Chapter 5 - The Man Buried in My Father’s Name
Darkness swallowed the archive.
For three seconds, none of us moved.
Then emergency lights flickered red.
Grant pulled me closer.
“Stay with me.”
I hated how familiar those words felt.
I hated that part of me still trusted his voice.
Marcus moved to the computer.
“The wipe is remote.”
“How long?”
“Two minutes.”
Grant looked at the shelves.
“Find the medical records.”
“What?”
“Your father had treatment files.”
I searched.
Folder after folder.
Then I saw it.
BENNETT, DANIEL.
I pulled it free.
Inside were photographs of a man who looked like my father but older.
Gray beard.
Scar across his cheek.
Medical bandages.
Alive.
The last entry was dated six months ago.
LOCATION: EASTON PRIVATE CLINIC.
I almost cried.
“He's alive.”
Grant nodded.
“We need to get there.”
A blast shook the room.
The steel door buckled.
“Go,” Marcus said.
We ran.
The secret staircase opened into the office.
Glass covered the floor.
The attackers had already left.
Outside, two black cars sped away.
Grant grabbed his coat.
“Nobody travels alone.”
I stared at him.
“I'm not going anywhere with you.”
He stopped.
“You don't have to trust me.”
“Good.”
“But you're coming.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
I folded my arms.
“I've spent nine years obeying you without knowing what game I was in. I'm done.”
His expression changed.
“You're right.”
He removed his weapon.
Placed it on the desk.
Then stepped away.
“I'll go alone.”
Marcus looked shocked.
Grant continued.
“She stays behind. With you.”
I watched him walk out.
For the first time, he wasn't ordering me to follow.
He was leaving the choice to me.
I didn't know whether that made him more dangerous or more sincere.
Natalie came beside me.
“He does that when he's scared.”
“Does what?”
“Stops controlling people.”
I looked at her.
“You really weren't sleeping with him?”
She gave a tired laugh.
“No.”
“Then what were you doing?”
“Helping him keep you alive.”
I looked toward the door.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Grant believed you'd never trust the truth.”
I swallowed.
“He was right.”
Three hours later, we arrived at the Easton private clinic.
The building was abandoned.
No lights.
No staff.
No sign of life.
I felt my stomach sink.
Grant pushed the door open.
The hallway smelled like antiseptic.
A blood trail led into the back room.
I stopped.
“No.”
Grant moved ahead.
He found the room.
An empty hospital bed.
Blood on the floor.
A broken oxygen tube.
On the wall, written in black marker:
SHE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO KNOW.
Grant stared.
Then he turned to me.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“I need to tell you something before we leave.”
“Another secret?”
“Yes.”
I folded my arms.
“My father contacted me two weeks ago.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He told me Adrian had returned.”
“And you didn't tell me.”
“He told me not to.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed someone close to you was working for Adrian.”
“Who?”
Grant looked at Marcus.
Marcus looked away.
I immediately understood.
“No.”
Grant said nothing.
I stepped backward.
“Marcus?”
“He never betrayed you,” Grant said.
“Then who?”
A sound came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Then a woman's voice.
“Maybe you should ask your mother.”
I turned.
My mother stood in the doorway.
She looked directly at me.
Then at Grant.
And for the first time in my life, my mother looked afraid of me.
“Mom?”
Her lips trembled.
“I wanted to protect you.”
“From what?”
She reached into her purse.
Pulled out a photograph.
It was a picture of my father.
Standing beside Adrian Cross.
Both men were smiling.
And written on the back were the words:
THE FIRST BETRAYAL WAS HIS.
May you like
My mother whispered,
“Your father wasn't the victim.”
