By the time July settled over the San Fernando Valley, the heat in Sherman Oaks had become oppressive.
Alan was running on fumes. He was physically and mentally hollowed out, his body barely functioning on bad breakroom coffee and the sheer, desperate hope that Judith wouldn't discover his maritime accident. He had doubled his shifts at the clinic, arriving home every night looking like a man who had been dragged behind a slow-moving truck.
Despite this, he tried to play the hero.
"We are going to Disneyland!" Alan announced in the middle of breakfast, slapping his hands on the table with forced enthusiasm.
Judith didn't blink, just looked at him with the same suspicion she had maintained for the last month. "Disneyland, Alan? In the middle of July? It'll be a hundred degrees and packed with tourists," she said flatly.
"It's the Magic Kingdom, Judith! You can't put a price on memories!" Alan chirped, his voice hitting that reedy, desperate pitch Jake knew all too well.
Sitting across the table, Jake didn't say a word. Behind his eyes, Argus was already running the math.
Calculating Variables: Three-day stay at the Grand Californian. Three Park Hopper tickets. Premium dining markups. The total came out to roughly $4,500. Jake knew Alan didn't have it. The SBLOC (Securities-Backed Line of Credit) was hard-capped. The collateral limit was $400,000, and Alan had already burned through more than two-thirds of it between his lifestyle inflation and the eighty-thousand-dollar sunken boat. The remaining liquidity technically belonged to the portfolio shares held by Evelyn and Jake.
Alan couldn't access a single dime of it without Evelyn's signature, and there was a zero percent chance he was going to ask his mother for a bailout. That meant this trip was being funded by a new, high-interest line of credit or a predatory cash-advance check.
Alan spent the entire weekend acting the part of the "Authoritative Patriarch." He wore a new, cheap knock-off diver's watch to hide the absence of his pawned Rolex, and he insisted on paying for every churro and souvenir with a grand flourish of his leather wallet, sweating profusely through his linen shirts the entire time.
Judith spent the trip behind a pair of oversized designer sunglasses, watching him with cold, detached scrutiny. She smelled the gathered scent of a lie but since no hard evidence was yet available, she just watched Alan's frantic overcompensation and knew, with absolute certainty, that he was hiding something catastrophic.
Ironically, Jake was the only one who actually enjoyed the vacation. He just let himself experience the physical kinetic energy of the park. He rode California Screamin', Indiana Jones Adventure, and Space Mountain back-to-back.
He was ten years old, but his body was rapidly leaving childhood behind. The [Growth Module] had done its work well. It was a long-term biological optimization program that used Argus's full control over Jake's hormones, growth plates, bone remodeling, and nutrient partitioning to guide his body toward a perfect adult form. He was leaner, his jawline was beginning to sharpen into an angular structure, and he had grown to an intimidating 147 cm (4'9").
The four days passed quickly under the heavy blanket of Alan's nervous pretending and Judith's never-ending suspicion.
By September, the Los Angeles heat finally broke, and the new school year began.
Jake was officially a High School Senior. While his peers were stressing over college applications and prom dates, Jake was still using the AV Club as his logistical headquarters when Malcolm walked in. Malcolm had spent his summer surviving his own family's chaotic dysfunction and looked exhausted.
"I still can't believe you're a Senior," Malcolm complained, dropping his backpack onto a desk. "I'm stuck in tenth grade. I literally have a genius-level IQ, and I'm sitting in classes with kids who still don't understand basic algebra."
"You could skip grades too, you know," Jake said without looking up from his book. "The district allows challenge exams, you just have to file the paperwork."
"My mom won't let me," Malcolm groaned, rubbing his face. "She gave me this whole screaming lecture about 'hard work' and 'working my way up.' She says if I skip ahead, I'll miss out on character building. Which is just code for her wanting to keep me miserable for as long as possible."
"Ah. Well, it happens," Jake said smoothly, entirely used to the dynamics of dysfunctional families. "Sometimes the chain of command is the biggest bottleneck in the system."
While Jake was finalizing his high school exit strategy, the timer on Alan's life finally hit zero.
It was late September. Judith sat alone at the kitchen table, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the tile as she sifted through the day's envelopes.
Gas bill.
A thick, official-looking envelope from the Los Angeles County Department of Parks and Recreation – Maritime Division.
She paused. Her thumb slid under the flap, and she pulled out the heavy stock paper.
OFFICIAL NOTICE OF LIABILITY: SALVAGE AND ENVIRONMENTAL RECOVERY
RE: Vessel "The Chiro-Quatic"
Location: Castaic Lake Reservoir
Date of Incident: June 14, 2003
Description: Total hull breach, rock-strike collision.
Outstanding Balance: $12,400 (Salvage fees, environmental cleanup, and unpaid mooring fees).
Judith stood frozen for a full minute, reading and re-reading the document. The lie finally had a name, a location, and a price tag.
Later that night, the Chrysler pulled into the driveway. Alan walked through the front door, looking surprisingly happy since he had just done the math in his head; if he kept up the double shifts, the secret loans would be paid off in six months. He was almost at the finish line.
The living room was pitch black.
"Judith?" Alan called out, holding a greasy paper bag. He flipped the light switch.
Judith was sitting in his armchair and she wasn't moving.
"Judith! You're... sitting in the dark. That's bad for the eyes," Alan stammered, his grip tightening on the bag of tacos until the grease started to soak through the paper. "Listen, I had the weirdest day at the clinic—"
"You sank a boat, Alan?"
Alan's knees actually buckled. He lunged forward, grabbing the back of the sofa to keep from falling to the floor. "A... a what? A boat? That's crazy. Who told you—"
"Do not lie to me!" Judith's voice cracked like a whip. She stood up, the Maritime Division letter clutched in her fist. "You bought a boat behind my back, you named it something completely idiotic, and you crashed it into a lake!"
"Judith, it was a networking investment!" Alan pleaded, his voice breaking into a terrified squeak. "And there was a shark in the water! I was trying to save my life—"
"Stop with the lies!" she berated him, stepping closer. "You've been lying to me for months! Working double shifts, sweating through your clothes, pawning your watch. You thought I wouldn't notice?!"
Upstairs, Jake was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He could hear the muffled shouts through the floorboards. The acoustics of the house made it hard to hear the exact words, but the tone was undeniable.
I wonder if she knows the initial purchase price, Jake thought calmly. The salvage bill is only between 10 and 15 thousand dollars. If she doesn't know the hull value...
"EIGHTY THOUSAND DOLLARS!" Judith's scream shook the literal foundation of the house.
Ah, Jake thought. She knows.
"Get out!" Judith shrieked, the sound echoing all the way up the stairs. "Get out of this house, Alan! Get out of my sight!"
Jake sat up, walked over to his bedroom window, and pulled back the blinds.
A moment later, the front door burst open. Alan stumbled out onto the lawn, clutching his bag of tacos to his chest like a life preserver along some sheets.
He looked back at the house, his face completely defeated, waiting for the door to open again. It didn't.
Alan dragged his feet to the Chrysler, got in, and started the engine.
Jake watched in utter silence as the taillights faded down the street, heading straight for the Pacific Coast Highway.