on his 35th birthday, i decided to tell julius benedict the truth about himself.
it wasn't that he was the product of a scientific experiment.
an experiment designed to produce a physically, mentally and spiritually superior human being. i explained that to him when he was two years old.
and it wasn't the complexity of julius's parentage. he knew that unlike other little boys, he didn't have just one, but half a dozen fathers, all very distinguished men. *
nor was it about the extraordinary woman chosen to be his mother.  *
julius had long lived with the tragic news that she died giving birth to him.
what julius didn't know, until this very moment, was that, about a minute after he was born.  another nurse emerges from the delivery room, holding up a second infant -- this one is screaming with rage.
his mother gave birth to another baby.
he was sent to an orphanage in los angeles. at the same time i brought you here to the island. julius isn't listening. his eyes shine.
vincent.
you've been here since you were a baby -- you know nothing of america --
they're a simple people; rather primitive, not like us.
-- my need for it is only sentimental -- yours may be practical -- julius slips the photo into his suitcase.
i'll miss you.
and?
julius -- please -- don't get your hopes up. your brother doesn't even know you exist.