Chapter 3 - The Thirteen-Year Lie
The photograph of my daughter slipped from my trembling fingers into the muddy water.
Leverage acquired.
The Whitmore family had not just accidentally run into me in northern Arizona.
They had been tracking my only child.
Rage replaced the freezing cold in my veins.
I grabbed the heavy steel briefcase and crawled out of the sinking SUV.
The rain was still hammering the canyon, but the water level had momentarily stabilized.
My ruined Peterbilt was still holding the main surge back like a loyal shield.
I waded through the waist-deep water toward the narrow strip of dry land.
Everett Whitmore, Blake, and Camille were huddled against the rock wall.
They looked like drowned rats, stripped of their wealth and arrogance.
Blake stepped forward, demanding to know where his security team was.
I did not say a word.
I walked straight up to him and drove my fist into his jaw.
Blake collapsed into the mud with a startled cry.
Camille screamed, and Everett stepped back in pure horror.
I grabbed the billionaire by the collar of his expensive ruined jacket.
I shoved the soaked photograph of Sophie directly into his face.
I demanded to know why his people were watching my daughter.
Everett stared at the picture, his eyes darting frantically.
He swore to God he had never seen that photograph before in his life.
He claimed he did not even know I had a daughter.
I slammed him against the canyon wall, the rock tearing his jacket.
I reminded him that his company destroyed my engineering firm thirteen years ago.
I reminded him that he blamed me for the bridge collapse that killed three men.
Everett was trembling violently now.
He choked out that he had not planned the cover-up alone.
He confessed that the person who orchestrated my downfall was his head of security.
A man named Marcus Vance.
The world seemed to stop spinning for a fraction of a second.
Marcus Vance was my former business partner.
He was the man who had supposedly died in a car crash right before the federal investigation began.
Camille stepped forward, her voice surprisingly steady.
She told me that Marcus Vance did not die thirteen years ago.
She revealed that Everett had faked Vance's death to hide him from the FBI.
And now, Vance was running Whitmore Civil Systems from the shadows.
Suddenly, the waterproof radio on my belt crackled to life.
It was the radio I had taken from the dead guard.
May you like
A smooth, familiar voice echoed through the static.
The voice said, "It has been a long time, Ethan. I see you found my briefcase."
