Chapter 8 - The Man Who Brought Me HomeI refused to believe Mr. Holloway had betrayed Noah.
Outside, agents shouted as every radio channel filled with static.
Dad laughed over the phone.
“You always were slow to understand.”
“You’re Shepherd?”
“Voss liked being called General. I let him enjoy the title while I handled the work.”
“You worked for him.”
“He worked for me.”
Dad explained that Voss provided access to military records, but the insurance scheme had been Dad’s design. The decorated general was useful because nobody questioned a man in uniform.
That was the bitter center of everything.
My father had spent four years calling me a criminal while hiding behind the reputation of soldiers.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Close enough to watch.”
“How did you get out of custody?”
He did not answer.
Instead, a gunshot sounded outside.
Agent Bell pulled me to the floor.
A transport officer had been wounded near the tree line. Dad had escaped during the hospital diversion, using credentials supplied by Voss.
“He has inside help,” Bell said.
Ruiz checked her weapon.
“Someone in local law enforcement.”
The radio static stopped.
Deputy Harris’s voice came over the channel.
“Command, we located Sargent near the river access.”
Ruiz reached for her microphone.
I grabbed her wrist.
Harris had been the first deputy at my parents’ house. He had also directed the search, handled the evidence box, and transported Dad.
He knew every move we made.
“No,” I whispered. “Harris is helping him.”
The command vehicle door opened.
Deputy Harris stood outside with his pistol raised.
Ruiz fired first.
The bullet struck his vest and knocked him backward. Bell pulled the door shut as Harris returned fire through the window.
Agents surrounded him within seconds.
Harris surrendered after being shot in the leg.
His phone contained messages from Dad, including instructions to disable our communications and move Dad out during the hospital emergency.
But Dad was already headed toward the tunnel.
I entered through the western access carrying Noah’s flash drive.
Ruiz and Bell followed through a drainage passage fifty yards behind me. A transmitter sewn into my jacket sent them audio.
The memorial tunnel smelled of rust and river water. Faded names of local service members covered the brick walls.
Colonel Mercer sat tied to a chair beneath a single work light.
Voss stood behind him with a pistol.
Dad waited beside an old freight door.
Seeing them together made the truth feel complete.
My father had never been intimidated by Voss.
Voss was intimidated by him.
“Put the drive on the ground,” Dad ordered.
I held it up.
“Let Mercer go.”
Dad smiled. “You’re negotiating as if you have leverage.”
“I made copies.”
“No, you didn’t. The drive uses an encryption key tied to the original hardware.”
That explained why he needed it.
I placed the drive on the ground but kept my boot over it.
“Why Noah?”
“He could not leave things alone.”
“He was your son.”
“He was weak.”
Mercer lifted his head. Blood covered one side of his face.
“Robert,” he said, “this ends today.”
Dad laughed. “You’ve been saying that for five years.”
Voss pressed the pistol against Mercer’s neck.
“Give us the drive.”
I looked at Voss.
“Noah said you weren’t Shepherd.”
Voss’s hand tightened.
Dad’s smile vanished.
“You were never in control,” I continued. “He used your rank and made sure every record pointed toward you.”
“Shut up,” Dad snapped.
I ignored him.
“When this falls apart, General, who do you think becomes the public face of it? The small-town accountant or the decorated officer with access to military files?”
Voss looked at Dad.
“He’s stalling,” Dad said.
“No,” I replied. “I’m showing him the future you planned.”
Voss’s weapon shifted away from Mercer.
Dad reached inside his coat.
I kicked the flash drive beneath the chair and dove.
Two shots exploded.
Voss fell against the wall, blood spreading across his shoulder.
Dad ran through the freight door.
Mercer knocked Voss’s legs out from under him while I grabbed the pistol. Ruiz and Bell stormed into the tunnel moments later.
“Robert is heading for the river!” I shouted.
I chased him through the freight door and onto the abandoned rail bridge.
Morning fog covered the water below.
Dad stood halfway across with a second pistol.
“You should have died overseas,” he said.
“You first said that when I was six.”
He blinked.
“You told Mom life would be easier if I had never been born. Noah heard you and slept outside my bedroom for a week because he thought you might hurt me.”
Dad raised the gun.
“Noah was always dramatic.”
“Noah was brave.”
“He was stupid.”
“He left enough evidence to destroy you.”
“The evidence dies with you.”
He fired.
The bullet struck the metal railing beside my head.
I dropped and moved behind a support beam.
Dad advanced.
“You wanted to come home a hero,” he called. “Look at you now. Everyone in town knows what you are.”
“They know what you told them.”
“They’ll remember the accusation longer than the correction.”
That was the final weapon he believed he still possessed.
Shame.
For years, it had worked.
I stepped from behind the beam with my hands visible.
“You’re right,” I said. “Some people will always believe you.”
He smiled.
“But I don’t need all of them.”
His smile faded.
“I know who I am.”
He fired again.
The shot missed as Agent Bell appeared behind him. Dad spun toward Bell, slipped on the wet rail, and fell over the side.
He caught the lower support with one hand.
His pistol dropped into the river.
“Claire!” he screamed.
I crawled to the edge.
Dad dangled thirty feet above the current.
“Help me!”
For one terrible second, I thought of Noah in the rain, begging the same man for an ambulance.
I could have let go.
Instead, I seized Dad’s wrist.
Bell grabbed his other arm, and together we pulled him onto the bridge.
Dad stared at me in disbelief.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not you.”
Bell handcuffed him.
Behind us, the sun began burning through the fog.
Voss was alive.
Mercer was alive.
The flash drive was secure.
And for the first time since Noah died, my father had nowhere left to run.
But when investigators opened Noah’s complete files, they found one final secret.
A payment had been made three days after his death.
The recipient was listed only as D.S.
My mother’s initials were Diane Sargent.
But the account belonged to someone else.
May you like
Someone who had been standing on the street when the birdbath broke.
Mr. Holloway.
