Chapter 20 - The Thanksgiving Nobody ExpectedThursday morning arrived without drama.
No black SUVs.
No shattered windows.
No hidden cameras.
Just snow.
Soft, steady snow covering Ohio in white.
The lodge was quiet.
The same lodge my mother had promised would hold twenty-three people.
Now only six sat around the dining table.
Me.
Lily.
Noah.
Dad.
Amanda.
Mom.
No one knew what to say.
Finally, Noah picked up his fork.
"Are we eating?"
Dad laughed.
It was the first real laugh I'd heard from him.
"Yes."
Lily looked at the empty chairs.
"Where is everybody?"
I looked around.
Some were in custody.
Some were under investigation.
Some had disappeared.
Some had finally admitted what they'd done.
The family had fractured overnight.
But strangely, the room felt lighter.
Mom brought in the turkey.
It was slightly burnt.
I smiled.
She looked embarrassed.
"I haven't cooked in years."
"I noticed."
Amanda laughed.
Dad nearly choked.
For a few seconds, we sounded like a normal family.
Then Noah asked the question no adult wanted.
"Grandpa, why did everyone lie?"
Dad looked at me.
I answered.
"Because people sometimes become so afraid of losing something that they forget what they're willing to hurt."
Noah nodded.
"That's dumb."
Dad smiled.
"Very."
Dinner continued.
No speeches.
No arguments.
No pretending.
Just food.
Later, after the children went upstairs, I stepped onto the porch.
Mom joined me.
"Do you hate me?"
I looked at the snow.
"I don't know yet."
She nodded.
"That's fair."
Dad came outside.
He stood beside us.
For several minutes, none of us spoke.
Then he said:
"I owe you eight years."
I looked at him.
"You owe me more than that."
"I know."
"You owe Lily and Noah honesty."
"I know."
"You owe yourself a chance to stop running."
He breathed deeply.
"I'm trying."
I believed him.
Not completely.
But enough.
My phone buzzed.
One missed call.
Unknown number.
Then a text.
83 missed calls. That was only the beginning.
My stomach tightened.
I showed Dad.
His expression changed.
"Victor?"
"No."
He took the phone.
The message disappeared.
Another appeared.
Look behind the fireplace.
I stared at him.
"What does that mean?"
Dad walked inside.
He moved the rug.
Lifted the edge of the fireplace.
There was a small metal panel.
Inside was a phone.
Old.
Burned.
Still blinking.
One unread message.
Dad looked at it.
His face became pale.
"What?"
He whispered:
"This number belongs to your grandfather."
"But he's dead."
"I know."
The phone rang.
Everyone in the room froze.
I answered.
Static.
Then an old man's voice.
My grandfather.
Impossible.
"Claire?"
I couldn't speak.
He continued.
"I know you found Project Harbor."
My hand trembled.
"You should never have found it."
"Who are you?"
A pause.
"Your grandfather."
"You're dead."
"No."
Dad grabbed my arm.
"Don't answer him."
Too late.
The voice continued.
"Your father told you he created Project Harbor."
"He lied."
My blood ran cold.
"Project Harbor existed before him."
"Before your mother."
"Before Victor."
I looked at Dad.
He wouldn't meet my eyes.
The voice whispered:
"Your family didn't build the empire."
I swallowed.
"Then who did?"
A long silence.
Then:
"Your family inherited it."
"What empire?"
The man's voice became colder.
"The one controlling everything your father thought he was fighting."
The line went dead.
I stood frozen.
Outside, snow kept falling.
Inside, Lily and Noah were laughing upstairs.
The Thanksgiving table still held half-eaten food.
The fire still burned.
For one beautiful second, I wanted to believe the nightmare was over.
Then Dad looked at me.
His face was filled with a fear I had never seen before.
"Claire."
"What?"
He whispered:
"We need to leave."
"Why?"
"Because if your grandfather is alive..."
He looked toward the dark window.
"...then Victor was never the man in charge."
I heard a car engine outside.
Then another.
Headlights appeared through the snow.
Three black SUVs rolled slowly toward the lodge.
Dad reached for my hand.
Mom stood.
Amanda froze.
The children ran down the stairs.
"Mama?"
I pulled both of them close.
The first SUV stopped.
A door opened.
A man stepped out.
He was old.
Tall.
And even from twenty yards away, I knew that face.
My grandfather.
He looked directly at me.
Then he smiled.
Not warmly.
Not proudly.
Like someone who had just discovered the final piece of a puzzle.
He raised one hand.
And behind him, eight people in dark coats stepped out of the vehicles.
Dad whispered:
"Now you know why I never wanted you to have the inheritance."
I looked at my grandfather through the falling snow.
He called my name.
"Claire."
I didn't move.
He smiled again.
"You canceled Thanksgiving."
I stared at him.
"You have no idea what you just canceled."
The lodge doors locked automatically.
May you like
Every light went out.
And somewhere beneath our feet, something enormous began to hum.
