October 5, 1999
At the curb, a man stood like a pillar beside the new Mercedes-Benz ML 430, its black paint reflecting the palm trees overhead.
Robert Singh—six-one, lean, buzz-cut, sunglasses already on—stood by the door with the punctual stillness of someone born to protect.
"Morning, ma'am. Cameras across the street again," he said quietly as Claire stepped out, followed by Neil and Hailey in their official school uniforms.
She nodded. "Let them tire themselves out. Another couple of weeks and they'll disappear."
Robert moved with practiced precision, shielding the family from the paparazzi's glare as he opened the back door.
Neil climbed in first, Hailey sliding beside him. Robert shut the door, circled to the driver's seat, and the Mercedes eased away from the Dunphy driveway.
Inside, the air smelled of fresh leather and faint coffee from the cup between the front seats. Claire already mid-discussion with Cindy on the phone, papers and highlighted reports balanced on her lap.
Cindy (phone): "LetterBox closed September with sixty-eight thousand in surplus."
Her voice having excitement of winning a lottery, "Finally in the green. The devs are stretched thin, though. We may need to hire more. Did you talk to Neil? Any new suggestions from the boy-genius."
Claire glanced back. Neil wasn't listening—his eyes were fixed on the "For Sale" sign staked in their front yard. He looked strangly to that familiar lawn reduced to a transaction. But not sad.
---
Neil had been changing their story since he learned to talk.
It began with quiet nudges: his hints about technology that made the family a collective millionaire, his swimming competitions that turned Jay's business into a household name in LA (not that he needed that), the small things that grew.
He helped Mitchell believe he could afford bigger cases, helped his mom rediscover ambition in tech, helped his dad build something of his own—an agency that now stood almost toe to toe with his previous agency with his archrival Gil Thorpe's.
'Plot never mattered; people did.' Neil thought.
Even if his choices shifted the timeline of this world, he didn't mind. Anyway, ROB had clarified before the birth that he could do whatever he wanted.
Six years were enough to create or break a family, and he had made one. Everyone in Dunphy and Pritchett clan loved him unconditionally; despite his weirdness. That was his real miracle.
"Don't look so serious," Claire said softly. "We're just moving to a better place. Think how much time it will save you when grandpa is just living next door. You can go swimming every morning.
Neil smiled faintly. "Just checking if the 'better place' comes with fewer photographers."
---
Interview:
Claire:
"Neil's too serious sometimes. He gives speeches like he's already in college. Yesterday was his first day of school, and he still managed to threaten a classmate who teased Hailey about her makeup. I guess he isn't mature as he seems."
Hailey:
"I told Dax not to mess with me, but he never listens. Neil didn't even punch him hard. Okay, maybe a little. But he cried! That's what you get for calling me 'Zombie Barbie.'"
---
"Shouldn't you be worried about being scolded by the principal?" Claire asked as the car turned onto the main road, intrigued.
Neil, visibly flabbergasted. "What! And I thought you were coming because you couldn't stay away from your lovely children."
Hailey laughed. "Mom's coming because you're in trouble."
Neil flicked her forehead.
"Ouch! Mom! He hit me!"
"Whose fault is it that I'm being summoned to the principal's office?"
"Yours!" Hailey said, pouting. "You shouldn't have made Dax cry. The whole class is afraid of you and your ghost army!"
"They are more afraid of your pranks. Who do you think I was protecting yesterday? You? I was protecting him from your canine teeths."
(growling) "Grr! He shouldn't have broken my glitter bomb! That explosion is my art!"
(smirking) "And you're Deidara from Iwagakure," Neil muttered.
"See, Mom! He's doing it again, says weird stuff all the time, even teacher was confused."
'I guess I need to tone down my chuunibyou. I thought class would love that.' Neil thought
Claire sighed. "Neil, no teasing. Violence is never the answer. Especially not on day one of school."
'So it is okay on the second day?'
She lowered her voice. "And the paparazzi are already circling for stories about your behavior. Don't give them one. I don't want to see what is happening with Jake to happen to you."
She looked at Robert, the driver-guard they recently hired on Cindy's recommendation, "... Please take care of them Rob, I know they are a handful."
"Copy that, mad'am" Robert said his eyes not deviating from the road even for a second.
---
Next Day—School Parking
Hailey was running through the school with a lagging and docile Dakota by her tail. Every few seconds, Dakota looked back at their car; over-stressed by the decision to wait for Neil or follow her best friend.
Cindy's voice through the back of the car as she walked towards them; she was Dakota's chauffer for the day.
"See, this is what happens when I work before the morning coffee—chaos. Anyway, about the new campaign—wait, my laptop's acting up again."
A soft chime filled the car.
Neil alerted, remembering the chime of that Windows 98 notification when a plug-in device is acting up. "USB driver is missing. Remove the device and reboot."
A pause, a click, and the alert vanished.
Cindy laughed. "You're a genius. I swear, I should make you tech support."
Neil sat back. "Then who's going to test the backend?"
Claire rolled her eyes. "Don't encourage him. He is already commenting TODOs in the code when he finds a bug, I don't want him supervising the dev team daily."
