Chapter 13 - The General’s Father
Mason left the hospital room without a word.
I followed him into the hallway.
He kept walking until we reached an empty waiting area.
“Mason.”
He stopped.
“My father is dead.”
“That’s what you were told?”
“That’s what I saw.”
I waited.
His hands curled into fists.
“When I was seventeen, he disappeared. My mother said he died overseas working security. There was no body. No funeral. Just paperwork.”
“That’s not the same as seeing him.”
“No.”
The word sounded painful.
Hsu joined us.
“We’re checking Thomas Cole now.”
Mason looked at him. “You won’t find much under that name.”
“Why?”
“Because my father was intelligence.”
I stared at him.
“You never told me that.”
“He left when I was a kid. It wasn’t exactly a family legacy I was proud of.”
“What agency?”
“Army intelligence, then contract work.”
Hsu’s phone buzzed.
He read the message.
His expression hardened.
“Thomas Cole was declared dead nineteen years ago.”
Mason laughed without humor. “There you go.”
“Except,” Hsu continued, “his Social Security number was used to open a corporate account in the Cayman Islands eight years ago.”
Mason looked at me.
I saw something I had rarely seen in him.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For what his father might have done.
I took his hand.
“You are not responsible for him.”
He looked at our joined hands.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you about your family.”
I hated that he was right.
By midnight, investigators had built a partial picture.
Thomas Cole had worked on procurement security twenty years earlier. He later moved into private consulting. Several companies linked to him eventually fed into Northstar.
My father had crossed his path repeatedly.
Once in Germany.
Once in Virginia.
And once, three days before Dad’s final flight.
A security camera outside a hotel had captured two men entering a conference room.
One was my father.
The other was older, silver-haired, broad-shouldered.
Mason stared at the grainy image.
“That’s him.”
Hsu asked, “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the timestamp.
Dad had met Mason’s father secretly three days before he died.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number again.
I answered on speaker.
A man spoke.
His voice was calm. Educated. Older.
“Olivia.”
Mason’s face changed immediately.
He knew the voice.
The caller continued.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
Mason whispered, “Dad.”
May you like
The man laughed softly.
“Hello, son.”
