Chapter 4 - THE FATHER WHO WANTED TO DIEMy father lowered the gun.
For seventeen years, I had imagined confronting him.
I had imagined shouting.
Accusing.
Demanding answers.
I had never imagined seeing him broken.
He looked twenty years older than the man I remembered.
"Put the weapon down," I said.
He stared at me.
"Claire..."
"Put it down."
Slowly, he placed it on the floor.
I stepped toward him.
"You said you betrayed me."
He nodded.
"I did."
"You framed me."
"Yes."
"You destroyed my life."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He closed his eyes.
"Because I thought I could save yours."
I laughed bitterly.
"You don't get to call that saving."
"I know."
"Do you?"
He looked at me.
"No."
Silence filled the barn.
My mother appeared behind him.
She was crying.
"You don't understand," she whispered.
"Then explain."
She looked at Ethan.
"Our family had been under surveillance for months."
My father continued.
"Someone inside my company was selling military procurement information."
"To whom?"
"We didn't know."
"How much?"
"Millions."
"And you covered it up?"
"I tried to investigate."
"By accusing your daughter?"
His eyes dropped.
"I had no choice."
"There is always a choice."
He shook his head.
"No, Claire. Not when someone has your son tied to a chair."
Ethan froze.
"What?"
My father looked at him.
"They kidnapped you."
Ethan stared.
"I don't remember."
"You were ten."
I remembered something.
A scar.
A small white scar behind Ethan's ear.
I had never known how he got it.
My father continued.
"They sent me a photograph."
He pulled an old envelope from his pocket.
Inside was a picture of Ethan.
Tied to a chair.
A gun pressed against his head.
I covered my mouth.
"Who did this?"
My father looked at me.
"Someone named Adrian Vale."
The name meant nothing.
But General Hale had mentioned it once during an intelligence briefing years ago.
A contractor.
A financier.
A ghost.
A man who never appeared on documents but appeared behind almost every major procurement scandal.
My father continued.
"Vale wanted access to the Iron Dagger program."
I frowned.
"That operation didn't exist publicly."
"No."
"Then how did I know about it?"
My father looked at Ethan.
"Because you found the ledger."
My memory flashed.
A locked office.
A computer screen.
Numbers.
A file labeled ID-17.
My own hands typing.
I had forgotten everything after that night.
Or rather...
I had been made to forget.
My mother whispered:
"Your father drugged you."
I turned.
"What?"
"He gave you medication."
"For what?"
"To erase the memories."
My heart hammered.
"You drugged me?"
"We were trying to keep you alive."
I stepped away.
"Get out."
My father didn't move.
"Claire..."
"Get out."
"We still have time."
"For what?"
He stared at me.
"Vale is alive."
The barn went silent.
"That isn't possible."
"He disappeared seventeen years ago."
"Then why are you afraid?"
My father looked toward the forest.
"Because he came back."
My phone rang.
General Hale.
I answered.
"Colonel."
His voice was tense.
"Where are you?"
"The barn."
"You need to leave immediately."
"Why?"
"We captured someone at the estate."
"Who?"
"One of Vale's operatives."
"And?"
"He talked."
I looked at my father.
"What did he say?"
Hale was silent.
Then:
"He said Adrian Vale didn't come back."
My stomach tightened.
"Then who..."
"He said Vale never left."
I felt cold.
Hale continued.
"And Colonel..."
"What?"
"The operative identified the person who has been feeding Vale information."
My eyes moved toward Ethan.
Then toward my father.
Then my mother.
Hale whispered:
"It's someone who has had access to your family for seventeen years."
The call ended.
My father stared at me.
I looked at the gun on the floor.
Then at Ethan.
Then at my mother.
Someone was lying.
Someone had been lying for seventeen years.
And suddenly I remembered something.
That symbol.
The triangle.
I had seen it the night I left.
On the wrist of the man who drove the car away.
I looked at my father.
"You said Adrian Vale kidnapped Ethan."
"Yes."
"What did he look like?"
My father's expression changed.
"Why?"
"Answer me."
He swallowed.
"Dark hair. Gray eyes. Scar across his left cheek."
My blood ran cold.
Because the man in the old photograph...
the man standing beside my seventeen-year-old self...
had exactly that scar.
I turned to my father.
"You knew him."
He closed his eyes.
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
My father's answer came almost as a whisper.
"Your uncle."
I stared at him.
"What?"
"Your mother's brother."
My mother collapsed into a chair.
"He died before you were born."
I looked at the photograph again.
The date was wrong.
The man had supposedly died six years before the photograph was taken.
But there he was.
Standing behind me.
Alive.
Watching.
And suddenly the entire story changed.
Because if my uncle was Adrian Vale...
May you like
then he hadn't merely framed me.
He had been inside our family from the beginning.
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