---
Afternoon
Hailey left with Dakota for a playdate in Cindy's car, and Cindy joined Claire, Robert, and Neil in the car for their six o'clock meeting at the Peninsula Hotel.
The air outside shimmered in the California heat.
Traffic slowed along Ventura Boulevard as Cindy opened her ThinkPad again.
"Here it is," she muttered. "The email I warned you about."
Neil leaned forward, curious.
"Shyamalan called an emergency meeting," Cindy explained. "Producers are pushing him for a sequel. He's resisting—wants to work on his superhero project instead. But the studio's changing direction. They want to tie everything together using your Clover Society post-credit scene. You started something, Neil. Hollywood's calling it a 'collaboration of movies' now."
Neil frowned. "I have a better name, 'The Multiverse'"
"... Anyway, they want to build a movie around it? A Sequel of the Sixth Sense? The Clover Society wasn't a sequel, but a thematic link to build a broader world!"
"They don't care about you or shyamalan's themes," Cindy said, scrolling. "They are all about riding the hype. There is already a lot of buzz about that post-credit scene; more so than any other new project by Shyamalan; and producers are hell bent on capitalizing that."
"...If you decide, You will sign a new contract—stricter, with cameo but no writing credit. They know that it was your idea, but a child star cannot get the main credits."
Claire turned in her seat. worried. "What do you think? Your school will be further impacted; especially if we get a green light from Spielberg. Honey, I know you love movies, and I want to support you, but I fear you will take on too much."
"If they help me write the screenplay based on my ideas, I'll do a cameo maybe," Neil said simply. "If not, let the ghosts rest for now. Either way the credit is not necessary. Anyway, Shyamalan won't like me hijacking his script; it is his world after all."
Cindy studied him through her sunglasses, half proud, half baffled. "Six-year-old," she murmured in low breath.
---
Interviews:
Claire (smug):
"He gets that idealism about his work from me. The drama and serious face? That's Phil's contribution."
---
Cindy scrolled again. "Spielberg's people have already confirmed. He saw the first few lines of your audition tape—and wants you. Adamant, his word. But be cautious. Kubrick's old notes, Spielberg's new ideas, too many cooks. You can't improvise your way out like last time."
Neil's eyes brightened. "Two visions, one legacy. I just want to give Kubrick's story the ending he couldn't."
Claire frowned. "You sure you want to walk into that? Why do you always get these serious roles! What happened to my kid who laughed at Phil's balloon jokes."
He shook his head. "It is fine mom. I love a challenging role more so than being stereotyped into a comic relief or another ghost boy. Cindy, please set the meeting. I've decided to show the world what a boy who wants to be human looks like."
Cindy smiled. "Modern Pinocchio, huh?"
Neil smirked. "Exactly."
Evening settled.
Robert waited by the hotel, door open, engine humming softly. He'd spent the day reading Car & Driver and solving crosswords.
Neil climbed in first, followed by Claire and Cindy.
Phil called halfway through the drive, bubbling over with news about the Brentwood villa and his mortgage approval.
There were jokes about "debt with a view," laughter, then the quiet hum of tires on asphalt.
"Shyamalan wants Saturday," Cindy said when the call ended. "But Spielberg's Sunday slot is fixed. I told him we'll come by Monday."
"Big stories ahead," Neil murmured.
Robert's eyes caught Claire's in the mirror. "Scenic route, ma'am?"
She smiled. "Yes, please. Let's enjoy the quiet before the storm."
By dusk, they returned home. Boxes stacked near the door, the For Sale sign leaning tired against the grass.
Phil waved a blueprint. "Jay says if we move before Christmas, he'll lend me his wine cellar—on a per-cork basis."
Cindy laughed. "He's probably charging interest."
Claire joined in. "That's how he shows love."
Neil handed his backpack to Robert. "Thanks, Rob."
"Anytime, sir."
The driver's voice was steady, but the hint of a smile played at his mouth as Neil disappeared inside. His eyes lingering a little too long than his profession desired.
Six years old, two film meetings pending, a house in escrow, and homework waiting on his desk.
Not a bad patrol for a six-year-old mogul.
Later that night, Neil opened his notebook.
Across the page, his handwriting formed two titles:
Four-Leaf Clover — Sixth Sense II
The Unbreakable — The Collector's Mark
And beneath it, a single line:
"Between superheroes and ghosts, childhood is a relay—someone carries it forward; someone passes the faith."
Downstairs, Robert checked the ML's locks, logged the mileage, and penciled a small grin beside the number.
He hung his jacket on the garage hook and lay back on the cot he'd set up in the corner of the Dunphy's house on temporary basis.
---
Robert (interview):
"Lately, the world feels off—like gears grinding under the hood. You don't see it, but you feel it. Maybe that's my real job… to keep this family steady while the universe stalls.I've guarded senators, movie stars, even CEOs who thought the world revolved around them. But when this job came up—just a quiet family, a kid too calm for his age—I couldn't say no.Something about the boy… or maybe the house itself… felt like it was calling me.I still can't explain why I stayed. Maybe some engines you're not meant to fix—you just keep them running until the world figures itself out."
---
The light in the garage flickered once and steadied.
Outside, the street fell silent, Los Angeles wrapped in the hum of a city that never really slept.