Chapter 5 - The Line in the Frost
The engine hummed beneath the hood as the heater slowly forced warm air against the frosted windshield. I sat there with my hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, watching the digital numbers on my banking app blink in the dim light of the dashboard.
Fifty thousand dollars. Gone.
It wasn't just a random cyber theft or an administrative error. It was a digital signature—a clear, unmistakable message sent from my father's office to let me know that I wasn't the only one holding leverage. He knew I had been in the house. He knew I had found the drive. And this was his opening salvo: Step back, or lose everything you've built on your own.
For eighteen years, I had lived by the military code—protect the vulnerable, follow the chain of command, and never leave a man behind. But what do you do when the chain of command is rotten at the top, and the man who taught you honor turns out to be a fraud?
I put the car in reverse, backed out of the circular driveway, and pointed the nose toward downtown Denver. I didn't go to the police station, and I didn't go back to the base. I drove straight to the address Erica had sent me earlier that morning—a modest, brick-faced apartment building three blocks away from the financial district.
If my father wanted a war of attrition, he would get one. But I wasn't going to fight him on his terms, surrounded by the polished mahogany and hidden safes of a corrupt household.
When I pulled up to the curb, snow was beginning to drift again across the asphalt, dusting the quiet street in white. I killed the engine, stepped out into the cold, and walked up the concrete steps to Apartment 4B.
I raised my hand and knocked twice.
Inside, floorboards creaked. A lock turned with a sharp, metallic click. The door swung open a few inches, held back by a brass security chain. Erica’s face appeared in the gap, her eyes wide with apprehension as she looked up at my uniform jacket and my grim expression.
"You came," she breathed.
"We need to talk about what's on that flash drive," I said, pulling the device from my pocket and holding it up so she could see it. "And then we're going to pay a little visit to Harrison."
Erica stared at the drive for a long second, then unlatched the chain and pulled the door wide open. "You're too late for Harrison," she said, stepping back to let me in. "He's not at the country club anymore. In fact, according to the security feeds I've been monitoring, your father’s entire executive team just boarded a private charter flight out of Centennial Airport twenty minutes ago."
I stopped dead in the doorway. "Where to?"
"Geneva," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And your father wasn't on the passenger manifest. He stayed behind to meet someone."
My phone buzzed in my hand again. This time, it wasn't an alert or a text. It was a direct incoming call from my father’s private cell number.
I stared at the glowing screen, my thumb hovering over the accept button. The wind howled against the apartment window, rattling the glass as the first real squall of the evening closed in around the city.
May you like
I swiped to answer and pressed the phone to my ear.
"Liam," my father’s voice came through the speaker—calm, steady, and utterly devoid of warmth. "I hear you've been busy playing hero again. I suggest you turn around and go back to your base before you realize just how expensive your little holiday visit is going to be."
