Chapter 2 - The PhotographDad closed the door behind him.
Click.
The sound seemed louder than the punch.
He didn't ask what I was doing.
He didn't shout.
That frightened me more.
“You finally opened it,” he said.
I held the photograph tighter.
“Who is he?”
Dad stared at me.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then he walked toward me.
“Put that down.”
“No.”
His expression changed.
I had never said no to him in that room.
Not once.
He reached for the photograph.
I stepped backward.
“Who is he?”
Dad's jaw tightened.
“You have no idea what you're asking.”
“Then tell me.”
He lunged.
I moved.
The photograph slipped from my hand and landed behind the desk.
Dad swore and grabbed my shirt.
I twisted free.
“Was he my father?”
Silence.
That was answer enough.
My stomach dropped.
I stared at him.
“You're not my father.”
Dad looked away.
Then he laughed.
A cold, humorless laugh.
“You think blood is what makes a father?”
“You lied to me.”
“You have been lied to your entire life.”
The words hit harder than the punch.
“Why?”
Dad walked to the bar cabinet and poured himself a drink.
“You were supposed to stay ignorant.”
“Of what?”
He looked over his shoulder.
“Of what your family did.”
Before I could respond, the study door opened again.
Mom.
She stepped inside.
Her face had gone pale.
She looked at the photograph on the floor.
Then she looked at Dad.
“You found it?”
Dad nodded.
Mom closed her eyes.
For the first time in my life, she looked afraid.
Not angry.
Not cruel.
Afraid.
I picked up the photograph.
“Mom.”
She refused to look at me.
“Who is he?”
“He's nobody.”
“Don't lie to me.”
Dad slammed his glass onto the desk.
“Enough.”
I stared at both of them.
“You knew.”
Mom whispered, “You don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
She finally looked at me.
And what she said froze the room.
“Your father didn't die.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“The man in that photograph,” she whispered, “is alive.”
Dad shot her a warning look.
Mom continued anyway.
“He has been trying to find you for twenty years.”
My heartbeat thundered.
“Where is he?”
Dad stepped between us.
“He is the reason you're alive.”
I stared at him.
Then at Mom.
Then at the photograph.
Before I could ask another question, headlights swept across the study windows.
A black SUV had stopped at the end of the driveway.
Dad's face changed instantly.
“Get upstairs.”
“Who is that?”
“NOW.”
I didn't move.
The front door opened.
Someone entered the house.
Then came three slow knocks on the study door.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
A man's voice came from the hallway.
“Daniel.”
Dad went completely still.
The voice came again.
“It's been twenty years.”
I looked at Dad.
He was shaking.
May you like
The man outside laughed softly.
“I've come for my son.”
