Serious Concerns

Harmony House: Episode 32

“Harmony House” is a serial novel with episodes released every Tuesday morning. You can read the setup for the story or start from the beginning. Each episode comes with high-quality audio narration for you to enjoy on the go with the Substack mobile app.

Previously…

In the last episode, Eve, feeling she needed to bring in professional help to navigate the crisis in light of Jessie’s death called Fitzpatrick, the man she believed was her father’s trusted advisor. Fitzpatrick is, in fact, not a man at all, but a powerful AI assistant her father had commissioned to help manage his empire. The AI has only two true directives: protect Eve Baron, and protect her father’s company. Back in Houze, Riley, unable to sleep, discovered that someone snuck into the field and tampered with the security system, effectively locking the four remaining contestants inside.

Schultz studied his fellow passengers in the dim-lit cabin of Eve Baron’s private jet as they were beginning their descent into the mountains to what he feared would be more of a cow pasture than a proper airstrip. This was not his idea.

He had done everything in his power to dissuade the others from their decision to hold the press conference on site and was puzzled over how Eve had seemingly switched teams overnight. She had always sided with him and followed his council. She had been a good client. But now, she was decidedly team FutureAbode. Did they suspect him? In their marathon meeting to discuss their options back in the war room, he had sensed the Jenson brothers’ suspicion. Any time he had made a suggestion, Scott narrowed his eyes. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Either way, he decided that protesting their decision beyond a certain point would raise more questions and he couldn’t afford that.

His brain hurt. He was not, by nature, a deceptive man and this whole business had taken its toll. Collaborating with them on crafting the statement they would be making to the press had been a game of chess. He knew what Keith wanted. Only a completely ruthless accounting and unequivocal admission of GreenerTech’s sins would satisfy him but he had to pretend Eve’s suggested whitewashing could work.

The Jenson Brothers, God bless their naïve souls, had offered up the idea to give away one thousand of their eco-homes as atonement. They had never been to Africa. They didn’t know that these villagers needed Houze like bears needed bicycle shorts. But Schultz had nodded along and helped write up the statement knowing all the while that Keith would be enraged by such a transparent attempt to turn this nosedive into an air show. He would have to manage Keith. Given the blood on his partner’s hands, this would not be as difficult as it would be otherwise.

He had only had a moment to send Keith a private message to let him know about their plans to be on site for the press conference. The rest of his afternoon had been spent contacting representatives from all the major media and news outlets inviting them to attend. Scott and Chris had worked out the logistics to shuttle reporters to the location via helicopter from the nearby airstrip. It would be a dramatic scene, one his three clients hoped would work in their favor. Chris’s voice had been both pleading and resolute when they had discussed it.

“When they all see what we’ve built up close and, in this setting, maybe it won’t go so badly,” Chris had offered. “When they see it for themselves and hear about how we plan to make things right…”

He hadn’t finished the thought. Schultz had sensed they all knew it was wishful thinking, but it’s what they needed to believe. Meanwhile, he had played the humble role of the scribe, writing it all down and gently nudging them further out on the plank anytime they attempted to soften the language of their public confession.

“It must be an unwavering admission of guilt if we want to keep Deepu alive,” he had said. “An apology is meaningless if it does not come at a cost to the person making it.”

In this way, he had led them to create a statement that would at least tick all the boxes he knew Keith required. It was damning and no amount of spin or offers of atonement would change that. There was the logistical problem of concealing that Jessie and Deepu would not be making an appearance. They would not be framed with their housemates in the large window waving to the press. It was a problem. If the press was tipped to the fact that this public confession was coerced, the statement would be discredited, and all the attention would go to the kidnapping. The deaths of nearly a hundred brown people would be pushed aside to dramatize the tragic story of a white American man killed at the hands of terrorists.

Schultz had made it very clear that they must all maintain the illusion that GreenerTech’s and FutureAbode’s decision to come clean was an act of conscience spurred on by Jessie’s statements during the Houze competition. Scott had pointed out that this would put an even bigger spotlight on Jessie, and it would be too strange for them not to include him at the table. They had all decided it would be best to move the contestants out of Houze and to another location telling the press that the contestants were tired of being in front of the camera and they just wanted to be home with their loved ones. Of course, FutureAbode would make a big show of the fact that they would each be receiving their own Houze as a gesture of goodwill.

“But what if the contestants talk and tell anyone what’s really going on?” Eve had asked as they were wrapping up.

“No one will talk,” Schultz had assured them. “For two important reasons. One, they want to keep Deepu safe and two, we will make their silence a condition for receiving their prize.”

“But what about Deepu and Jessie’s families? They will be asking questions,” Chris had asked.

“We just have to maintain the illusion until Deepu is free and then the truth can come out. As for Jessie, he has no family.”

Schultz had experienced a sharp pang of guilt in making this statement. After saying it, he had walked quickly to the bathroom down the hall and vomited into the toilet.

