Getting Another Chance

Life went on. Ahmad’s wife eventually made it to the United States. Mr. Rahami and Ahmad were mostly estranged, although in an Afghan family, where family life is paramount, such estrangements are rarely forever. So then came this year, when the elder Mr. Rahami and his wife and their youngest children planned to move to Roanoke, Va., near relatives, where they would open up another fried-chicken restaurant. Ahmad’s brothers were doing well. One was driving for Uber. Another had graduated from college. So Mr. Rahami offered his wayward son a shot: If he wanted, First American was his.

The restaurant deal lasted less than six weeks. After a bitter dispute between father and son, Mohammad Rahami came back at the end of May to run the business until he could sell it. Ahmad left the restaurant and started working shifts at two other fried-chicken restaurants in the area.

But Ahmad stayed in his father’s apartment, keeping a lock on the door of his room, Mr. Rahami said. His son grew so suspicious of his father trying to get inside, even through the windows, that he changed the lock.

In June, Ahmad started ordering supplies from eBay, the slingshot steelies, the citric acid, the circuit board, according to the federal criminal complaint against him. He planned. At some point, he allegedly scrawled his thoughts in a notebook, along with thoughts of his muses, Awlaki, Bin Laden and a founder of the Islamic State. “Inshallah the sounds of the bombs will be heard in the streets,” the journal finished. “Gun shots to your police. Death To Your OPPRESSION.”

The bombs went off last weekend, but the elder Mr. Rahami was busy in his chicken restaurant, keeping it open into the wee hours, the best time to make money, after the bars let out and people were hungry.

On Monday morning, Mr. Rahami closed the business just before 3. He said his prayers, and then he went to bed. But then he heard a loud racket outside. Two law-enforcement officers burst into his apartment and told him to raise his hands, he said. They handcuffed him, he said, and put him on the floor, before marching him outside his bedroom. There, he saw three of his sons — Mohammad Khan, Qasim, Nasim — also handcuffed.

He looked from one to the next and he had one thought: “Where is Ahmad?”