Bad Dream 190 -- Where's My Briefcase?

In my dream, I am back in my childhood home in suburban Baltimore.  I am in the house preparing to leave for an assignment, which is either a presentation for my work or a college-level class.  The dream doesn't make it clear which is the case.  

I'm pretty much ready to go.  All I need to do is retrieve my briefcase, which has documents I will need for this upcoming assignment.

I go to the spot in the house where I normally leave my briefcase and it isn't there.  I can't imagine why not -- I almost always leave it in the same place.  And the time available to get to the assignment is running short, and I really don't want to be late.  

I move around the house looking in each room (which are actual rooms I recall) for my case, with no luck.  As I keep moving, a younger sibling sidles up to me and tells me that Richard -- our older brother -- had taken the case.

I go upstairs to where I think Richard will be and find him lounging on the bed.  He looks up at me, sees that I'm distressed, and gets a smirk on his face.  I explain to him in loud and rapid-fire language the inconvenience that he's causing.  He almost looks apologetic.  Not quite, but almost.  He points to a collection of things against a wall and tells me that the case is in that pile of stuff.  

I go to the pile and examine each and every object, but the case is simply not there.  I look at Richard and tell him that. His face changes and he gets up off the bed and comes over to the pile.  He then assures me that he left it there, and now has no idea who might have taken it or where it got off to.  

I am thoroughly aware that his comments might simply be Richard ratcheting up the prank to a higher level, but there's no way I can be sure whether he's still pranking me or is genuinely unsure what happened to the briefcase.  

He looks as if he's about to start looking for the case himself, but there's no reason I should hang around him when I should simply be continuing the search.

By this time, I am boiling mad and deeply concerned about what my absence at this assignment will mean for me.  The excuse of "I'm late because I couldn't find my briefcase" is just too close to "My dog ate my homework." 

I go back downstairs to repeat my search while trying to think of what else I could be doing to minimize the damage that's being done to me and my career.  

I hear my Dad say softly "Being angry is not going to help."  And I understand that, if I could let the anger go, I might be capable of more rational thoughts and activities, but just then I want to hang onto my anger and frustration.