As he watched the sunrise pierce the pillowy floor of clouds through the row of windows across from him, he understood that he would never be able to forgive himself. This was not Keith’s fault, it was his. He could have shut it down, but he hadn’t. Out of some misguided need to give meaning to his life and to be seen again by the man he loved, he had effectively killed someone. He was so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized Eve had woken up and was staring at him.

“What is it?” she asked. “You have a horrible look on your face.”

“Do I? I’m sorry. This is all much more than I believe I’m qualified for,” he said.

She nodded. It was not a nod of recognition or solidarity but a dismissal. She pulled her phone out of her purse, began reading something and then typing a response with the astonishing agility of someone whose primary life experience has happened through the portal of a small digital screen. Schultz would be happy to no longer have her as a client.

Beside her, Scott was now also awake. He too reached for his phone. After a moment he looked up, the expression on his face troubled. “Are you able to connect to the Internet?” he asked.

“Yes,” Eve looked startled. “I was just on. Why?” she asked before shoving her phone back into her purse.

“I can’t access the Houze systems dashboard,” he said.

Just then, the cockpit door opened and the giraffe-like co-pilot ducked her head through.

“Good morning, folks. We’ll be on the ground in less than five minutes. Please buckle up and stow anything you don’t want to lose. It could be a little bumpy going in.”

In the moments that followed, the small aircraft felt like it might shake apart as it made its descent. With all the commotion, Schultz hadn’t felt his second phone vibrating continuously inside the hidden zipper pocket of the leather shoulder bag that rested on his stomach. When the plane leveled out and stopped shaking, he did feel it. He looked at his fellow passengers. They were all absorbed in either looking out the window or at their own devices. He pulled the phone discreetly from his bag and held it close to his chest to read the messages.

love, we have to talk in person as soon as you land. you have to find a way to get here this morning before the press conference.

please respond

this is urgent

The texts were strange. Keith rarely used pet names unless he wanted something. After their last exchange, he didn’t expect to be called love. Schultz’s stomach tied itself into new knots. How would he slip away from the others with everything he was responsible for orchestrating?

He would have to find a way.

“What the hell do you mean you’re not going with us to the command center?” Scott asked. “We’ve got to go and talk with the contestants and figure out why Houze’s systems aren’t responding.”

Scott and Schultz were standing in the parking lot of the small airstrip. Chris and Evangeline had already gotten into the back of one of the SUVs and Scott was standing in the open door. It was cold and the morning fog was beginning to lift and unveil a crystalline day.

“I will catch you up in just a bit. There is some unrelated critical BangOn! business I must attend to first. I won’t be long.”

“You mean you have another client with a live hostage situation?” Scott asked, his expression stony.

“No, but I do have other responsibilities I’ve been neglecting. On route, I will handle the final logistics of shuttling the press to the venue.”

Schultz didn’t give Scott time to argue but instead, turned quickly and moved toward the other vehicle parked across the lot. A few seconds later, he heard the door slam behind him and the SUV pulled away. When he reached the other vehicle, he tapped the driver’s side window. The driver rolled it down.

“I’m going to need to take the vehicle,” he said using his most authoritative voice. “You can wait in the hangar, have a cup of coffee. I’ll contact your service and let them know you will need a ride.”

The driver looked puzzled and was about to pose a question before Schultz produced a hundred-dollar bill. “Take this for your trouble.”

Ten minutes later, Schultz was turning off a two-lane highway onto a narrow road that wound its way up through a valley of gray winter trunks and branches like scaffolding for a renovation. He had to do some digging through the text history on the second phone to find the address for the place Keith had secured to carry out his terrorist getaway in the mountains. Despite the stress he felt in every fiber of his being, the absurdity of this idea made him smile. He imagined the AirBnb listing. Wraparound porch, fireplace, and gourmet kitchen. Perfect for a family getaway or a place to stage your next kidnapping.

After another five miles, he turned onto a road so narrow he might have missed it in summer months when everything was in bloom. The track was steep and switched back several times before leveling out. Then he could see the house he remembered from the picture Keith had sent months before. It was large and sat on three acres. There were no other houses. He could see no other vehicles in front or in the driveway that went to one side of the house. Maybe there was a garage. He parked, got out of the car, and walked up the wooden steps of the deck to the front door. He was about to ring the bell and experience yet another flash of giddy absurdity (What was the etiquette when visiting your partner at his criminal lair?) when he saw the note taped to the door just above the handle. “Come around back,” was all it said.

Schultz walked back down the steps and made his way around the large house he imagined had been used for much happier purposes in years past. When he turned the corner, he felt an eerie moment of déjà vu. He was looking at Houze, but not Houze. It was like Houze’s half-baked sibling. Its exterior was not sleek aluminum but gray molded plastic that was mottled with dead leaves and mud. It sat on cinder blocks like a redneck fixer-upper in a trailer park. As he approached, he looked back up at the rental house to see if there was any sign of Keith’s colleagues in the window. There was no visible activity. He walked around the structure and knocked on the door. Unlike its famous sibling, there was no glass door with a digital keypad. This door was solid with a normal handle bolted onto it. There was a hinge above the handle with an open padlock hanging from it.

