Chapter 4: A Slight Change of Plans

(Clarence continues narrating)

When we got back, the twins were excited to see Hunter. At first they were just curious, inspecting the flawless professional grooming he’d received and his little uniform – really just a pair of shorts and vest-like top – but still very modest by house-slave standards.

Dad received a call on his phone from the lawyer, who he said would be arriving shortly.

He arrived looking grim, although I noticed he did a double-take when he saw Hunter. Perhaps he was shocked to see the boy enslaved, but it seemed more salacious, like he was checking the slave out.

Either way, he gathered Hunter, my dad, and me into the office and explained the news he had.

“Firstly, I got a note from the bank concerning some comments made by a slave-guard at the processing center. It seems he raised a number of minor points that he felt indicated that this was a ‘sham indenture’. On his suggestion the bank is insisting you transfer Hunter to Clarence’s stewardship.”

“What? They can’t do that! Clarence isn’t an adult.” Dad was worried now that his leniency was having consequences; I suspect he wished he’d listened to what I had said earlier.

“Well, Clarence’s close enough to eighteen that they’ll grant a waiver for a few weeks. We can appeal, but the list of complaints is long and the slave courts are slow. Before we won we would have lost the loan.”

“But there’s another problem: the parents of the kids that Hunter stole from are making a big fuss about this case and it’s going to be more expensive than I thought to stop him being prosecuted and criminally enslaved, so we need to raise more money. I think the only options are to upgrade Hunter to full-use or to enslave Clarence. But of course, if we enslave Clarence he can’t train Hunter and we would still lose the loan.”

Dad really had no choice, but he was hemming and hawing, probably trying not to think about Hunter taking it in the ass. Perhaps to stall, he said, “Wait, let me get the paternity test results!” Apparently there wasn’t time to be subtle about it any more. The implication was clear: if I wasn’t his son, I’d be enslaved. I thought about making a run for it, but I can’t run more than two minutes, and I wondered if Mr Keller had set up slave cops outside anyway.

A minute later, Dad returned.

“I can’t believe everything is coming down to this,” he said, talking to himself quietly. His hands were shaking badly and he was sweating profusely, holding the letter with the paternity test results. He managed to jam a thumb under one end of the envelope’s seal.

He tore the seal open with a crude tug, but was interrupted by the breaking of glass and we were suddenly swarmed by heavily-armed federal agents. They grabbed Dad, saying, “Patrick Fisher, you are under arrest for criminal fraud and first-degree murder!” They cuffed him and hauled him away, leaving us and the lawyer stunned. The agents were efficient: they scanned dad’s computer and were gone twenty minutes later.

Mr Keller said, “Well, I guess he was right about that investigation closing in on him. I tried to learn about it, but they were very tight-lipped.” He ungagged Hunter and asked him what he knew about it.

“He told me yesterday, but I didn’t really believe it was real.” He paused and said, “He said that somehow he’d provided for us.”

Hunter was crying now, weeping for his dad, I think. But I’m sure he also knew that without his father, he’d be at my mercy, given that I was going be an adult in a few weeks! I felt terrible for Dad, but I couldn’t deny that I was getting a boner thinking about the possibilities.