I called the number before Victor could stop me.
It was disconnected.
He swore under his breath and took my phone.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because someone sent me a photograph of my father.”
“And calling immediately tells them the number reached the intended person.”
“They already knew.”
“It confirms it.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“Victor.”
Luna’s voice cut between us.
“Enough.”
He stopped.
She turned to me.
“Was that definitely Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t seen him in twenty-two years.”
“I know my father.”
She nodded.
No argument.
That mattered.
Victor forwarded the image to his team and began analyzing the metadata. Most had been stripped, but not perfectly.
The photograph had been taken somewhere in New Mexico.
The diner sign behind Thomas was partly visible.
MESA something.
A highway number appeared on a fuel pump.
Victor started searching.
I paced.
Luna watched.
Finally she said, “Sit down.”
“No.”
“You’re wearing a path into my floor.”
“I’ll replace it.”
“With what money?”
I looked at her.
She realized what she had said.
For one second we both froze.
Then I laughed.
It came out harsher than intended.
“Right. Yours.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
The room quieted.
Our arrangement had always been financial.
We had been able to joke about it when the consequences were theoretical.
Now every dollar felt attached to something.
Mom’s surgery.
My marriage.
My father.
Luna walked toward me.
“If you want out, say so.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The contract.”
“This has nothing to do with the contract.”
“It has everything to do with it. Derek targeted you before we married. Voss may be watching your father. My family dragged yours into this decades ago.”
“My father worked for your father.”
“And my father failed to protect him.”
“That isn’t your debt.”
“You said the same thing about your mother.”
The sentence landed perfectly.
I almost smiled.
“Annoying, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Extremely.”
She folded her arms.
“You can leave. The surgery remains paid. Your debts remain cleared. I will waive the final compensation conditions.”
“You’re firing your husband?”
“I’m giving him a door.”
“I don’t want one.”
Her expression changed.
“Adam.”
“No.”
“You don’t owe me—”
“I know.”
“That is exactly why I’m saying it.”
“And I’m exactly where I want to be.”
The words escaped before I examined them.
Luna went quiet.
I heard them again.
Where I want to be.
Not where I had to be.
Not where Mom’s surgery required me to be.
Luna looked down.
“Be careful.”
“With what?”
“Words like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I might believe you.”
Before I could answer, Victor returned.
He had identified the diner.
Mesa Star Café outside Las Vegas, New Mexico.
The photograph had probably been taken within a two-mile radius.
“Can we find him?” I asked.
“Possibly.”
“How quickly?”
“Hours if he used a traceable card or vehicle. Days if he knows how to disappear.”
“He knows.”
Victor nodded.
“Then days.”
Luna said, “We go there.”
“No.”
Victor and I spoke simultaneously.
She looked offended.
I continued.
“You are the person they specifically told to stop.”
“Exactly.”
“That is not an invitation.”
“It means I’m close to something.”
“It means somebody wants you scared.”
“Then they failed.”
Victor said, “I strongly recommend neither of you travel until we know who sent the image.”
Luna looked at him.
“What would you recommend if your father were in the photograph?”
Victor said nothing.
“Exactly.”
We left before dawn.
Victor insisted on driving and brought another security officer named Samira.
The trip took most of the day.
Luna worked from the back seat for the first two hours, then eventually closed her laptop.
I was staring through the window.
“What was he like?” she asked.
“Who?”
“Thomas.”
I thought about it.
“Funny.”
“That surprises you?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
“Because the man in my memory and the man in those files don’t fit.”
“How was he funny?”
“He did impressions.”
“Of people?”
“Bad ones.”
“Were they actually bad?”
“Terrible. He used the same voice for everyone.”
Luna smiled.
“He used to make pancakes shaped like animals.”
“That sounds impressive.”
“They all looked like damaged continents.”
She laughed.
I watched the desert move past us.
“He taught me to ride a bike.”
My voice changed despite myself.
“I remember that.”
“Anything else?”
“His hands.”
Luna waited.
“They were always scratched. Construction, security, whatever he was doing. He’d come home with cuts on his knuckles. Mom used to complain that he ruined towels.”
I looked at my own hands.
“For years, I tried to stop remembering him.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
We reached the diner shortly after three.
Mesa Star Café looked exactly like the photograph.
Faded sign.
Gravel parking lot.
Red awning.
Inside, an elderly waitress recognized Thomas.
“He calls himself Tom.”
My chest tightened.
“When was he here?”
“Few days ago.”
“Does he come often?”
“Every month or two.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
She became suspicious.
“Who are you?”
I swallowed.
“His son.”
Her expression changed.
“You’re Adam?”
Everything inside me stopped.
“He told you about me?”
She studied my face.
“Oh, honey.”
I hated the pity immediately.
“When did he tell you?”
“Years ago.”
