Chapter 5 - The Father Who Was Supposed To Be Dead
Arthur Hale had been living under another name.
Not because he wanted to disappear.
Because disappearing had been the only way to keep Tatum alive.
That was what Declan told her.
Tatum refused to believe him.
"You're telling me my father has been alive for twelve years and never contacted me?"
Declan nodded.
She shoved the notebook away.
"That's not protection."
She stood.
"That's abandonment."
Declan followed.
Tatum turned on him.
"Don't tell me you understand."
He stopped.
She immediately regretted it.
His expression changed.
Not anger.
Pain.
He understood more than she wanted him to.
He sat down and wrote:
My father disappeared too.
Tatum slowly sat.
Declan continued.
He had grown up in a criminal family.
His father had been a ruthless man.
His mother had wanted to leave.
The night the bomb exploded, Declan had been meeting his father.
His father died.
Declan survived.
His hearing didn't.
Arthur Hale had been the accountant for the same organization.
He discovered that Declan's father had been laundering money through legitimate businesses.
Arthur tried to expose him.
Then the warehouse burned.
Arthur escaped.
But someone told him that Tatum had been killed too.
He believed the lie.
Tatum's eyes filled with tears.
"He thought I was dead?"
Declan nodded.
"He didn't abandon you."
Tatum looked away.
"How do you know?"
Declan wrote:
Because I found him.
Her head snapped up.
"What?"
"Where?"
Declan pointed to the encrypted file.
Then he wrote an address.
Tatum didn't know the neighborhood.
Declan did.
They drove there at dawn.
A small house sat at the end of a quiet street.
No guards.
No luxury.
Just a garden.
A man opened the door.
He was older.
Gray at the temples.
Thin.
Tired.
But Tatum knew him instantly.
The scar above his eyebrow.
The left shoulder that always sat slightly lower.
The way he rubbed his thumb against his forefinger when nervous.
Her knees almost gave out.
"Dad?"
The man stopped.
His face collapsed.
"Tatum?"
She crossed the space between them.
He caught her.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Tatum cried into his coat like a little girl.
Arthur held her as if twelve years had never happened.
"I'm sorry."
She hit his chest.
"Where were you?"
"I'm sorry."
"You let me think you were dead."
"I was told you were dead."
"Who told you?"
Arthur looked toward Declan.
Then his face changed.
"Marcus."
Tatum's heart froze.
"The betrayal."
Arthur nodded.
"Marcus worked for your father's old rival. He infiltrated the Collective years ago."
Declan's eyes hardened.
Arthur continued.
"But Briggs is only a puppet."
"Who controls him?"
Arthur hesitated.
Then whispered a name.
Victor Sloane.
The city's most powerful legitimate businessman.
Chairman.
Philanthropist.
Hospital donor.
Political fundraiser.
And secretly the architect behind half the city's criminal operations.
Declan had spent years trying to dismantle him.
Victor had spent years preparing to destroy Declan.
Arthur handed Declan a drive.
"This is everything."
Declan took it.
"Why now?"
"Because Victor knows I've been found."
They didn't make it out of the house.
Cars appeared at both ends of the street.
Arthur looked through the curtains.
"We're surrounded."
Declan immediately turned to Tatum.
He signaled.
Elena translated.
"Stay behind him."
Gunfire shattered the windows.
Tatum screamed.
Arthur pulled her down.
Declan moved with impossible calm.
He didn't hear the bullets.
He watched the flashes.
Watched the shadows.
Watched the windows.
Then he gave a series of commands.
His people moved.
Minutes later, the shooting stopped.
Victor's men retreated.
But one man remained.
Marcus.
He stood in the street.
Declan walked outside.
Marcus raised his hands.
"I wasn't going to hurt her."
Declan signed.
Marcus stared.
"You don't understand."
Declan's expression was ice.
Marcus pointed toward Tatum.
"Neither does she."
Tatum stepped outside.
Marcus looked at her.
"Your father wasn't the reason Victor wanted you."
"Then why?"
Marcus swallowed.
"Because your father kept a second ledger."
Arthur came forward.
Marcus continued.
"And Tatum is the only person who can open it."
Everyone stared at her.
"I don't know anything."
Marcus smiled bitterly.
"You do."
He reached into his coat.
Pulled out a photograph.
It showed Tatum at six years old.
Standing beside her father.
Behind them was a wall covered in numbers.
Tatum stared.
She remembered the room.
She remembered the wall.
She remembered the strange games her father used to play.
Numbers.
Colors.
Shapes.
She had thought they were childhood puzzles.
They weren't.
May you like
They were a code.
And somehow, her father had hidden an entire ledger inside his daughter's memory.
