Page 115 of Hunted
I kneel down to pick it up, and while I’m there, I spot the corner of a piece of paper peeking out from an odd spot beneath his desk.
I bend lower to get a better look and realize there’s a hidden compartment underneath. I feel around it with my fingers until I find a latch and it pops down. Sitting inside is a large brown file, silent and heavy with secrets, as if daring me to open it.
Why would my dad have a hidden file?
I should just leave it. Close the drawer and pretend I never saw anything.
But I can’t. Just as I was drawn to the picture frame, I’m drawn to the file,needingto know what’s inside.
I grab the file and slowly stand as I flip it over. It’s unmarked. I open it up and pull the stack of pages out. I frown as I try to make sense of what I’m reading. The Danver’s Group name is written all over the pages, along with an alarming number of transfers into the charity division. No…outof the charity division. These are debits, not credits.
The number is so high, in fact, that the math doesn’t even add up. I’ve seen the company reports and these numbers are much higher.
I flip to another page and scan the document. This one outlines the charity’s profits. Why the fuck is that number so high? This is a charity, it’s not supposed to haveanyprofits.
I scan down and see multiple dates and amounts listed. The first line item simply statesAsset 6544 - sold, the next oneAsset 6545 - sold, and so on down the page. I flip the page and find row after row of thesesame transactions. The price varies but not by much, and each is a large amount of money. What could the charity possibly have been selling—
My blood runs cold as the pieces finally click in place. There’s only one thing I believe that warehouse has been selling for decades.People.
“What the fuck?” I ask out loud, unable to believe what I’m seeing. My heart pounds in my chest as I stare at the papers spread across the desk and my brain tries to make sense of what I’m seeing.
“Oh, Son. I really wish you hadn't seen that.”
I freeze. My father’s voice is calm, almost tired.
I look up at him, seeing him in a way I’ve never seen him before. He’s never been the type of dad who’s warm and fuzzy, who takes you outside to learn to catch, but I always thought when it came down to it, he was there for me. A solid presence. Someone I could count on, even if I had to dig through layers of silence to get there.
But now? That whole idea shatters like glass.
I think back to when both planes went missing and how quickly he tried to encourage me to move on. To stop asking questions. Tofocus on the future. I thought he was just trying to protect me from grief. But what if it wasn’t about protecting me at all?
A sudden, terrifying thought has my face grow pale as I look up at him. It can’t be true… and yet…
“What have you done?”
He presses his lips together tightly, like my question annoys him.
“It was you. Wasn't it? You're the one that told Frank to plant that bomb on their plane. You tried to kill them. You were the reason that Darla ended up on that fucking nightmare of an island!”
I hear the words come out of my mouth, but it’s like someone else is speaking. I feel like I’ve left my body, watching this entire momentunravel from above. My father—the man who raised me—is a murderer. Worse than a murderer. He’s a monster.
“Donald was a smart man; it was only a matter of time before he put two and two together. Edward was a different story. I could’ve kept him in the dark for years. The man was a fool.”
It's true. He’s not even denying it. Just brushing it off like it's inevitable. Like it wasbusiness. My stomach churns. I want to vomit.
“All of this was to cover up the human trafficking you were doing in Kenya?”
Please say no.Please tell me I’ve got this wrong, that I’m jumping to conclusions. But in my gut, I already know the answer.
“I don't think I’d do well in prison, Son. Neither would you.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Why would I go to prison? I have nothing to do with this shit!”
“That's not what the paperwork says.”
I look back at the pages, fingers trembling as I scan the signatures again.Maurice Benson. Slipped in under fake divisions and forged authorizations. This whole time, I thought he was grooming me to take over the company. But he wasn’t handing me a legacy. He was handing me a goddamned time bomb.
“Why would you do this? Are you trying to frame me, your own son?”
