3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
As a society, we’re doomed
Hutton
C losing the program on my computer, I lean back in my chair. “With all due respect Ambassador Rassier, I am well aware what laws I would be violating by accessing the mainframes of their country. But that’s not why you’re calling me.”
There’s a silence punctuated by a clanging noise like the sniveling bureaucrat dropped something. “It’s not, Mr. Cross? Wha-what do you mean?”
“I wonder what spring in the Maldives looks like?” I drop the code phrase on him, fighting a smile as I imagine the man pissing himself. “Enjoy the rest of your day, if you can.”
On this particular victory, I almost want to linger on the line a few minutes longer to hear the man devolve into terror. He should. Now he knows I am the one responsible for his security breach and have all the information off his phone and personal laptop. It was all given to a global organization dedicated to stopping sex traffickers. If he doesn’t disappear his life is over.
The French ambassador with ties to several Asian governments has spent much of his career abusing his power and connections. Intel leaked to me from Min-jun, a highly skilled hacker located in Beijing, pinpointed him as a coordinator. Neither Min-jun nor I believe in falling under anyone’s authority. The corruption goes deep with all government agencies. Take the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s pockets of initiatives that run unethical studies, doing things the average person would be appalled by. Do good agents exist? Matt and Keir are among the few. But I don’t trust the agency or most of their employees.
Growing up as an experiment of theirs informed my strong opinions against them.
I’m no one’s monster or super soldier.
The sound of a crash coming from outside my office catches me off guard. “Weston, is that you?” After sliding my laptop into the reinforced drawer and locking it, I stride to my locked office door.
“ Sumimasen !” Wes cries out ‘excuse me’ in Japanese as he races back down the hall outside my office. “Look out, Daddy H, the ninjas are coming!” He’s dressed in his karate outfit with one of his dads’ ties over his white belt and another wrapped around his head. He’s got something -is that a shower curtain rod? -stuck in the belt, which clanks on the floor as he runs.
“Weston, buddy, you’re not supposed to be playing in the hallway outside my office.” Not that our six-year-old whirlwind cares much for rules. Can’t say I blame him. Like father, like son?
As Zach comes barreling into the hallway dressed in old Batman pajamas of Wes’s, his eyes bug out. “Uh-oh.” Unlike Wes, Zach doesn’t want to risk getting in trouble. He lets the screwdriver he’s holding fall to the floor.
When I had the addition built on the farmhouse, it was with the understanding I could do my work here, secluded from the activity of the main house. But Weston loves being near me if he knows I’m home. Honestly, I let it slide most of the time because being his dad means more to me than almost anything else. Next to being with Eden, the kids are my world.
I’ll even admit to caring about the rest of them.
Not to their faces, but I can allow myself to acknowledge it. We’ve built a family that seemed unimaginable to me. That is worth more than the millions I’ve amassed or the millions I’ve gifted from my grandmother’s inheritance.
It’s priceless.
“Daddy H? Can I ask you something?” Weston pulls the tie off his head, whipping it around as he turns in circles. Zach watches on with trepidation.
“What would that be?” I stop him mid-spin. “You’re going to make yourself dizzy, kiddo.”
From spinning to now hopping up and down, Wes continues, “Do you know sign language? We have a new student who can’t hear…he’s death.”
“Deaf. He’s deaf, Wes.” I put a hand over my mouth to hide the small smile forming. “And yes, I know it.” One of the perks of growing up without popular culture is all the knowledge poured into me by my handlers.
Zach sits down on the floor, still intent on watching our exchange. At least he’s stopped being terrified at the sight of me. I could never tell if it was the scar on my neck or my build and height, but he would cower when I was around. “I want you to teach me sign language, please. Then he’ll have someone to talk to.” He looks up at me with his big blue eyes. Eden’s eyes. My heart swells to bursting.
“Yes. Of course.” Picking Weston up I give him a quick hug. “I’m proud of you. I’m really proud of you, kiddo, for thinking of that.”
The double doors, which were cracked open at the end of the addition hallway, open farther as Blaine looks at us. “Dinner’s ready.” Scrambling up, Zach stands as Weston wiggles free of me. “Daddy C made your favorite tonight. Better hurry,” he says, clapping his hands together as he walks closer.
