Chapter 15 - My Father’s War
I wanted to hug him.
I wanted to hit him.
I wanted to demand that he explain every funeral photograph, every birthday he had missed, every Christmas when Mom had cried in the kitchen because she thought I wasn't watching.
Instead I stood three feet away from him and said,
“You let me grieve you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because grief is easier to control than fear.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the truth.”
“You don't get to use truth as an excuse.”
He lowered his eyes.
“You're right.”
That stopped me.
My father had never said those words to me.
Not when I was sixteen.
Not when I was twenty-two.
Not when I entered the military.
He had always believed certainty was another form of strength.
Now he simply looked tired.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I'll stand.”
He nodded.
“All right.”
He pointed toward the table.
“Everything began with your grandfather.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You know the story Northstar wanted you to know.”
He opened a folder.
Inside were financial records.
Bank transfers.
Shell companies.
Property purchases.
Recruitment lists.
Then he turned the next page.
My grandfather's name.
I leaned closer.
“What am I looking at?”
“A payment schedule.”
“To him?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“To the people who were watching him.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“He wasn't being paid.”
My father tapped the page.
“He was buying time.”
“For what?”
“To expose the network.”
I looked up.
“So Sloane lied.”
“Yes.”
“About my grandfather stealing proof.”
“Yes.”
“What did he actually find?”
My father opened another folder.
A copy of a ledger.
Names filled the pages.
Colonels.
Generals.
Contractors.
Judges.
Executives.
Members of Congress.
Bankers.
One column listed money.
Another listed an action.
PROMOTED.
PROTECTED.
TRANSFERRED.
SILENCED.
REMOVED.
I stared.
“How many?”
“More than we ever counted.”
“Is this real?”
“Yes.”
“Then why isn't it public?”
“Because every time we tried to expose it, someone disappeared.”
I thought of Hale.
“Who?”
“Witnesses.”
“Investigators.”
“Journalists.”
I looked at the last column.
“What does ‘removed’ mean?”
My father went silent.
Then he said,
“Dead.”
The room became very still.
I thought of the photographs in the archive.
People who had vanished.
People whose careers had simply ended.
People I had been taught not to question.
My father opened another folder.
“My first mistake was believing institutions could correct themselves.”
“What was your second?”
“Believing your mother would stop.”
My mother looked at him.
“I was trying to save you.”
“You were trying to control the damage.”
“I was trying to keep our daughter alive.”
“And what did you become to do it?”
She stared at him.
“Whatever they needed.”
I turned to her.
“What did you do?”
Mom's eyes filled.
“I ordered two operations.”
I froze.
“Against whom?”
“People who were going to expose Northstar.”
“And?”
“One died.”
My voice became very quiet.
“The other?”
“She disappeared.”
My father looked at me.
“That person is why you're here.”
I frowned.
“Who?”
My father slid a photograph across the table.
A young woman stood outside a federal courthouse.
I looked at the face.
I knew her.
Not personally.
But from a case file.
A whistleblower named Anna Vale.
I remembered the scandal.
Twenty-three years ago.
She had accused military procurement officers of bribery.
Then she vanished.
I looked at Mom.
“You knew her.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I sent people to scare her.”
“You were supposed to scare her.”
“Yes.”
“Who killed her?”
Mom swallowed.
“I don't know.”
My father whispered,
“I do.”
I turned.
“Who?”
“Sloane.”
Silence.
My father continued.
“He ordered it after your mother refused.”
Mom shook her head.
“I didn't know he had done it.”
“You knew enough.”
“I knew he was capable.”
“That's the same thing.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“It's not.”
They stared at each other.
I stepped between them.
“Enough.”
Both turned toward me.
“You've both spent twenty-three years protecting your own version of the truth.”
I put the stars on the table.
“I want the whole thing.”
My father nodded.
“You're ready.”
“No.”
He looked surprised.
“I've been ready.”
I opened the next file.
There was a list.
MYRA ELLISON — SUCCESSOR CANDIDATE.
I stared at the name.
My name.
But the next line wasn't military.
It read:
PRIMARY WITNESS.
I looked at my father.
“What is this?”
He said,
“They didn't promote you to control Northstar.”
“Then why?”
“To eventually testify against it.”
I stared.
“You made me a witness.”
“Yes.”
“But if I knew, they could kill me.”
“So we kept you ignorant.”
“You manipulated my entire life.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Mom.
“And you?”
She whispered,
“I erased evidence that would have connected you to the network.”
“Why?”
“Because if anyone discovered why you were receiving certain assignments…”
She couldn't finish.
I did.
“They would know I was being prepared.”
She nodded.
My father sat down.
“The two Silver Stars are proof that you completed two operations that were supposed to remain separate.”
I looked down at them.
“You designed those operations.”
“Yes.”
“To remove Northstar assets.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“And when you disappeared?”
“I went underground.”
“To keep building the archive.”
“Yes.”
“Then why reveal yourself now?”
His expression changed.
“Because Sloane has found the final archive.”
My heart sank.
“Where?”
My father looked toward the wall.
“Here.”
I turned.
Nothing but concrete.
He continued.
“The room you're standing in is only the decoy archive.”
I stared.
“There is another?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
He looked at my mother.
She answered.
“Under the house where you grew up.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“My childhood home?”
“Yes.”
“The one Mom sold?”
“She didn't sell it.”
I turned toward her.
“What?”
“It was never ours.”
May you like
My father said quietly,
“It belonged to Northstar.”
