Chapter 9 - The Secret in Logan’s Past
We returned to Silver Creek before dawn.
I called Grant from the vehicle.
"Where's Logan?"
"Asleep."
"Wake him."
"What happened?"
"Wake him now."
By the time we arrived, Logan was sitting at the kitchen table.
Grant looked furious.
Noah looked frightened.
I placed a photograph in front of Logan.
Victor Hale.
"Know him?"
"No."
"Look carefully."
Logan did.
His expression didn't change.
Then Grant sat down.
"Oh God."
Everyone turned.
"What?"
Grant stared at Hale.
"I know him."
"You already told us that."
"No."
He shook his head.
"Before business."
Grant looked at Logan.
"Twenty-two years ago."
Logan frowned.
"Dad?"
Grant's voice broke.
"Your mother knew him."
Logan's mother had died when he was six.
Grant rarely discussed her.
Her name was Rebecca.
Before marrying Grant, she had worked as an intelligence analyst for a defense contractor.
Victor Hale's company.
The pieces began connecting.
Rebecca had discovered financial irregularities years before Kestrel.
Payments.
Off-book accounts.
Names.
She had copied files.
Then left.
Years later, she died in what Grant believed was an automobile accident.
Logan stood.
"You're saying Mom was murdered?"
"We don't know."
"Then say that."
His voice cracked.
Grant looked devastated.
"I didn't know."
Logan walked away.
I followed him outside.
He stood beside the same lawn where he had challenged me days earlier.
"Everything's a lie."
"No."
He laughed bitterly.
"That's your advice?"
"Some things are lies. That's different."
He looked at me.
"You know what I thought my biggest problem was last week?"
"What?"
"Getting a professional fight contract."
"Life has terrible timing."
He almost smiled.
Then he looked toward his father's house.
"Why me?"
"We're going to find out."
He nodded.
"Claire?"
"Yes?"
"If this has something to do with my mom, I'm helping."
"No."
His expression hardened.
"I'm not asking."
"Neither am I."
He stepped closer.
A week earlier, that posture would have been a challenge.
Now it was desperation.
"You don't get to decide everything."
"No. But I get to decide whether I encourage a twenty-two-year-old civilian to walk into an intelligence investigation."
"I'm a fighter."
"That's exactly why you're not ready."
He stared at me.
I continued.
"You think courage means moving toward danger."
"Doesn't it?"
"Sometimes."
I pointed toward his house.
"Sometimes courage means staying where you're needed."
Grant stood inside alone.
Logan followed my gaze.
His shoulders lowered.
Then Noah came outside.
He carried a small cardboard box.
"Logan?"
"What?"
"Your dad found this."
Written across the box in Rebecca Whitmore's handwriting were two words:
May you like
FOR LOGAN.
Inside was a flash drive.
