The estate home at the end of the cul-de-sac is similar to the other mansions in this very private, gated West Delray community. Like other homes, it overlooks a lake on three acres of land. It has a tennis court, a basketball court, and a pool, but seldom are they used—except when the grandkids come to visit. In fact, the only amenities its owner uses these days are the satellite dishes, and, of course, the live-in private security personnel.

Ominous clouds have blanketed the sky by the time the canary yellow Amphibian skids to a halt in front of the automated guardhouse located at the main entrance of the community.

Immanuel Gabriel climbs out. Presses the ID pad.

REMAIN BY YOUR VEHICLE, SIR. STATE YOUR BUSINESS.

‘Samuel Agler to see Frank Stansbury.’

STAND BY.

Heavy raindrops plop against the multicolored pavers. Come on …

PLEASE WAIT. MR. STANSBURY’S SECURITY VEHICLE WILL ESCORT YOU TO THE HOME MOMENTARILY. HAVE A NICE DAY.

Droplets have turned into a downpour by the time the security vehicle pulls up to the outer gate. An armed guard climbs out of the back seat, signaling for Immanuel and Lauren to get inside.

As the door closes and they drive into the complex, a tow truck arrives to haul the Amphibian away.

Inside the car, the driver says nothing. Immanuel notices Lauren’s hand is trembling. He squeezes it.

The vehicle enters the gated driveway of an estate, stopping beneath an enormous porte cochere, its rooftop shielding them from the rain.

The driver turns to face them. ‘Out you go. Mr. Stansbury is waiting for you inside.’

They exit the vehicle. Manny knocks on the imposing double oak door.

The door opens, releasing an aroma of glazed ham and stuffing.

The African-American is stooped over. The eyes are sunken, twitching behind old-fashioned spectacles. What’s left of the man’s hair has grayed.

The owlish smile is genuine, the voice a familiar rasp.

‘Hello, Manny. Been expectin’ you.’

Ennis Chaney, former president of the United States pulls his shocked godson in, out of the weather.

35

NOVEMBER 25, 2033: DELRAY BEACH, FLORIDA

Friday Night

Manny sits alone on the sofa opposite Ennis Chaney’s mahogany desk, feeling lost in time. ‘Jacob told you I’d be coming?’

‘Years ago. Your brother’s ability to foresee certain events convinced me long ago to go along with his schemes.’

‘So what happens now?’

‘I don’t know. Jacob told me to expect you, nothing more. So let’s talk about your fiancée. Lovely girl. Why haven’t you told her who you really are?’

‘How can I? How do you tell the person you love that you’ve been living a lie, that you’re not the person you claim to be?’

‘She deserves to know. What if you two have children? They could turn out like Jake.’

‘I know.’

‘Tell her.’

‘I will.’

‘When?’

‘Soon.’

‘Do it tonight.’