will. You were the one who invited me, so I shall obey. I apologize to everyone for tonight’s Thanksgiving ugliness. My father and I tend to bring out the worst in each other. I’ll be going now.”
    “No, stay.” Barry demanded with quiet, unsettling anger.
    “Barry, I think we’ve had enough.” One of the executives said.
    “No. He’s not leaving thinking he walked away on a higher moral ground. Edward is evil and shall be exposed as such.”
    “Barry –” Another executive began to say.
    “He is a creature, this son of mine, of darkness. He is not going to make us look like the evil ones.”
    “And how’re you going to do that?” Edward asked in irritation. He was tired, emotionally depleted from it all, tired of his father.
    “Martha, please take the children upstairs.”
    “Barry, what’re you doing?” Miranda asked as Martha took the children and the other servants upstairs.
    “You’ll see.” Barry said as he got up and left the dining room.
    There was silence once Barry left. No one said or did anything for several minutes. There was just awkward silence and nervous anticipation at the Victorian dinner table. Eventually, Barry came back, empty-handed and perplexed.
    “I don’t understand ...” Barry said, dumbfounded.
    “Look, Barry,” one of the executives said as he got up from the table. The other executives and Judith the congresswoman got up. “We all need to go. We have families of our own we’re neglecting by staying here, even if Thanksgiving was yesterday.”
    “No, wait, I’m sorry, but ...” Barry said with a defeated air. “I thought I had it ... I had to show you all something ... about Edward ...”
    “Barry,” one of the executives said. “Enough is enough.”
    “We need to talk, Barry, later this week.” Another executive added.
    The executives gave The Look to Barry. It was a look Barry never saw before. It was a look he had given to others hundreds of times before ... The You Are Finished Look ... He had never been on the receiving end of that look ... So that’s what it felt like ...
    He was done, Barry thought to himself ... He was finished ... He had expired as CEO of the world’s largest weapons contractor ... He was done with Loxheed Milton, or rather, Loxheed Milton was done with him ... He knew from That Look the executives gave him, that was on their minds and that was what they were going to talk about later this week. There were some insinuations the last few months, Barry thought, but he brushed them aside as paranoid delusions. But now ... after Edward’s visit and the resulting implosion created in Barry ... Tonight was the beginning of the end and all because of Edward. His son had brought out the worst in him.
    “What were you going to show them about me, Chief?” Edward asked.
    Edward, Barry, and the other family members were still at the dinner table. Miranda came back after seeing everyone else out. It was almost as if Edward knew, Barry thought. Edward was always so keen to pick up on things. He must have caught The Look.
    “Trying to throw enough dirt on me to justify yourself? Justify all the choices you’ve made? Justify your character, your way of life, your success, and perhaps even your failure ... ”
    “What?” Barry shot in anger. So he did see it.
    “Edward, I can’t take this anymore! Please, leave!” Miranda yelled in exasperation.
    But Edward wouldn’t stop, he wouldn’t let up on his father. Edward walked around the table and sat right next to Barry, at first talking with restraint but then as the emotions grew, the violence in his voice became louder and more extreme.
    He said he was tired of being a human punching bag, a scapegoat, a demon for his father’s love of demonizing. His entire life he was his father’s demon, the object for Barry’s negativity, the target for all the ugliness and hatred Barry refused to see in himself. Edward screamed into his father’s face. Barry was his punching bag now. Barry couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take this kind of defeat, not from Edward.
    Barry turned and looked into his son’s face like a wounded animal, almost to win sympathy. But Edward kept going while Jonathan and Miranda were yelling at him to stop. The words in Edward’s screaming became intangible to Barry. Sound began to disappear for him. He was so shaken, so in turmoil and shock, he was frozen in pain.
    Edward was a demon to him, his serpentine, smooth, bald head and face with no eyebrows, deathly ice-like killer blue eyes, angular nose, sharp ears, and wrathful, shiny, black lips screaming 30 years worth of beaten down rage.
    Something shot inside Barry, something jolted in him, as if finally Edward’s raging had crossed a threshold. Barry grabbed Edward’s throat with all the strength he could muster and began strangling his son ... Jonathan and other family members rushed to stop, while Edward tried to take his father off him. Barry’s enormous body pushed itself onto Edward, forcing the son to collapse to the floor ... Barry’s weight was crushing Edward as his fingers dug into his throat as hard as he could ... Screams and shouts and cries of pleading and physical force could not stop Barry ... In minutes, he choked Edward to death.

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