5
BRAD
The phone my father contacts me on vibrated in my jacket pocket.
‘Hello,’ I said when I swiped to answer. One doesn’t call my father “Dad” or any other term of endearment. When necessary I call him “Father”. He calls me “Junior”, not my name. My name is Bradley. Bradley Hector Culley — not Junior. There is no “Jr” after my name. I am the second son, and neither my older brother nor I were named after our father. I answer to whatever he calls me. It makes life easier.
‘Come into the office, Junior,’ he ordered. ‘Now.’
Without answering him, I hung up the phone and did up the seat belt in my black SUV. I like the SUV; it isn’t pretentious like the cars my father gets driven around in. It’s a hybrid and has all the bells and whistles you’d expect from a vehicle at the top end of t
