can’t mean that. You told her that so she’d drop the story, right?”
“No. I mean it. I’m going on the straight and narrow. I’ll buy out all of my shares. I’ll sign a non-disclosure agreement.”
“Preston. You can’t walk away,” Christopher said to my father.
“I can. And I will.” My father stood up and pointed at them both. “You two will drop this now. I'm leaving the business and my daughter is not going to reveal her knowledge.”
Carl stood up too, and he got right in my father’s face. “She didn't stumble into this, Preston. She wasn't minding her own business and someone told her the truth -- she went looking for it. She put on fucking grungy street clothes and pretended to be a drug addict. She's not going to let this go.”
Carl was right about that. I knew I needed to call the FBI sooner rather than later. I had no idea how to get them to listen to me. I’d planned to publish the story first, but I might not have that kind of time. A few students from my University had gone on to train at Quantico and join the agency. Maybe I could call one of them.
“I'll talk to her again today,” my father said. “I'll take her on vacation to Paris, and we’ll stay for a month. It's always been her favorite place.”
“Are you losing it? Do you really think that's going to help? She sees herself as a crusader. She thinks she's doing the right thing, and exposing corruption. She wants to make a name for herself in journalism and we will be her victims.”
“No, she's nothing like that. She's an idealistic young woman with stars in her eyes. She doesn't know anything about the real world.”
Was my father losing it? It was bizarre that Carl understood me better than my own father. I didn’t want to die, but I wasn’t giving up on this. For the first time in years, I felt alive.
Still lingering on the back porch, my father sighed. “As a show of good faith, I’m sending you both a link with my passwords. You both have access to everything in my office. As for the business bank account, I'm calling my attorney so that you don't need my signature. A month in Paris will give us some time to cool off, and when I get back, we can talk again.”
If my father wasn’t losing it, then was he naive?
Or did he really think they were going to be satisfied with his commands?
As I peered at the computer monitor, the look at Carl and Christopher exchanged was clear. They were not going to drop this. They weren't going to rest until I was dead.
Maybe they’d arrange a plane crash, or a car accident, or even some food poisoning in a popular Parisan bistro.
Even with the monitor in between us, I could clearly read the loathing in Carl's eyes, and I could read the absolute malice in Christopher's. Maybe they let me make it to Paris, maybe they wouldn't, but it was absolutely crystal clear that I could not stay here in Chicago.
I had to leave. Right now.
Chapter Four
Tyler
“Sheriff Whittaker!”
I turned around to see one of the Kindergartners running toward me. I’d been sheriff for two months now, and so far, I was working non-stop. The school principal had asked me to come in and give the kids a career day talk. He wanted me to talk about being a Navy SEAL first, and then a sheriff.
I’d wanted to decline, but the principal, who I’d graduated high school with, said, “some of these kids could really use a male role model to look up to.”
Damn. That was a low blow. Of course I had to say yes after that.
For five-year-olds, I mostly stuck with the training parts of being a SEAL. Although I valued my time in the service, there weren’t many stories I could tell that belonged in an elementary classroom.
When the sheriff retired, his deputy had retired too. So I’d been left with a secretary, and no other staff. Barrett, my best friend who’d served with me as a SEAL had recently ended his final deployment too, so I gave him a call.
“I need you to move here,” I said.
“Why the hell would I want to live in Pine Hills?”
“Because it’s better than Miami, and you fucking know it.” Barrett was working at a private security firm as a bodyguard, watching out for all the rich people in Miami, but