Chapter 15
Collins met us in the entryway, her weapon still raised, pointing directly at Vance's chest.
"Detective," Vance said, barely glancing at the barrel of her gun.
"You're outside your jurisdiction. Way outside."
"I don't care about jurisdictions when it comes to domestic terrorists," Collins snapped.
"Put the gun down, Detective," I said, stepping between her and Vance.
"He's not here to shoot anyone."
Vance walked into the living room, his cane clicking against the hardwood floor.
He stopped in front of the fireplace, looking down at Claire, who was huddled on the floor behind the sofa.
"Mrs. Brooks," Vance said, bowing his head slightly with an old-school courtesy that felt completely jarring given the circumstances.
"I deeply apologize for the actions of Kevin Lawson."
"He will be spending the rest of his life in a maximum-security military prison."
"You have my word on that."
Claire didn't answer. She just pulled Ethan closer, her eyes filled with raw hatred.
Vance turned back to me, gesturing toward the dining table.
"Sit down, Daniel. Let's talk about your father."
I pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him.
James stood behind me, his arms crossed, watching Vance's every micro-movement.
Collins remained near the doorway, keeping watch on the front window.
"Twenty-two years ago," I began, my voice flat. "My father died in a routine training accident at Fort Bragg."
"A malfunctioning parachute."
"That was the official story."
Vance pulled a small, silver flash drive from his coat pocket and placed it on the table between us.
"Your father's parachute didn't malfunction, Daniel."
"It was rigged."
"And it wasn't rigged by me."
"He discovered that Black Slate was being used by a shadow faction within the Department of Defense."
"They were selling high-level intelligence to corporate entities—defense contractors who wanted to manipulate foreign conflicts for profit."
"Your father went to turn in the encryption keys to the Joint Chiefs."
"But he never made it to the meeting."
"He was murdered."
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
I had spent over two decades believing my father's death was a tragic accident.
To hear the truth uttered so casually by a ghost made the room spin.
"If you didn't kill him," I whispered, my fists clenching beneath the table.
"Then who did?"
Vance leaned forward, the firelight catching the deep wrinkles around his eyes.
"The same person who paid your mother to find the backup keys."
"The same person who has been funding Kevin Lawson's legal defense for the past forty-eight hours."
May you like
"Your uncle."
"Charles Brooks."
