Chapter 6 - MY FATHER'S LAST WAR
We drove through the night.
Ryan sat in the passenger seat.
He hadn't spoken for almost an hour.
Neither had I.
The highway stretched ahead.
Dark.
Empty.
Endless.
Finally, he said:
“Do you hate me?”
I kept my eyes on the road.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
“I never wanted you hurt.”
I laughed.
“You watched your mother shave my head.”
“I was afraid.”
“You told me to obey.”
“I was angry.”
“You let them use my name.”
“I was trapped.”
I glanced at him.
“Everyone has an excuse.”
He looked down.
“I know.”
We drove another mile.
Then he said:
“I loved you.”
I didn't answer.
“I still do.”
I kept driving.
“You don't have to believe me.”
“No.”
“I understand.”
He stared through the windshield.
“I loved the way you walked into a room.”
I said nothing.
“I loved that everyone respected you.”
Still nothing.
“I just hated that I wasn't the reason they respected you.”
That sentence hit harder than I expected.
Because it sounded honest.
Not an excuse.
Not a defense.
An admission.
Ryan had spent years competing with me.
And losing.
Instead of becoming better, he had tried to make me smaller.
We reached Virginia just before dawn.
The old facility sat beyond a forest road.
There was no sign.
No active security.
Only a rusted gate.
I parked.
Ryan stared at the building.
“That's it.”
“You've been here before?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Marcus brought me.”
I turned toward him.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
My jaw tightened.
“What happened?”
“He told me to find something.”
“What?”
“A metal case.”
“Did you?”
Ryan nodded.
“Where is it?”
He looked toward the building.
“I couldn't open it.”
“Why?”
“It needed your father's biometric key.”
I stared at him.
“My father died eight years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then how did you expect to open it?”
Ryan looked at me.
“You.”
I felt a chill.
“What?”
“Marcus told me the case would open only with your fingerprint.”
I stepped out of the car.
The forest was silent.
We entered the building.
Dust covered everything.
Old desks.
Broken computers.
Rusting equipment.
A faded American flag hung from the wall.
My father's name was still on the command plaque.
COLONEL THOMAS HAYES.
I touched it.
For a moment, I was seventeen again.
My father was alive.
His voice filled the hallway.
Stand straight.
Look people in the eye.
Never surrender your judgment.
Then I noticed something.
A small metal plate beneath his name.
I pressed it.
A section of wall opened.
Ryan stared.
“How did you know?”
“I didn't.”
Inside was a narrow passage.
We walked down.
At the bottom was a steel door.
There was a biometric scanner.
I placed my hand against it.
The light turned green.
The door unlocked.
Ryan whispered:
“Your father planned for you.”
Inside was a small room.
A desk.
A chair.
Three filing cabinets.
And a metal case.
I approached it.
On top was a note.
For my daughter.
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
My father stood beside General Whitaker.
And beside them was Evelyn Cross.
I stared at her face.
Then realized where I'd seen her before.
She had been at my promotion ceremony.
Standing behind a group of defense contractors.
Watching me.
My stomach tightened.
She hadn't just discovered me.
She had been observing me.
My father had known her.
Perhaps he had spent years fighting her.
I opened the metal case.
Inside were documents.
Contracts.
Photographs.
Bank records.
And a small encrypted drive.
Then I found something that made my blood run cold.
A list of names.
Military officers.
Government officials.
Business executives.
Judges.
One name was circled.
GENERAL WHITAKER.
I stared.
Ryan stepped closer.
“What is it?”
I pushed the list toward him.
His face went pale.
“He's involved?”
“I don't know.”
“But your father trusted him.”
“Maybe.”
“Then why is his name here?”
I didn't answer.
Because another document had just caught my attention.
It was a letter written by my father.
Thomas,
If anything happens to me, do not trust the people who claim to be protecting you. The operation has penetrated too deeply.
There are people inside the government.
There are people inside the military.
And one of them is close to my daughter.
I stopped reading.
Ryan whispered:
“Who?”
I turned the page.
The final sentence was underlined.
The betrayal will come from the person she trusts most.
I looked at Ryan.
Then at the photograph of General Whitaker.
My father had known someone close to me would betray me.
But which one?
Ryan?
Whitaker?
Someone else?
Suddenly my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice said:
“You found it.”
Evelyn.
I said nothing.
“You have ten minutes.”
“For what?”
“To decide whether you want to know the truth about your father.”
“What truth?”
“That he didn't die naturally.”
My entire body went still.
“What did you say?”
“He was murdered.”
The line went dead.
Ryan stared at me.
I looked down at my father's documents.
Eight years of grief suddenly became eight years of unanswered questions.
My father hadn't died.
May you like
He had been silenced.
And now the people who silenced him were coming for me.
