Rafael
Movement helped the body burn off the things the mind wanted to hold.
Like the looping replay of Bea arguing in favor of doing the interview with Fox. A man who had built his reputation on stories extracted from the women he cornered.
“Griffin.”
“Dao.”
Within a few steps their cadence matched, the way two experienced runners automatically settled into the same rhythm. Dao was light on his feet, shoulders relaxed, breathing through his nose. The kind of control that came from training, not ego.
“I didn’t know you ran here.” Rafael pushed faster through the next curve.
“Usually mornings.” Dao kept up. “If this is a race, you should warn me.”
Jaxon didn’t mention the meeting yesterday. Or Bea. Max would have found a polite way to circle the subject within the first two minutes. Most men would. Dao simply kept running beside him. Rafael found he liked him more for it.
They completed a fast lap before either of them spoke again, both easing as the path curved toward the trees.
“A contact sent me something odd this morning,” said Dao. “Fox tried to pitch an interview with your parents about twenty years ago.”
Dao Strategic Forensics worked so deep inside regulatory filings that Jaxon knew half the archivists and compliance clerks in Northgate by name.
“What about?”
Griffin Construction had been respectable then, but hardly the kind of company journalists chased.
“The producer files that were digitized had the working title as The Price of Ambition: The Griffin Family.”
“What year did you say?”
Jaxon gave him the year.
Rafael slowed to a walk. The park continued around them, runners passing, conversations drifting. Dao stopped beside him.
That was the year Valeria died. His little sister. Five years old and wearing a sparkly pink dress she refused to take off.
“It was also the year he lost his primetime slot,” Dao added.
Rafael’s hand had curled into a fist by the time he noticed.
Dao watched him for a moment. “My contact also pulled his social media activity. Fox follows a public group that archives every article ever written about Griffin Ventures.”
Rafael stared.
“The group started around the same time as that pitch.”
The meaning was obvious. Fox hadn’t moved on.
“I need to talk to my father.”
RAFAEL
Leon Griffin was studying the Ho Chi Minh development model when Rafael walked in, one hand braced on the table as if he might move the entire tower a few centimeters to the left.
“You didn’t even stop for a shower.” Leon glanced at the sweat still drying on Rafael’s shirt.
“No time.” Rafael ran a hand through his hair. “Dad, do you remember a journalist named Oliver Fox?”
Leon paused. “The Canadian?”
“Yes.” Rafael didn’t bother sitting. “Did he try to interview you after Valeria died?”
A few seconds passed before Leon nodded. “Yes. Him and fifty others.”
“I don’t remember that,” Rafael said.
“You were eight,” Leon observed wryly. “We’d just finished the Cebu port contract. Suddenly every paper wanted to talk about the young construction company building bridges in places no one else would touch. Apparently the public enjoys watching ambitious people suffer personal tragedies.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The same thing I told the rest. That my daughter was not material for a broadcast.” Leon’s tone stayed easy, but the contempt underneath it was unmistakable. “He came back two days later. Not through the office. To our old house. We didn’t have as much security back then.”
Rafael looked up sharply.
“I was traveling,” Leon said. “Which was probably the point. It was your mother who answered the door.”
“What did he say to her?”
Leon wiped his fingers on a cloth. “He said he needed the interview. That it would save his career.”
“What did Mama say?”
“She swore at him,” Leon said. “And closed the door in his face.”
Rafael’s mouth twitched.
“She told me about it over the phone. I assumed he was exaggerating.”
Rafael shook his head slowly. “He wasn’t. He actually did lose his job.”
It landed then with unpleasant clarity. Fox hadn’t forgotten his parents. And he hadn’t suddenly discovered Bea. He’d been waiting.
Leon rested his hands on the table edge. “Why are you looking into Oliver Fox after twenty years?”
“He’s found a new Griffin to interview,” Rafael said grimly. “Bea.”