“Years?”
“He carries your picture.”
I sat down.
Luna stood beside me.
The waitress introduced herself as Marlene.
She had known Thomas for nearly seven years.
He lived somewhere outside town.
She did not know exactly where.
“He never brings anyone home.”
“Was he here three days ago?”
“Yes.”
“Was anyone watching him?”
Marlene looked toward the window.
“There was a man.”
Victor stepped closer.
“What man?”
“Sat in the corner. Never ordered more than coffee.”
“Description?”
She gave one.
Victor showed her a photograph of Graham Voss.
Her face changed.
“That’s him.”
Luna and I looked at each other.
“Did Thomas see him?” I asked.
“I think so.”
“What happened?”
“He left through the kitchen.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he say anything?”
Marlene hesitated.
“He gave me something.”
She disappeared into the back.
When she returned, she carried an envelope.
My name was written on it.
This time the handwriting was different.
I recognized it immediately.
Thomas.
My father.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a short note.
Adam,
If you’re reading this, then the past finally reached you despite everything I did to keep it away.
I read faster.
Thomas wrote that he had followed my career from a distance.
He knew I worked for Sterling.
He knew Richard had arranged the first interview.
He had objected.
Richard insisted proximity might eventually protect both families.
Then came the sentence that made me look at Luna.
I never expected Richard’s daughter to choose you.
Luna read over my shoulder.
Thomas continued.
If Luna Sterling trusts you, help her. But do not let her protect the company at the expense of herself. Richard made that mistake too many times.
I looked at her.
She looked away.
The letter ended with instructions.
A motel.
Room 12.
Thirty miles north.
“He’s there,” I said.
Victor took the note.
“Or was.”
We left immediately.
The motel stood beside an almost empty highway.
Single story.
Twelve rooms.
Room 12 was at the end.
The door was unlocked.
Victor entered first.
Empty.
Bed unmade.
Coffee cold.
A duffel bag remained open on a chair.
I knew one shirt inside it.
Blue plaid.
Ancient.
Mom had bought it for him.
I sat on the bed.
“He was here.”
Luna checked the desk.
“Adam.”
She held up another photograph.
It showed me leaving Sterling headquarters.
Taken months earlier.
Another showed Luna entering her building.
Another showed Derek meeting Graham Voss outside a restaurant.
Thomas had been watching all of us.
Victor opened the duffel.
Inside were cash, two passports, a handgun he secured immediately, and a notebook.
The notebook contained dates.
Payments.
Names.
Meetings.
Years of observation.
One page was marked with a red line.
RICHARD — NIGHT OF DEATH.
Luna stopped breathing.
Beneath it Thomas had written:
Voss entered Blackwood 8:42 p.m.
Derek arrived 9:11.
Argument heard from library 9:36.
Richard collapsed approximately 10:04.
Voss departed 10:17.
Derek called emergency services 10:23.
Luna arrived 10:31.
Luna sat down.
“He was there.”
I crouched beside her.
“Thomas?”
“No. Voss.”
She touched the page.
“Derek told police he had been alone with Dad.”
Victor read the entry.
“This doesn’t prove foul play.”
“No.”
“But it proves Derek lied.”
“Yes.”
A car engine sounded outside.
Victor moved instantly.
“Stay here.”
He and Samira went toward the door.
I looked through the blinds.
A dark sedan accelerated away from the far end of the lot.
Victor ran outside.
Too late.
The car disappeared onto the highway.
Then Samira shouted.
We rushed outside.
Behind the motel, a narrow path led toward a dry drainage channel.
Something lay near the fence.
A phone.
Old.
Cracked.
Victor picked it up with gloves.
The screen still worked.
One unsent message was open.
Addressed to me.
Adam, if you found the room, do not follow me. Voss knows about Luna’s trust, but Derek is not the person you should fear most. Richard—
The message ended there.
No final word.
No explanation.
Luna read it twice.
“What was he trying to say?”
I looked toward the empty highway.
“I don’t know.”
Then Victor’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed almost immediately.
“When?”
He looked at Luna.
“Are you certain?”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” she asked.
Victor’s expression was grim.
“Naomi was attacked.”
Luna went white.
“What?”
“In the parking garage at Sterling.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes. She’s on the way to the hospital.”
“Who did it?”
“They don’t know.”
Victor hesitated.
“But before she lost consciousness, she told security one thing.”
Luna stepped toward him.
“What?”
“She said the attacker wasn’t looking for money.”
“What were they looking for?”
Victor looked at the notebook in my hands.
“The key to Box 314.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: Naomi Survived the Attack, but the Warning She Gave Us Made the Missing Vault Key More Dangerous Than Ever
The Morning My Boss Closed Her Office Door, Opened a File About My Life, and Made an Impossible Offer
Part 8 of 26
