Chapter 2
Arthur wanted me to leave the city.
I refused.
“Absolutely not.”
We were sitting inside the cemetery maintenance office with the blinds closed.
Arthur locked the door twice.
That did not make me feel better.
“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with,” he said.
“Then explain it.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I promised Marcus.”
“My father is either dead, missing, or hiding.”
Arthur looked down.
“Which one?”
No answer.
I stood.
“I’m done with secrets.”
“Malik.”
“My mother lied to me my whole life.”
“She was protecting you.”
“Denise lied to my face.”
“She is protecting herself.”
“And now you’re doing the same thing.”
Arthur looked wounded.
Good.
I needed him uncomfortable.
“So tell me the truth.”
He sat silently.
Then he reached for an old photograph hanging beside the desk.
Four Black men in military uniforms stood beneath a desert sun.
Arthur pointed.
“That’s me.”
He moved his finger.
“That’s your father.”
I stared.
Marcus was younger than I imagined.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Same eyes as mine.
Same jaw.
For the first time in my life, I was looking at my father.
My throat closed.
I touched the photograph.
“How old was he?”
“Twenty-seven.”
I laughed once.
“I’m twenty-three.”
Arthur watched me.
“You resemble him.”
“People keep saying that.”
I looked at the other men.
“Who are they?”
“Calvin Ross and Peter Grant.”
“Where are they now?”
Arthur’s expression darkened.
“Dead.”
“How?”
“Different ways.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
“It should.”
I sat again.
Arthur finally started talking.
Marcus served in military intelligence.
Not regular infantry.
He handled logistics, internal investigations, and classified supply records.
During his final deployment, he discovered equipment was disappearing.
Medical supplies.
Weapons components.
Communications gear.
Millions of dollars in contracts.
“Who was stealing it?”
Arthur hesitated.
“Someone with access.”
“Denise?”
“She worked as a civilian procurement specialist.”
My stomach tightened.
“So she knew my father through the military.”
“Yes.”
“Were they together?”
Arthur’s eyes flickered.
That answer hurt before he gave it.
“For a short time.”
I stared.
“My father cheated on my mother?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Don’t soften it.”
Arthur sighed.
“Your parents were separated for several months.”
That was new.
“Why?”
“Marcus came home angry. Paranoid. He wouldn’t tell Renee what he had uncovered.”
“My mother.”
“She thought he was pushing her away.”
Arthur continued.
“Denise appeared during that separation.”
I hated hearing it.
“Did he love her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she love him?”
Arthur looked toward the window.
“Denise loved what Marcus knew.”
That chilled me.
Arthur explained that Marcus discovered financial transfers connected to the missing equipment.
The names led to contractors.
Military officers.
Political donors.
People with power.
Marcus copied records.
Then Peter Grant died in a car crash.
Calvin Ross drowned.
Both accidents happened within six months.
“And my father?”
“He ran.”
The word hit hard.
“He abandoned us.”
“No.”
Arthur leaned forward.
“He believed staying would get Renee and you killed.”
I wanted to reject that.
It sounded too convenient.
Too heroic.
Too different from the story I had carried for twenty years.
“Did my mother know?”
“Not at first.”
“Later?”
Arthur nodded.
“She found out.”
My chest tightened.
“Then why did she tell me he left?”
“Because Marcus asked her to.”
I stood again.
“That makes no sense.”
“He wanted you angry at him.”
“Why?”
“So you wouldn’t search.”
The room became silent.
That hurt more than expected.
My entire childhood, I had resented a man who may have chosen that resentment deliberately.
“How did Denise fit into this?”
Arthur rubbed his jaw.
“Marcus trusted her once.”
“And then?”
“He discovered some of the stolen money flowed through companies linked to her brother.”
“Who’s her brother?”
“Victor Walker.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Arthur looked surprised.
“You really don’t know?”
“No.”
“He runs Sentinel Shield.”
My stomach dropped.
I knew that company.
Everyone did.
Sentinel Shield provided security technology for airports, military bases, federal buildings, and private corporations.
Huge contracts.
Political connections.
“Denise’s brother owns that?”
“Founded it.”
I remembered Denise’s expensive house.
Her clothes.
Her calm confidence.
Suddenly it looked different.
“What did Marcus find?”
“Enough to scare him.”
Arthur pointed at the brass key.
“And the rest is probably inside Unit 108.”
“Where?”
Arthur wrote an address.
A storage facility twenty minutes outside town.
“Marcus rented it under another name.”
“What name?”
“Samuel Reid.”
I tucked the paper into my pocket.
Arthur grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t go alone.”
“You coming?”
He looked toward the photograph.
“Yes.”
We left through the maintenance gate.
I kept checking mirrors while driving.
Maybe paranoia was contagious.
Halfway there, Arthur said,
“Gray SUV.”
I saw it.
Three cars behind us.
“Could be nothing.”
“It’s been behind us since the cemetery.”
I accelerated.
The SUV did too.
My pulse jumped.
Arthur reached for his phone.
“Turn right.”
I did.
The SUV followed.
“Again.”
We took another turn.
Still there.
“Who is that?”
Arthur stared into the mirror.
“Someone who knows we’re going somewhere.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Denise?”
“Maybe.”
Then the SUV suddenly turned away.
Gone.
That scared me more.
We reached the storage facility.
Old chain-link fencing.
Rows of orange metal doors.
The manager barely looked at us.
Arthur gave the fake name.
Samuel Reid.
The manager checked his computer.
“Unit 108.”
My heart pounded.
We walked down a narrow aisle.
103.
104.
105.
The brass key felt heavy in my hand.
106.
107.
Then I saw it.
108.
I stopped.
Arthur stood behind me.
“You sure?”
“No.”
I inserted the key.
The lock opened.
The metal door rattled upward.
Dust filled the air.
Inside sat three military trunks.
One filing cabinet.
A folding table.
And a wall covered in photographs.
My breath caught.
Every photograph showed the same three people.
My father.
My mother.
Me.
Pictures from childhood.
School.
Little League.
Birthdays.
Taken from a distance.
“He was watching me.”
Arthur stepped inside.
“He stayed close.”
“Why didn’t he come to me?”
“I don’t know.”
I approached the table.
One cassette recorder.
Several folders.
A small locked metal box.
Then I saw a recent photograph.
Me.
Taken six weeks ago outside my apartment.
My blood ran cold.
“This isn’t old.”
Arthur came closer.
His face changed.
“No.”
I found a second recent photograph.
My mother leaving the hospital.
Another.
Denise walking into a federal office.
Another.
Victor Walker stepping from a black SUV.
Someone had updated the wall recently.
I turned.
“Is my father alive?”
Arthur did not answer.
Then we heard a car door slam outside.
Arthur whispered,
“Turn off the light.”
I did.
Footsteps approached.
Slow.
Measured.
Someone stopped outside Unit 108.
A woman’s voice came through the metal opening.
“Malik.”
My entire body froze.
Denise.
“I know you’re in there.”
Arthur looked at me.
His face went white.
Denise continued.
“If you open those files…”
May you like
A pause.
“…you will finally understand why your father was afraid of me.”