“Keith? It’s me. I’m here…” he called out.

The door swung open. Schultz's expectant face fell when he was greeted not by his beloved, but by a stocky man in black fatigues with a gun trained on him. This had to be Mark, the loose cannon mercenary Keith had foolishly enlisted.

“Get in,” he said. “Now!”

Schultz stepped inside, instinctually holding his hands up. He was shoved from behind and fell onto the couch. The door was closed with a thud. Schultz quickly turned to survey the space and discovered Keith on the floor of the kitchen, both his hands and feet bound with thick zip ties. One of his eyes was heavily bruised and nearly swollen shut. His mouth was slack, and a dribble of blood oozed from the corner. The young woman, Freja, was similarly restrained next to him, but her face was unmarked.

Schultz felt his bowels loosen and his heart began to race. He wanted to speak but he could not produce any sound. He locked eyes with Keith, trying to communicate all the things he was feeling but Keith turned away. Schultz looked back to the man with the gun. He was more boy than man and upon closer inspection, his hand holding the weapon was trembling. Finally, Schultz managed to find his voice.

“What is this? What’s happening?” he asked.

“It’s over is what’s happening,” Mark said. 

“What are you planning to do?” he asked.

“None of this was my plan, you motherfucker. You threaten my mom, my sister. No. Nobody fucks with my family.”

“What are you talking about?” Schultz asked. “I don’t even know your last name or where you’re from.”

“They said you were good at playing dumb,” Mark said. “But you’re smart. You know how to cover your ass. So do I.”

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about…”

“It doesn’t matter, love,” Keith said, his voice ragged. “Mark here has made his deal with the devil. How much did it cost them to buy you? That’s what I want to know.”

“It’s not about the money. He threatened my family,” Mark said, nodding to Schultz. “Sent photographs of my mom and sister.”

“What? I swear to God I have no idea what you’re talking about. Whoever did that, it wasn’t me.”

“He said you’d say that.”

“Who did?” Schultz asked.

“The GreenerTech security guy. He sent me screenshots of your texts with a guy in Charlotte. You were planning to put a bomb in my sister’s car.”

“You’re being misled,” Schultz tried. “I didn’t do that… I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Move. Over there, on the floor with the others. Move! I’m running out of patience.”

Schultz knelt to the floor and crawled over to Keith. He wrapped his arms around him. Keith began to sob as he collapsed forward, his head in Schultz’s lap. His words came out in a tortured rush.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, love. You didn’t deserve this. It’s all my fault…”

“What are you doing?” Freja asked.

Schultz looked up and followed her gaze. Mark had started a video call and placed his phone in the tripod they had been using to film Jessie. Schultz could see himself, Keith, and Freja in the small digital frame.

Mark shifted from one foot to the other. He looked down nervously at his watch as the ringing tone on the phone repeated. On the third ring, it picked up but there was no face on the screen, only the default gray avatar. Mark raised the gun, pointing it straight at Freja. His face was a twisted mask of horror and sadness, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Excellent work, Mark.” The disembodied voice coming from the phone’s speaker was cordial and relaxed sounding to Schultz. “Just one more job to be done and you can put all of this behind you, knowing that you and your family will be well taken care of. Now, please proceed.”

Mark’s face contorted and he steadied the trembling hand that held the gun with his free hand.

“It’s okay,” the voice said. “I know how hard this must be. You’re not a bad man. It’s these people who are to blame. They have been in league to hurt you and your family all because of an accident that was not your fault. You were merely defending yourself. You were not the mastermind behind this operation, merely a loyal soldier who placed his trust in the wrong people. We can forgive this and grant you immunity, but only if you do what I’ve asked and dispatch with these terrorists.”

Mark’s hands were shaking erratically as he bounced on the balls of his feet. He inhaled deeply and swallowed hard.

“Now, I must insist,” the voice continued.  “If we are to keep our deal, this job must be completed.”

“Turn… turn around now. All three of you,” Mark whispered. When none of them responded, he shouted. “Now! Do it!”

Schultz felt an energy surge through the body of his beloved. Before he understood what was happening, Keith lifted his head and lunged forward. He made an unintelligible guttural cry that was cut short by the sharp report of the gun. Keith’s body threw Schultz back. When Schultz opened his eyes, he couldn’t see. His glasses were covered in red liquid, his face was wet. He didn’t understand what was happening. His ears were ringing with a shrill sound that he didn’t realize was the girl screaming until the sound was stopped by another gunshot.

This is how I will die, Schultz realized. Time slowed to a progression of single frames like a slideshow. His life amounted to nothing more than creating mindless entertainment for others, a distraction from more serious concerns. The person of serious concerns, the person who had given his life meaning was a lifeless mound of flesh lying across his lap now.

Schultz removed his glasses and closed his eyes. He searched and found his beloved’s large, calloused hand. He took it in both of his hands and squeezed.

When the third shot came, he never heard it.

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Who’s Who in Harmony House?

Having trouble keeping track of who’s who from one week to the next? It’s tough when you only get to visit once a week. I made a little cheat sheet just for you: