The Bodyguard (11)

“Is that the principal?” Amadi asked, like we were being tricked.

“It’s his older brother, Hank,” Glenn explained. Then he brought up a picture of Jack, and we studied the two side by side like a find-the-differences picture game.

That’s where Glenn paused the slideshow. “I can’t imagine there’s a person in this room who hasn’t seen The Destroyers,” he said. “And you probably all know the basics of how, right after opening weekend, Jack Stapleton’s younger brother Drew was killed in an accident. That was two years ago. Jack stepped out of the public eye, moved to the remote mountains of North Dakota, and hasn’t made a movie since.”

Yes, we all knew that. Everybody in America knew that. Babies knew it. Dogs knew it. Maybe even earthworms.

“The accident got covered up. I mean,” Glenn shook his head with admiration, “they did a fantastic job. There are no details anywhere, and I’ve had Kelly on this all day.”

We nodded at Kelly. She was the best dirt-digger we had.

“If I’d known why you had me on this,” Kelly said, “I’d have worked harder.”

Glenn stayed focused. “All you can find anywhere,” he went on, “are the basics: car accident. Jack and his younger brother were together. Only Jack survived.”

Glenn flashed a photo of Jack and his brother Drew at some premiere, in suits, smiling for the cameras with their arms around each other. We gave it a moment of silence.

Then Glenn went on. “But there are rumors. Rumors that Jack was driving—and there might have been alcohol involved. Kelly’s working to see if she can confirm.”

Kelly wrinkled her nose and shook her head like it wasn’t going well.

So Glenn went on. “What we do know is that, in the wake of that accident, the family has been estranged. In particular, there seems to be bad blood between Jack and the older brother. There’s no reporting we can find that explains the rift.”

Glenn flashed a photo of the family from before the accident—two sweet looking parents and three grown boys—a paparazzi photo taken in the stands of a stadium.

“Also, despite Stapleton’s stated intention of retiring from acting, he is still under contract to make the sequel to The Destroyers. He’s been fighting in court to break it, and it’s unclear at this point who’ll prevail, but he hasn’t left North Dakota for any voluntary reason since. Until now. He arrives in Houston today.” Glenn checked his watch. “Landed twenty-three minutes ago.”

“He finally comes out of hiding, and he picks Houston?” Robby said.

“Hey,” Kelly said, like she was offended. “We’re not so bad.”

Robby shook his head. “Nobody comes here on purpose.”

Glenn seized the meeting back. “Jack Stapleton’s not coming here on purpose, either.”

“He’s from here,” Doghouse volunteered, proud to know some trivia.

“Correct,” Glenn said. “He’s from here. And his parents live on a ranch out past Katy on the Brazos River. And his mother was just diagnosed with breast cancer, and so he’s coming home to stay for a while.”

“That’s why it’s happening so fast,” Doghouse said.

It was fast. We’d normally take weeks, at least, to get prepped for something like this.

“Yes,” Glenn said. “She got her diagnosis on Monday, and her surgery is scheduled for Friday morning.”

“Aggressive protocol,” Amadi said. His father was an oncologist.

Glenn nodded. “From what I understand, it wouldn’t be your first choice of cancer. But it’s not unbeatable.”

We all noted the double negative.

“What’s the duration of the assignment?” I asked then.

“Unclear. But it’s my understanding that Stapleton intends to stay for the run of her treatment.”

“Weeks?” I asked.

“At least. We’ll know more when the family does.”

It was so strange to think of Jack Stapleton as having a family—or as having any kind of life outside of his primary role of giving us all something to ogle about humanity.

And yet, there it was. Jack Stapleton was a real person. With a mom. Who was sick. And a hometown. And now he was coming to Houston.

Glenn changed the slide show to a series of photos of a modern, three-story house. “He’s rented a place in town near the medical center. We couldn’t get access until today, but here are some photos from the rental listing.”

What normal people would have seen in those photos was a brand-new, high-end, luxurious modern house, with high ceilings and huge windows and lush landscaping. It had a pale-blue front door with a potted fiddle-leaf fig plant next to it. It looked like something out of Architectural Digest.

But we all looked at those images through a different lens.

The fiddle-leaf fig made for a pretty picture, but it wasn’t relevant to anyone in this room. Unless we could hide a security camera in it. The high wall around the yard meant it would be hard for a stalker to scale it. The circular driveway out front was a little too close to the structure. That giant oleander bush would need to be trimmed. The rooftop patio would be easy for a sniper to access. In night shots, the lighting out front was much more about mood than visibility.

Glenn walked us through the security features. “Security cameras galore—even one interior, motion-activated, in the front hall. Top-of-the-line alarm system and high-tech locks with remote access. Though the client’s representative says he forgets to use it.”