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The Collector by lyttlejoe

I started collecting secrets when I was just six years old.

I used a lined scribbler to record them and they were all organized under different headings like, FAMILY, FRIENDS and OTHER. As I grew older the list was transferred to my computer and the headings became more sophisticated, each containing sub-sections, all encrypted.

In the early years the secrets were used to coerce siblings or schoolmates; to get something or maybe spoil something for someone. It gave me a reluctant regard with those affected; they were afraid to cross me in any way. As the years passed and the secrets became weightier, I began to use them to greater advantage. I suppose you could call it blackmail but I preferred to say it was a 'cost of living levy' and I was the taxman.

I moved quickly through the ranks of business, amassing a large, personal wealth and a considerable amount of power. My reputation rapidly spread fear throughout the business world and with the additional power gained, my file of secrets also grew; I had progressed into the political arena and was now influencing national and international decisions.

Life was good for me, perhaps not for many who knew me, but my life was just fine. I had married well and was the father of two delightful daughters who in turn made me the grandfather of three equally delightful grandchildren. Our family was always welcomed at our estate and long stays were quite common, sometimes everyone and other times, just the grandchildren. The pleasure of them scrambling about the house and crawling under my desk to hide during their games gave me a feeling of pure bliss. As they grew the hide and seek turned to video games and then later it was all Facebook and twitter with their laptops. I still enjoyed the company. By now I had removed myself from the everyday demands of appearing in public, delegating my wishes to a competent staff of workers, leaving me the opportunity to entertain personal visits from compliant clients.

The years passed and my activities waned, leaving the business of levying my tax to the occasional e-mailed reminders, which still held the same power they originally possessed. Then one day I received a message on my private in box that shook my world. It was a demand for almost exactly the amount of my personal cash account as well as the assignment of my investment portfolio, in other words, my entire wealth. I sat stunned by the demand and the few samples of proof that would send me to prison for the rest of my days if I didn't comply.

I tried tracing the sender but all my attempts failed and when the second e-mail arrived, with an abrupt warning of imminent action over failure to meet the terms, I panicked and began the complete dismantling of my financial empire, following the harsh demands to the letter. When all was done and I felt the shattering realization that I was destitute, the sample proofs appeared on the front page of the leading newspaper, raising a public outcry that took me quickly through the legal system and straight into prison for a term longer than a man my age could survive.

My family came to visit, promising legal aid and trying to comfort me but I could see they had a reluctance to become further associated with such a societal pariah. Only my youngest grandchild, now a grown woman, seemed to feel comfortable visiting me and spending time discussing the facts of my crime. We talked a lot and it became clear to me that she was the only one who had any remaining interest in my circumstances, until on one visit she passed me a small book and asked me to see what I thought about the contents. The first few pages described the financial transfers to her personal accounts and the balance of the book was a list of the most prominent people I had amassed information about. She told me she had been collecting the material ever since she enjoyed spending so many days at our home...

...since she was six years old.

* * *

The doctor closed his bag and stood, shoulders slumped. He looked at me and slowly shook his head, placing a hand over his heart. Grandfather was dead. I picked up my book, thanked them all for their kindness and left the prison. It was late in the afternoon but not too late to levy one more cost of living tax; there was no rest for an amoral entrepreneur.