Chapter 11 - My father hadn't changed as much as I expected.That was what terrified me.
He looked older.
Thinner.
A scar ran from his temple to his jaw.
But his eyes were the same.
The same eyes that had watched me train.
The same eyes that had told me to breathe.
The same eyes I had mourned for eight years.
I stepped toward him.
“Dad.”
He didn't move.
“Stay where you are.”
I stopped.
Dominic stepped in front of me.
Daniel looked at him.
“You were supposed to keep her out of this.”
Dominic said nothing.
“You failed.”
My father crossed the street.
My mother ran toward him.
He held her.
They didn't speak.
They simply stood there.
I watched them.
Anger and relief collided inside me.
“You let me think you were dead.”
“Yes.”
“You let Mom suffer.”
“Yes.”
“You let me believe I was alone.”
His voice cracked.
“That was the only way to keep you alive.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You don't get to decide whether those eight years were worth it.”
“I know.”
“You don't get to disappear and come back when I'm useful.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
He looked at Dominic.
“Because they found the ledger.”
“And?”
“They found you.”
He pulled a small envelope from his coat.
“Your tournament records.”
I stared.
“What about them?”
“They weren't just records.”
He handed them to me.
Inside was a list of names.
Coaches.
Judges.
Sponsors.
All connected to The Crown.
My competitive career had been monitored.
Not because I was talented.
Because they were waiting.
“For what?”
“For you to become useful.”
I understood.
My father had never simply trained me.
He had prepared me.
Dominic stepped forward.
“You told me there was one person you trusted.”
Daniel stared at him.
“You're still angry.”
“I've earned the right.”
“You betrayed me.”
“I protected your family.”
“You protected them after the damage was done.”
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“I saved Avery's mother.”
Daniel looked at me.
“You did?”
Dominic answered.
“Every month.”
Daniel went silent.
Then he nodded once.
“Then I owe you.”
“No.”
Dominic's voice was cold.
“You owe Avery.”
My father looked at me.
Then he said something that changed the entire room.
“The Crown doesn't want you dead.”
“What do they want?”
“They want you to lead them.”
I laughed.
“I deliver food.”
“You fight.”
“I don't fight anymore.”
“You will.”
“No.”
My father stepped closer.
“You think the part of you that fought disappeared.”
He touched my shoulder.
“It didn't.”
“Maybe I don't want it.”
“Then they will kill everyone you love until you do.”
Silence.
The city outside continued as if nothing had changed.
My father placed a second envelope in my hand.
“Open this when you're ready.”
Inside was a photograph of the mansion.
Vanessa's birthday party.
Taken from above.
Every guest had been marked with a number.
Then I saw mine.
Number 61.
I looked up.
“There were sixty people.”
My father nodded.
“Sixty guests.”
“Who's 61?”
He pointed to the photograph.
A reflection in the mirror.
A man standing behind Dominic.
Silver ring.
Michael.
“He was never one of the guests,” my father said.
“He was inside the mansion before you arrived.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because he wasn't there to watch you.”
“Then who?”
Daniel's answer was almost a whisper.
“Dominic.”
I looked at Dominic.
He didn't react.
My father continued.
“The Crown has been preparing to replace him.”
“With Michael?”
“Yes.”
“Why haven't they?”
“Because you were supposed to identify the traitor.”
My mind raced.
The humiliation.
The cake.
The slap.
The key.
The ledger.
Everything had been designed to force me into the center.
Then my father said:
“Vanessa wasn't your enemy.”
I looked at her.
“She was bait.”
Dominic stared at Daniel.
“What about Elias?”
“Dead.”
“When?”
“Three hours ago.”
“Who killed him?”
Daniel looked at me.
“She did.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
I understood.
She had not been kidnapped.
She had been hunting.
Then Dominic's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
He handed the phone to me.
A video played.
Michael stood inside Dominic's mansion.
Behind him were dozens of armed men.
And in the center of the room sat a chair.
Avery-sized.
Michael looked into the camera.
“Tomorrow at midnight.”
He smiled.
“Come home.”
Then he placed a photograph on the chair.
My father's.
With a bullet hole through the forehead.
The video ended.
My father stared at the screen.
Then looked at me.
“They want a war.”
May you like
I closed my hand around the phone.
“Then they'll get one.”
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