Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Drive Back

We didn't speak for the first hour.

Sloane drove. Daniel sat in the passenger seat. Leo followed in the second car. I sat in the back and stared out the window. The trees passed. The road stretched. The sky darkened.

I held the folder in my lap. My father's folder. Fifteen years of evidence. Fifteen years of hiding. Fifteen years of silence.

I didn't open it. Not yet. I wasn't ready.

Daniel turned in his seat. He looked at me.

"You okay?" he asked.

"No."

He nodded. He didn't push.

We drove another hour. The trees thinned. The road widened. The first signs of the city appeared. I still didn't speak.

Then Daniel said, "He looked old."

I didn't respond.

"He looked tired. Like he'd been carrying something heavy for a long time."

"He had."

Daniel was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Do you hate him?"

I considered the question. I thought about my father. About his face. About his eyes. About the way he'd looked at me when I walked through the door.

"I don't know," I said. "I thought I did. I thought I'd hate him forever. But now—"

I stopped.

"Now what?"

"Now I just feel tired. Tired of being angry. Tired of carrying it. Tired of letting him live in my head."

Daniel nodded. He didn't say anything else.

We drove the rest of the way in silence.

---

Adrian was waiting when we got back.

He was standing in the living room. He didn't speak when I walked in. He just looked at me. At the folder in my hands. At my face.

"You found him," he said.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And he gave me this."

I set the folder on the table. I didn't open it. I just stood there.

Adrian walked to me. He stopped a few feet away. He didn't reach for me. He didn't take my hand. He just stood there.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No."

"Okay."

He didn't push. He didn't ask again. He just stood there.

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"I'm going to bed," I said.

"Okay."

I walked to my room. I closed the door. I sat on the edge of the bed. I stared at the wall.

I didn't sleep. I didn't try to.

---

The next morning, I opened the folder.

I sat at my desk. I spread the documents across the surface. Photographs. Recordings. Bank statements. Letters. Everything my father had gathered over fifteen years.

It was more than I expected. More than I'd hoped for. More than we had.

Volkov's operations. His accounts. His properties. His associates. His weaknesses. Everything we needed to take him down.

I read every page. I studied every photograph. I listened to every recording.

By the time I finished, the sun had moved. The city was awake. The clock read noon.

I picked up my phone. I called Felix.

"I have everything," I said.

"What?"

"Everything on Volkov. His accounts. His operations. His safe houses. Everything."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Where did you get it?"

"My father."

Another pause. Then: "I'll be right there."

---

Felix arrived within the hour.

He spread the documents across the conference table. He read through them. He studied the photographs. He listened to the recordings.

"This is more than we had," he said. "This is everything."

"I know."

"How did he get this?"

"He was a journalist. Before he met my mother. Before everything. He knew how to gather information. How to hide it. How to stay alive."

Felix nodded. He didn't ask anything else.

"We can use this," he said. "We can take Volkov down. For good."

I looked at the documents. At the photographs. At the evidence.

"Then let's do it," I said.

---

That afternoon, I found Daniel in the living room.

He was sitting on the couch. He was reading. He looked up when I entered.

"You opened it," he said.

"Yes."

"And?"

"It's everything. Everything we need."

He nodded. He didn't smile. But something in his expression shifted. Something lighter.

"Good," he said.

I sat beside him.

"I've been thinking," I said. "About Dad. About what he said. About why he left."

"And?"

"I don't forgive him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I understand."

Daniel looked at me. He looked at me the way he used to when we were children.

"I understand too," he said.

We sat there. The city hummed outside. The clock ticked.

After a while, he said, "What happens now?"

"We take down Volkov. We finish this. And then we live."

He nodded. He didn't ask anything else.

---

That evening, I found Adrian in his office.

He was on the phone. He hung up when he saw me.

"The folder," he said.

"You heard."

"Felix told me."

"Felix tells you everything."

"He does."

I sat across from him. I folded my hands on his desk.

"We have everything. Everything we need to take Volkov down. For good."

He looked at me. He didn't blink.

"Then we do it," he said.

I stood. I walked to the door. I paused.

"Adrian."

He looked up.

"Thank you. For waiting."

He didn't respond. He just looked at me.

"I wasn't waiting," he said. "I was here."

I left.

---

That night, I sat in my office.

I didn't sleep. I didn't try to. I just sat at my desk and stared at the wall.

I thought about my father. About his face. About his eyes. About the way he'd looked at me when I walked through the door.

I thought about my mother. About her journal. About her hope.

I thought about the woman I used to be. The woman who trusted too easily. The woman who died.

I wasn't her anymore.

I stood. I walked to the window. I looked at the city.

Tomorrow, we finish this.

Tomorrow, Volkov falls.