We catch a newscaster in mid-sentence…
“..... we go now, live, to the Front Porch of Mr. and Mrs. Timothy Johnson, the parents of the kidnapped ten year old boy, Timothy Johnson, Jr.”
Mr. Johnson approaches a podium and connected microphones, his sobbing (loudly) wife clinging to his side with her face half-buried in his chest. We hear the clichéd sound of cameras clicking and see a barrage of light flashes from the reporters’ camera flash units.
Mr. Johnson, now at the podium, reaches into his left front jeans pocket and unfolds what everyone assumes is the usual prepared statement.
The Johnsons, 24 hours earlier, had received a ransom note with instructions on delivering a $10 Million Dollar ransom in exchange for their son’s life. There was the usual language included…
“If you ever want to see your son Timmy Jr. again, you will follow these instructions exactly. Blah blah blah.. We will cut off this or that and send them to you along with the video.. Blah blah blah….”
The FBI had prepped Mr. Johnson on exactly what to say, and the FBI agents, flanking his right and left, were happy to see he had prepared a script as they had instructed.
Mr. Johnson, reading from his prepared notes, began to speak.
“On behalf of my wife and myself, we want to extend the most sincere thanks to all present and those watching at home. You would think this was a horrible day for me, but it was actually a very common and regular day, like all the ones I have spent since Timmy Jr. was born.
You see, the ransom note includes a mistake. Let me quote just the first line.
'If you ever want to see your son Timmy Jr. again, you will follow these instructions exactly.'
I am now talking directly to the kidnappers.
The mistake in your ransom note centers around the fact that Timmy is not my biological son. When he was born, having my doubts about his paternity, I got a DNA test, without my wife’s knowledge, and found that I was not the father. I never mentioned this to anyone, as you can all imagine the shame I would have felt and mocking, mostly silent and behind my back, I would have been subject to. I had my suspicions who the real father was, and for a few hundred dollars, a private investigator was able to obtain a coffee cup of my suspect and extract DNA. What do you know? There was an exact paternal match.”
Mr. Johnson reaches into his right jeans pocket, and unfolds a piece of paper and holds it up to the cameras. He reads from the backside.
“Dear Kidnappers, Here is the name and contact information for Timmy’s biological father. I am going to forward your ransom note to him on your behalf. It was mistakenly delivered to me.
You’re welcome.
I have silently carried my wife’s adulterous betrayal for a decade now. This has been a constant emotional and psychological torture. To think of giving away my fortune on top of that to save the life of the biological son of another man, the product of that adulterous betrayal, is far too much to ask of me. I am sure you will agree and would all do the same thing.”
With that, the childless Mr. Johnson went back inside the house, leaving his wife, mouth agape, to face the reporters.
