Chapter 7

The turn came on a Monday morning.

I'd barely sat down at the office when Sebastian Chavez, my sales director, knocked and came in.

His face was grim.

"Brandon, we've got a problem."

"What is it?"

"Donaldson pulled next quarter's partnership. Canceled it."

I froze.

Donaldson was our biggest client. Over twenty million in revenue a year.

"Canceled? Why?"

"No idea. I asked. All they'd say was orders from above, maybe we'll work together again down the line."

I called Donaldson right away.

He picked up. His voice was polite, but distant.

"Brandon. Sorry about this. Orders came from above, nothing I can do this time."

"Oliver, we've worked together for years. If something's on your mind, just say it—"

"Nothing's on my mind, Brandon. Maybe another time."

The line went dead.

I sat there gripping the phone, uneasy in a way I couldn't put into words.

What did "orders from above" mean?

Whose orders?

For what?

The next day I went to the bank to withdraw cash.

The teller tapped at her keyboard for a long time, then looked up at me.

"Sir, this account is under investigation. It's been frozen for now."

"What investigation?"

"I'm not able to disclose that. You'll be notified."

I stood in the bank lobby. Sunlight poured through the glass doors, right onto me.

But my back went cold.

What investigation?

Who was looking into me?

I couldn't make sense of it.

I hadn't broken any laws. Hadn't committed any crime. Who would be investigating me?

That night I got home to find Arlene packing a suitcase.

"What are you doing?"

She didn't look up. "Company's sending me out of town. A month."

"This sudden?"

"Just got told."

I walked over, reached for her hand.

She pulled away.

I stopped.

She used to want to be glued to me. Now she was dodging my touch?

"Arlene, what's wrong?"

She finally lifted her head and looked at me.

That look. I couldn't describe it.

Something unfamiliar in it.

Like she was looking at a stranger.

"Nothing. I'm packing."

Her tone was flat. She zipped the suitcase and went into the bedroom.

That night we slept in the same bed, far apart.

She lay with her back to me and didn't say a word all night.

I lay there in the dark, eyes open.

Something felt wrong.

But I couldn't say what.

On the third morning, my mother called.

"Brandon, lately... is there something you've been keeping from the family?"

My stomach dropped.

"Mom, what do you mean?"

"Someone came looking for your father yesterday."

"Who?"

Silence on the other end for a moment.

"Your father didn't sleep all night."

"Mom, who was it?"

"Come home and see for yourself."

I stood by the window, clutching the phone, my heart pounding.

Someone came looking for my father?

Who?

Why?

I drove out to my parents' place.

The whole way there, my head was a mess.

Donaldson canceling.

The bank account frozen.

Arlene turning on a dime.

Someone looking for my father.

Were these things... connected?

I couldn't work it out.

I got to their house and pushed the door open.

In the living room, my father sat on the couch, his face terrible.

Like he'd aged ten years.

On the coffee table lay a manila envelope.

He saw me come in and didn't say a word. He just pointed at the envelope.

I walked over and picked it up.

No writing on it, only my father's name and address.

I tore it open and pulled out what was inside.

A few sheets of paper.

I glanced at them.

My hands went rigid.

Like something had pinned them in place. I couldn't move.

The living room was silent, only the clock on the wall ticking. Tick, tock.

My father's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Brandon, tell me. Is this real or not?"

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

I stared at those sheets of paper, my lips moving, the sound that came out dry as sandpaper.

"She's an orphan... how could she possibly..."