The file opens up in word processor.
My eyes scan quickly across the first three sentences and I immediately feel sick.
My worst fear has come true. Trent is working with the Russians. I don’t know how I’m going to tell his father.
I make it about halfway through the rest, my father detailing how he secretly tailed Trent after Trent did something suspicious, before I have to run to the bathroom.
“Sophia?” I hear Beth call out, her voice full of worry.
I barely make it to the toilet before I start to puke my guts out.
Trent was working with the Russians…
Trent.
Fucking Trent.
And my father discovered it the day before he died…
Trent’s father, Jacob, was there when my father died.
Were they in it together?
Oh god.
My stomach clenches hard and I grab onto the toilet for dear life as I get sick again and again.
The boy my father wanted me to marry…
The man my father treated like a brother…
They betrayed him.
They betrayed me.
I can’t seem to stop puking, even when I feel Amanda grab my hair and hold it back for me. I can’t stop sobbing either as Beth rubs my back.
“What the fuck is going on?” James asks angrily from somewhere behind me.
I know I should do something, say something, so he won’t be upset, but I can’t.
I can’t because I’m in so much pain all I can do is get sick.
The very men my father trusted… the very men who were at his funeral and gave me their condolences… The fucking men who folded his flag. How many others are there? How many are complicit?
“Sophia…”
Big, warm arms wrap around me and pull me away from the toilet when my puking becomes empty dry heaves.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Talk to me,” James says as he brushes back some of the curls that fell into my eyes.
And there’s so much worry on his face and pleading in his voice, I finally find the strength to reassure him.
Croaking out three words before the sobs take control again.
“You were right.”
16
James
Why the fuck can’t we just have a moment to catch our breath?
Why can’t we have time to focus on each other and not have so many fucking shadows of death hanging over our heads?
Sweeping my eyes over the bathroom, I take in the gravity of the situation.
Beth and Amanda have tears streaming down their cheeks. Johnathan looks confused as shit. Charlie is hanging back, but I can tell he wants to comfort Sophia badly. It’s like his little heart is aching to be a part of the solution.
He’s going to be one of the good ones when he gets older, I guess.
Lifting Sophia up in my arms, I look at everyone standing in my way.
“Get out,” I growl loudly before walking toward the bathroom door.
If I have to kick every motherfucker standing in my path, so be it.
Everyone starts scrambling to get out of my way as I march past them all. When I reach the bedroom, I take in the surrounding scene.
What in the hell in this room caused this?
What element is so out of place besides the humans that populate it? I can’t for a second believe it was just Beth and Amanda that upset Sophia.
Cradled in my arms, Sophia groans as I turn in a circle, taking everything in.
The first thing I notice is the backpack that Amanda was wearing when she came in. Then I notice a laptop on top of my dresser that looks almost as old as the girl in my arms. It must be fucking ancient. It doesn’t match the décor of my home and it sure as fuck doesn’t match any of the electronics I use.
I’m willing to bet whatever is on that laptop is going to be good in the worst way possible for her.
I want to investigate it, I really do, but I can’t with the way Sophia is held in my arms.
Carrying Sophia over to our bed, I gently set her down and whistle quietly for Mitzy. Pointing to the spot next to Sophia, I wait for Mitzy to sit and start rubbing against my wife before I turn around to face the crowd in my room.
“Charlie, thanks for coming and seeing Aunt Sophia. I know she really enjoyed it. John, Beth, get the fuck out of my house,” I say, pointing to the both of them.
Then I pin Amanda down with my stare. “You. You wait for me in my living room.”
Not bothering to watch if they move, I pull out the gun that’s shoved down the back of my pants and walk over to the laptop. Laying the gun down as gently as I can, I wait for my hands to stop shaking before I look at the screen.
At first what I’m looking at doesn’t make much sense. Then I read names and dates. Names and dates that send a cold spike of pissed-off surety through my heart.