Chapter 3 - THE FILE MY FATHER NEVER FINISHED
Damian's safe house stood behind a gated property in Summerlin.
It wasn't a mansion.
No marble staircase.
No chandeliers.
Just a modern house with reinforced windows and a view of the mountains.
A woman named Elena greeted us.
She was in her fifties, with silver-streaked hair and a calm expression.
“Mr. Cross.”
“Elena, this is Chloe.”
She looked at me.
Then smiled gently.
“Come inside, sweetheart.”
I hadn't been called sweetheart in years.
Not like that.
Not without someone wanting something.
Elena brought me tea.
Damian disappeared into an office.
When he returned, he carried a thick brown envelope.
He placed it on the table.
I stared.
“What is that?”
“Your father's file.”
My hands went cold.
Inside were photographs.
Reports.
Emails.
A copy of the original warehouse inspection.
And a letter addressed to Damian Cross.
I recognized my father's handwriting immediately.
The sharp capital letters.
The way he crossed his sevens.
I unfolded the letter.
Damian,
If you're reading this, something has gone wrong.
The warehouse incident isn't isolated. Someone is moving restricted equipment through your logistics network. I don't believe you authorized it, but someone close to you has.
I've identified three shipments that don't match the manifests.
If I disappear, don't let them call it an accident.
I stopped reading.
My vision blurred.
Damian sat across from me.
“He gave me that letter two days before the fire.”
I stared.
“And you did nothing?”
His expression changed.
“I ordered an investigation.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Clearly that worked.”
He accepted the blow without defending himself.
I kept reading.
The final paragraph made my hands shake.
If anything happens to me, protect Chloe. She doesn't know what I've found, and I want it to stay that way.
I looked up.
“You knew.”
Damian nodded.
“Yes.”
“You knew he was in danger.”
“Yes.”
“And you let me believe it was an accident.”
His voice was low.
“I made a terrible decision.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped across the floor.
“You don't get to call that a decision.”
Damian remained seated.
I pointed at the letter.
“My father died. I buried him. I spent eight years wondering why he never came home.”
My voice broke.
“And you had this?”
Damian looked down.
“Yes.”
For a moment, I wanted to throw the envelope at him.
Instead, I gathered the papers.
“I'm leaving.”
Damian stood.
“Chloe, someone is targeting you.”
I looked at him.
“Someone has been targeting my family for eight years.”
He stepped aside.
I walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
Because one photograph had slipped from the envelope.
It showed my father standing beside a warehouse loading dock.
Next to him stood Damian.
And behind them—
Marcus Vance.
I stared.
Marcus was smiling.
His hand rested on my father's shoulder.
May you like
On the back of the photograph, my father had written:
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS, START WITH THE MAN WE ALL TRUST.