“Tacos?” Wes gallops past him, pulling Zach along by an arm. “Yes!”
Once the doors close, Blaine turns to me. “Newsflash, Eden is staying with me tonight. She’s slept in your bed for three nights in a row.”
Keeping my face as blank as possible, I stare him down. He fidgets before breaking eye contact. It’s mildly amusing that he thinks he can intimidate me. I’m taller, more muscular, and last time I checked, he still couldn’t fight his way out of a box. With his wavy hair, arrogant little facial contortions, and trim build, he is no slouch, but I don’t have any interest in how he looks. Just another frustrating thing to him.
“Cool, cool. How have you mastered both unfazed and annoyed at the same time?” he asks as he quirks his lips at me. “And just a heads up, with Matt leaving for trial, Keir wants to have an FBI detail watching our home.”
That’s a no. “Not needed.”
“That’s my take on it, but Keir’s got Eden on board with it. I think.” He’s scrutinizing my face while giving me news that takes my annoyance to anger, but there is no power in putting emotions on display.
During times like this, I shift to messages that were ingrained in me. Eliminate the threats by any means necessary. I should be able to protect us all. How’s that for hard to relate to? Eden and her grandfather are the only exceptions. With both I’ve been able to talk about the past. It’s still uncomfortable sorting through all that’s happened. To accept the truth. Roger, Eden’s grandfather, told me the truth can be seen as an acronym: taking real understanding to heart. Fleeting moments of truth are painful.
Moving down the hallway together, Blaine continues, “Anyway, I figured you’d be able to talk some sense into Keir. The last thing we want to deal with is Jergen Rivera hanging around.”
Unlike the rest of the guys, Rivera gives me a wide berth. His tasteless jokes and behavior are just weak covers for an insecure, unintelligent man. I got my message across early on, meant to both inspire and terrorize him-a reminder my history with incompetent FBI agents didn’t end well for them. He was gifted with my case file. Since then, he barely looks my way.
The commotion coming from the dining room reaches us: the kids’ chatter, the boys’ laughter, dishes being moved around, barking from one of the dogs. I may treasure my solitude, another byproduct of a childhood lacking in the nurture aspect, but I need the commotion our family generates, too, sometimes. Blaine sits in a chair across from Eden while I stop by Warner’s highchair to move his sippy cup closer. He shoves cut-up orange slices in his mouth while simultaneously humming, his little legs kicking at the table.
Keir looks up from his place next to our three-year-old little cherub. “My phone blew up. Rassier knows?”
“Expect a panicked call from dignitaries at the consulate. That web is coming down. They’ll all be on the run soon.”
He nods his head with a grimace. “Yeah. They’ll come here. To the US.”
Blaine hands a plate with two tacos on it to Zach while interrupting us. “I love when you speak in indecipherable jargon. Good talk, guys. It’s dinner time, could you put a pin in this?”
We all dig into the assortment of tacos, corn bread, and rice that Caleb has made as Eden looks over Waverly’s drawings. “You’ve done a beautiful job getting your great grandma’s expression just right. I may not say it enough, but you’re so talented sweetheart.” Faintly blushing Waverly tucks the drawings back in her folder before using her fork to deconstruct her tortilla.
Our girl, at nine, is busy with dancing, drawing, and all the animals. Eden said watching Waverly getting these opportunities heals her inner child. For me, I worry she’s too scheduled. Do we push her because she does well in everything she tries?
Everyone is talking over each other. Caleb tells the boys a story about a flatulent schnauzer at the vet clinic today, making them erupt in giggles. Warner plays a game of fetch with his cup, tossing it and clapping as one of us retrieves it. Meanwhile, Zinnea sits slouched down in her chair, glowering, with her arms folded and plate untouched.
Caleb launches in about our new neighbor, who stated he is going to challenge the business zoning of the vet clinic across the road from our home, because he has a problem with the “lifestyle” we’re living. “The government would never…” he starts in. Yes, yes, they would.
Don’t underestimate the ways the government can and will weaponize policies when they want.