Page 56 of Isaac

"Something like that," he answers cryptically, pushing the cart toward the checkout.

Silently, we pile up all the bags into the back of the SUV and navigate further toward the edge of the city.

Suburban scenes this serene usually only exist in films: rows of well-loved homes tucked into leafy streets, children chasing after dogs in manicured yards. It feels worlds away from the dark, dangerous life we lead back in the city.

Isaac parks in front of one such house, and as soon as he steps out of the car, two kids burst from the front door, shouting excitedly, "Isaac! Isaac!"

I climb out of the SUV too, while watching him ruffle their hair affectionately.

"Hey, guys. What’s going on?" Isaac grins as they cling to his legs. "How have you guys been?"

"Good!" the older boy exclaims.

"I got a new dress," the girl announces. "It’s pink."

I round the car and pop the trunk, guessing the groceries are for the family who lives in this house, whoever they are.

My first thought is that they are Isaac’s kids, but then things get a little clearer when a woman in her thirties appears in the doorway. Shonda Murphey. Her husband was busted to makeroom for me. Her eyes are tired but light up when she sees Isaac. "I didn’t know you were coming," she says. "Should've called before showing up. I would have made a lasagna."

"And then you would have told me you didn’t need my help," Isaac argues.

He embraces her briefly and she kisses him on the cheek while the kids are already eagerly eyeballing our haul stored inside the SUV’s trunk.

The girl is probably around six and the boy could be teetering into double digits.

Isaac turns in my direction and our eyes meet for a fraction of a second. "Shonda," he says. "This is Hawk." He jerks his chin toward me.

Shonda smiles and my guts twists. "Hi. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, ma’am."

"Ma'am?" She shakes her head with laughter. "No need to be so polite. We’re all family here." She strides over and tries to detach her pint-sized humans from the bags they are currently inspecting. "I’m sorry. They can be such a nuisance sometimes."

Together, we unload the groceries from the car, Isaac carrying the bulk of them with ease while chatting with the kids about their school, friends, and favorite Marvel superheroes.

Witnessing this tender, caring side of him is strange.

As we bring the last of the bags inside, I catch snippets of conversation between Isaac and Shonda—words of reassurance and promises to visit again soon. And as I watch them interact, something shifts inside me. It's guilt. This woman's husband has been taken from her because the Bureau needed an in.

I thought I knew Isaac Thoreau—the criminal, the man who killed his own father in cold blood, stabbed him thirty-three times and then built an empire while in prison. But now, standing on the doorstep of this modest home under the brightNevada sun, I'm left questioning everything I thought I knew about him.

As I begin to take the food out of the bag in the kitchen, I overhear Shonda's quiet words coming from the hallway, "Isaac, you don't have to do all of this. The money you send is more than enough."

"Shonda, I want to," he replies softly, his tone gentle yet firm. "It's the least I can do for you and the kids."

I file away the information. So, Isaac is playing Robin Hood.

Later on, when all the groceries are organized and Shonda is busy cooking, Isaac and I are in the living room, entertaining the kids. The girl’s name is Mia and the boy’s is Mario. Mia excitedly shows Isaac her latest drawings, proudly presenting them for his inspection. Isaac crouches down to her level, studying each piece with genuine interest and offering praise that lights up the girl’s face.

"Wow! You're quite the artist," he says, nodding.

"Isaac, can you help me with my math homework?" Mario asks.

"I’ll see what I can do."

"Isaac is busy, baby!" Shonda shouts from the kitchen. "We can do it together once I’ve finished here."

As I observe this interaction, my emotions twist and tangle inside me. The man standing before me now doesn't resemble the ruthless gang leader I've come to know. Instead, I see a compassionate, caring individual who genuinely loves this family. Lying to him—to these people—makes me feel like shit.

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