It nearly killed the town. The population dropped by 20 percent, and that was before the recession triggered by 9/11. Danny didn’t pay too much attention to the details. He was at Stanford, doing accelerated coursework and planning the pitch for his first round of venture capital.

It was the smart move. Electronics manufacturing was over in the U.S., and keeping Sharp Industries alive would have been a waste of money. He sold the brand name, inventory, and product lines to a Korean company while they were still worth something.

Danny does not feel guilty about this. Even though he still has to pay a guy to clean up the bags of dog shit and other garbage that are flung at his father’s empty house on a regular basis.

So he can see how Lonnie and Mike might still harbor a grudge.

He takes a stab at defusing the situation, even though he suspects it’s pointless.

“Look,” he says, trying a conflict-resolution routine he was forced to learn at a human-resources seminar. “I can tell you’re upset. We can talk about this.”

“Fuck you, Danny,” Lonnie says, shoving him so that he bounces off the rental car, setting Danny’s ribs on fire again. “My dad worked at Sharp for twenty years. Until you decided you needed another million dollars, asshole.”

The actual sale price of Sharp Industries was $135 million. Which is a point Danny is smart enough to keep to himself.

One more try. “And I know that must have been hard for you.”

Fuller slaps him. Dots and circles dance in Danny’s vision, another remnant from yesterday’s car crash. “You never should have come back, Sharp.”

All right, Danny thinks. I tried.

He taps an icon on his smartphone and a specialized tone plays. Infrasound. Well below the human range of hearing, but a deep, vibratory pulse that passes through them all.

It sloshes through the fluid of Fuller and Lonnie’s inner ears like they are standing on the deck of a ship in the middle of a hurricane. Instant nausea.

Lonnie goes green immediately and doubles over. Fuller, eyes wide, holds out for an admirably long moment. Then they’re both emptying the contents of their stomachs onto the asphalt with a heavy splash.

Danny, of course, still has his earbuds in; his ears are occupied by the gentle sounds of Gould’s take on the Aria da Capo, along with a counter-tone that neutralizes any ill effects.

His grandfather tried to sell a version of this to the army, back when Sharp still made weapons. It was too indiscriminate, the Pentagon decided. Couldn’t have the troops and the enemy both puking their guts out on the battlefield. Also, it didn’t kill anyone. Danny tinkered with the wavelength and turned it into an app recently, when he had a little spare time.