Roger Baxter was a bank manager. His day started normal, like any other day, but as sudden as fast-moving clouds can cover the sun and brew up a summer storm, one phone call ruined his.

He arrived at the bank at 9.30 am and got buzzed in because it didn’t open until 10. He said good morning to the staff member who let him in and nodded a greeting to the tellers who were already at their stations.

By the time he reached his office his cell phone was ringing. Roger put his briefcase and coffee cup on the desk and grabbed his phone. When he opened it, Paula was smiling at him. My wife, I wonder what she wants?”

He answered the call with a cheerful, “Hey honey, what’s up? Don’t tell me I forgot something?”

“Can the chatter, and listen up real good because the life of your wife and daughter depend on it,” a strange male voice explained.

“Who the hell is this and how did you get my phone number?” Roger asked. “Put my wife on right now.

“You can call me Sam, and your wife was kind enough to give me your number, but she can’t come to the phone right now,” the voice continued.

“What the hell is going on?” Roger demanded, his voice more urgent.

“Just settle down. Your wife and beautiful little girl are fine for now, but you must follow my directions to a tee if you want to see them again, understand?”

“Realizing there was nothing to be gained by arguing, Roger asked, “Okay, what do I have to do?”

“First you have to go to your computer and open the email I sent you. I already got the desktop in your home office up and running. Again, your wife agreed to show me your password.”

Roger set down the phone and started up his laptop and opened the email. The more he read, the more the stranger’s intentions were revealed. By the time he finished it, the caller’s face appeared on the computer. Roger didn’t recognize it, so he studied it, hoping for a clue to its identity. It was a brown-eyed youthful, clean-shaven face but Sam appeared to be barely out of his teens. He was holding a detonator switch in his hands and he looked extremely nervous as he stepped aside to let him see his family.

Roger tried to hide his shock. They were sitting on their living room sofa, and a wire hanging out of the suicide vest Paula was wearing was connected to the detonator Sam was holding. Amy, their one-year-old daughter sat on her lap, neither appeared harmed, but Paula had a desperate, frightened look on her face as she stared at the computer.

“There you see them. Satisfied? I kept my word that they’re okay so far. but if you don’t follow the instructions in the email, I will blow them up.”

“Yes, I read the email. I understand. You want me to steal one million dollars out of my own bank vault, and if I don’t you will kill my family. Is that correct?” Roger replied.

“That’s right, and I don’t care how you manage it. Just take it out of the vault and bring it to your house by noon. If you don’t, say goodbye to your wife and little girl cuz I’ll blow them to bits. The same thing happens to them if you contact the police,” Sam warned.

Roger looked directly at his wife, grinned, and rubbed the side of his nose. “Pretty creative plan. I’ll give you high marks for ingenuity, but it isn’t going to work,” Roger announced.

“Eh, why not? I warn you I’ll blow them up if I don’t get that money by noon,” Sam insisted. His eyes glittered with anger, and he made a point of showing Roger his thumb which rested on a detonator switch to prove how serious his threat was.

“And that’s fine with me. Go ahead and blow them up. I was thinking of hiring somebody to kill them anyway so I could collect on Paula’s life insurance policy. It’s worth one million dollars, so you’ll be doing me a favor. And you know something else? I’m going to call the police too, to make sure this thing goes down to the end.”

Roger closed his computer before an astonished Sam could reply. He ignored the insistent pings indicating a series of emails had arrived and walked out into the bank to greet the first customers of the day.

“Please don’t blow us up,” a frantic Paula Baxter jumped out of her chair and pleaded on her knees with the man who had earlier trespassed into her house and forced her to wear the vest full of explosives.

Sam stopped sending urgent emails to the bank manager long enough to glare at the woman kneeling before him with the crying baby in her arms. It didn’t soften his heart. “I warned him, and now it’s going to happen. If he doesn’t get on board with my plan, I will explode that vest.”

“Please, please you can’t do that. It’s not our fault my husband is such an ass hole,” a near-hysterical Paula pleaded. Don’t you see? The son of a bitch was just waiting for this opportunity because he wants us both dead. Now, he’s going to get away with it because you’re the perfect patsy.”

Sam eyed the sobbing woman and child, who was screaming her tiny lungs out. His face was full of disbelief. He pointed to the sofa. “Get over there, sit down, and shut that damn kid up, or I’ll blow you up. I can’t think with all this noise.”

A despondent Paula returned to the sofa, her eyes never leaving the hand that held the detonator ... She hushed her baby with a bottle and some gentle rocking. She was thankful for a reprieve because Sam was too busy trying to get reconnected with her husband, to carry out his threat.

He suddenly abandoned the computer and stomped over to Paula, his face filled with rage. “God damn it. This doesn’t make sense. Why isn’t he answering my emails? Doesn’t he realize I’ll blow you and the baby to kingdom come if he doesn’t follow my directions?”

“Please don’t kill us. I can’t help it if Roger is a total bastard. We both know he’s not going to respond because he wants you to do his dirty work,” Paula begged. Her eyes had a panicked look as she eyed the detonator. She clutched her baby tightly as if her arms could save her if the vest exploded.

“God damn it,” Sam swore and paced the living room with his thumb still on the detonator. “He’s got to answer me.” He tossed Paula’s cell phone on the sofa. “Here you try. Maybe he’ll answer it when he sees it’s you.”

Paula hurriedly grabbed the phone, her trembling fingers could barely dial the number she knew by heart. It rang and rang. There was no answer.

“Oh, Jesus Christ. He knows it’s me, but he’s not picking up.” She looked up at Sam with terror in her eyes. “Please don’t do this. Can’t you see that he wants you to kill us?”

“I swear, I’m going to do it,” Sam announced.

The wail of a police siren suddenly penetrated the house, making Sam jump in surprise. He rushed to the front window and peered out from the corner of the living room window drapes. A middle-aged White woman with a stalky build and wearing a police uniform climbed out of the marked police car that skidded to a stop right in front of the house.

“Sam, can you hear me?” She shouted through a bull horn. “I’m Detective Jacoline Beaumont. I understand there’s a hostage situation in the house, and I’ve come to help find a solution in which nobody gets hurt.”

Sam snuck away from the window and stopped in front of Paula. For the first time, there was worry and panic on his face. “What the hell is going on here? He wasn’t supposed to call the cops. I warned him not to,”

Paula saw his thumb was still on the detonator and sobbed. She explained in a panicky voice. “It’s like I told you. He wants us dead, and he’s doing everything in his power to make sure it happens. He called the police, just because you told him not to. He’s hoping to get you mad enough to blow us up. Please don’t do it. It’s just what the asshole wants. You’ll be playing right into his hands.”

More sirens signaled the arrival of more police cars. Sam hurried back to the window. To his shock and horror, the street was full of them. They blocked the street in a haphazard fashion and more kept arriving. He didn’t like it all. God damn it. He had just launched his perfect plan and it was already going sideways. Didn’t that stupid banker understand his family was at risk? By all rights, he should have been too scared to disobey his demands.

Sam hurried back to Paula. “This is insane,” he screamed at her as if it were all her fault, making baby Amy start wailing loudly again. What kind of a man wants his wife and child dead? It doesn’t make sense.”

Paula was shaking from head to foot. She wiped tears from her eyes. “You don’t know Roger. He’s a real son of a bitch. He doesn’t care about anybody but himself. And you something else? There’s another reason he wants us dead. It’s not just the money. He’s been screwing some cute, bimbo secretary whose boobs are bigger than her IQ. He doesn’t think I know, but I found a note from her in one of his shirt pockets when I was doing laundry.”