Chapter 10 - The TrapJulian’s reaction was surprisingly simple.
So we drove.
Nine hours from Washington to Maine.
Julian barely spoke.
Every emotion possible seemed to move through him.
Hope.
Terror.
Guilt.
Joy.
Fear that the entire thing would vanish if he believed it too much.
We reached a small federal building near Portland Harbor just after dawn.
Mercer stopped us outside a private interview room.
“She has significant trauma.”
Julian nodded.
“She knows I’m coming?”
“Yes.”
“Does she want to see me?”
Mercer smiled slightly.
“She has asked that question about fifteen times.”
Julian laughed once.
Then cried again.
I squeezed his hand.
“Go.”
“You’re coming.”
“This is yours.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You’re mine.”
So I went.
Laura Kim was forty-one.
She had a scar running from below her right ear toward her collarbone.
Her dark hair had strands of silver near the temples.
She was thinner than the old photographs.
But her eyes were exactly the same.
She looked at Julian.
He stopped in the doorway.
Neither moved.
Then Laura smiled.
“Wow.”
Her voice shook.
“You got old.”
Julian made a sound somewhere between laughter and sobbing.
“You’re older.”
“By five years. Still counts.”
He crossed the room.
Laura stood.
They collided in the middle.
Not embraced.
Collided.
Twelve lost years closed in seconds.
Julian buried his face against his sister’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
Laura pulled back.
“No.”
“I left you.”
“No.”
“I got on that helicopter.”
She grabbed his face between both hands.
“You were shot.”
“I should have—”
“Listen to me.”
He stopped.
“I watched you drag wounded men across a road while bullets hit the dirt around you.”
Her voice cracked.
“I watched you give your seat away twice.”
Julian cried openly.
“You did not leave me.”
“But Rourke said—”
“I know what he said.”
“How?”
“Mason heard him.”
Laura explained.
Captain Bell had learned Rourke was connected to Harrow.
He tried to transmit evidence before the convoy attack.
The enemy force intercepted them first.
But the attackers weren’t acting alone.
Harrow contractors arrived later.
They took Bell, Laura, and Holt because they knew too much.
“Rourke ordered them to keep us alive until they could find the missing ledger.”
“What ledger?”
Laura looked at me.
“Your father had it.”
I stared.
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
“He told us he only transported you.”
Laura’s expression hardened.
“Charles Montgomery took the ledger from Mason.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“He wanted leverage.”
Of course.
Dad had told some truth.
Not all.
Again.
“What was in it?”
“Payments to military officials, contractors, politicians.”
“Rourke?”
“Everywhere.”
Mercer took notes.
Julian asked, “Mason escaped?”
“Yes.”
“Did Rourke kill him?”
Laura looked down.
“I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“Mason got out of the Vienna facility. He contacted me once through a sympathetic nurse.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago.”
“What did he say?”
“He was trying to get to an American embassy.”
“Then?”
“Nothing.”
Mercer looked up.
“We have no record of him entering an embassy.”
Laura nodded.
“I always assumed he was caught.”
“What about Aaron?”
Her eyes filled.
“He died from complications after surgery.”
Julian closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Laura smiled sadly.
“He talked about his daughters constantly.”
“They know?”
“No.”
“We’ll tell them.”
She nodded.
Then she looked at me.
“So you’re Claire.”
I smiled through tears.
“I am.”
Laura looked at Julian.
“You did okay.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean her.”
“I know.”
We laughed.
For a brief moment, the horror loosened.
Then Laura’s expression changed.
“I came out of hiding because somebody started looking for me again.”
“Rourke?”
“I think so.”
“How did you know?”
“My apartment was searched.”
“When?”
“A month ago.”
“Why didn’t you contact authorities?”
“I tried that twelve years ago.”
Fair answer.
“What changed?”
“I saw Julian’s wedding announcement online.”
I looked at him.
He stared at her.
“You knew?”
“I knew where you were for years.”
His face fell.
“You never contacted me.”
Laura swallowed.
“I thought contact would put you in danger.”
“You let me believe you were dead.”
“I know.”
Pain entered both faces.
There were no simple heroes in grief.
No perfect decisions.
Just people trying to survive.
Julian sat across from her.
“I’m angry.”
“You should be.”
“And happy.”
“I hope so.”
“And I don’t know what to do with either.”
Laura nodded.
“Same.”
I left them talking.
Mercer followed me into the hallway.
“Something bothering you?”
“My father lied again.”
“Yes.”
“He has the ledger.”
“Possibly.”
“If Rourke shot at him, maybe he thinks Dad still has it.”
“Likely.”
“Then Dad is still in danger.”
“He’s under guard.”
“That didn’t stop them from shooting through a window.”
Mercer didn’t argue.
I continued.
“If Dad kept the ledger as leverage, where would he hide it?”
“You know him better than we do.”
I thought of my childhood.
Dad valued appearances.
Cars.
Awards.
Photographs.
Objects people admired without understanding.
Then I remembered his office.
A framed newspaper clipping.
The first dealership he purchased.
Dad mentioned it constantly.
But the newspaper frame was unusually thick.
I had once asked why.
He snapped at me for touching it.
“His office.”
Mercer straightened.
“What?”
“The dealership headquarters.”
Federal agents searched Dad’s office that afternoon.
Inside the backing of the framed newspaper article, they found a narrow leather notebook.
Names.
Payments.
Account numbers.
Dates.
The Darash ledger.
It was enough to indict Patrick Rourke.
There was only one problem.
Rourke had disappeared.
His homes were empty.
His accounts frozen.
His wife claimed she hadn’t seen him.
Then investigators discovered one final transfer.
Two hundred thousand dollars.
Sent that morning.
Recipient:
Charles Montgomery.
My father.
I stared at the screen.
“He’s working with Rourke again.”
Mercer’s face became grim.
“Or Rourke wants us to believe he is.”
Then the hospital called.
Dad was gone.
He had disappeared from a guarded room.
One officer was unconscious.
Another security camera had been disabled.
On Dad’s pillow was a note.
Three words.
BRING THE LEDGER.
May you like
And beneath it—
OR JULIAN DIES.
