Chapter 6 - THE FATHER IN THE SNOW
My father’s name was Anthony Vale.
According to every legal record in Illinois, he died from pancreatic cancer fifteen years ago.
I attended the funeral.
I carried the coffin.
I watched it lowered into the ground.
Apparently, grief had been wasted on an empty box.
Isabella’s video explained why.
Anthony had discovered Malcolm Vane survived the federal crackdown.
Worse, Vane had rebuilt his network using officials inside law enforcement.
Anthony knew that if Malcolm learned he was investigating, our entire family would become targets.
So he disappeared.
Not elegantly.
Not kindly.
Completely.
Even from me.
“He believed you would search for him if you knew,” Isabella said in the recording. “And he believed Malcolm would use you to find him.”
I watched the video three times.
Each viewing made me angrier.
Claire stayed silent.
Eventually she said, “He may have been right.”
“That doesn’t make it acceptable.”
“No.”
“He abandoned his son.”
“Yes.”
“My mother died believing she was a widow.”
Claire looked at me.
“That part is harder to forgive.”
I appreciated that she didn’t defend him.
The chip contained coordinates.
Northern Wisconsin.
A property registered under a false name near Eagle River.
By dawn, we were driving north.
I wanted Claire to remain with my daughters.
Emma refused.
“Claire comes.”
I looked at her.
“You’re six.”
“Yes.”
“That is not an argument.”
She crossed her arms exactly like Ava.
Claire hid another smile.
Ultimately, Claire came.
The girls stayed behind under Tomas’s protection, with twice the guards and no one allowed inside without direct verification.
Three hours north of Chicago, buildings gave way to frozen fields.
Then pine forest.
Snow thickened.
Claire sat beside me in the SUV.
“You’re nervous.”
“I don’t get nervous.”
“You’ve checked your gun eleven times.”
“Routine.”
“Twelve.”
I glared at her.
She turned toward the window.
“You know what worries me?”
“Everything?”
“That too.”
She looked back.
“Vane escaped too easily.”
“He lost Marcus.”
“Men like Vane don’t mourn pieces they’ve already sacrificed.”
I knew she was right.
“Then he may know where we’re going.”
“Exactly.”
The cabin stood beside a frozen lake.
No vehicles.
No smoke.
No movement.
We entered separately.
I found my father sitting near the fireplace with a shotgun across his knees.
He was seventy-two.
Older than my memory.
Thinner.
But unmistakable.
“Hello, son.”
I hit him.
Claire inhaled sharply.
Anthony stumbled into the chair.
He touched his mouth.
“I expected that.”
I hit him again.
“Roman.”
Claire touched my arm.
I stopped.
Barely.
My father sat upright.
“You look like your mother when you’re furious.”
“Don’t talk about her.”
Pain crossed his face.
Good.
“You let her believe you were dead.”
“Yes.”
“She died eight years later.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t come to the funeral.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Malcolm had men watching you.”
“You chose this.”
“I chose to keep you alive.”
“You don’t get to call abandonment protection.”
The room fell silent.
Claire moved toward the window, giving us distance.
Anthony looked at her.
“Claire Bennett.”
She froze.
“You know me?”
“I know why Malcolm wants you.”
“You knew I survived?”
“I hoped.”
She stepped closer.
“Who was Malcolm protecting after my surgery?”
Anthony’s gaze sharpened.
“Himself.”
“He was the patient.”
“Yes.”
Claire went pale.
I looked between them.
“Vane was on your operating table.”
Anthony nodded.
“He’d been shot during a failed assassination attempt.”
Claire stared at the floor.
“I saved him.”
“You were doing your job.”
“My fiancé died because I saved a monster.”
Anthony’s voice softened.
“That was Malcolm’s crime. Not yours.”
For once, my father said something useful.
Then gunfire shattered the window.
Claire dropped.
I pulled Anthony behind the stone fireplace.
Bullets tore through the cabin.
“Back exit!”
We moved.
Outside, at least eight men spread through the trees.
Malcolm had followed us.
Of course.
Anthony knew the terrain.
We reached a storm cellar hidden beneath the snow.
Inside was more than shelter.
Weapons.
Radios.
Computers.
Files.
My father had been preparing for this war for fifteen years.
“You could have ended this years ago,” I said.
“I needed proof strong enough that Malcolm couldn’t buy his way out.”
“Isabella found it.”
His face broke.
“I know.”
“You knew she was investigating?”
“She contacted me three weeks before she died.”
My hands curled.
“And you didn’t protect her?”
“I tried.”
“Not hard enough.”
He accepted that without argument.
That made it worse.
Claire interrupted.
“Can we survive first and resolve fifteen years of family trauma afterward?”
A blast shook the cellar entrance.
Anthony almost smiled.
“I like her.”
“Don’t.”
Another explosion.
We moved through a tunnel leading toward the lake.
Halfway through, my phone vibrated.
Ava.
I answered.
“Dad.”
Her voice was trembling.
“What happened?”
“Someone got inside.”
My entire body froze.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you?”
“Safe room.”
“All three of you?”
Pause.
“Ava.”
“Emma is missing.”
The tunnel disappeared around me.
“What?”
“We thought she was with Harper. Harper thought she was with me.”
Claire grabbed my arm.
My daughter continued.
“There was a note in her room.”
“What does it say?”
Ava began crying.
“Bring the chip to the old Mercy General building in Detroit by midnight.”
Claire went white.
Her old hospital.
Vane had taken Emma.
He had known exactly how to force both of us into the open.
I turned toward my father.
“Can we get out?”
“There’s a snowmobile shed across the lake.”
“Move.”
We emerged into gunfire.
Anthony covered us.
Claire and I ran across the frozen surface.
A bullet struck the ice beside my boot.
Another tore through my coat.
We reached the shed.
Then Claire screamed.
She fell.
For one horrifying second, I thought she’d been shot.
Then I saw the crack beneath her.
Ice split in a jagged line.
Her leg plunged through.
I grabbed her hands as the surface collapsed.
Freezing water swallowed her waist.
“Roman!”
“I have you.”
The ice broke wider.
I dropped flat, spreading my weight.
Claire’s fingers slipped.
I caught her wrist.
“Look at me.”
Her teeth chattered.
“Emma.”
“We’re getting her.”
“You have to let go if—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll throw you back in after I pull you out.”
Even terrified, she laughed once.
I dragged her onto solid ice.
We reached the shed.
Anthony followed minutes later.
By afternoon, we were heading south.
Emma had been taken because of my war.
Because of my father.
Because of Vane.
Because my wife discovered a truth she refused to ignore.
Claire sat wrapped in blankets beside me.
Her lips were still pale.
“I’m going inside the hospital,” she said.
“No.”
“He wants both of us.”
“He wants the chip.”
“And me.”
“I’m not trading you.”
“Roman.”
“No.”
Her hand covered mine.
“You aren’t trading me.”
I looked at her.
“We’re taking Emma back.”
Something in her voice made me believe her.
May you like
For the first time since Isabella died, I was no longer fighting alone.
And that frightened me almost as much as losing her.
