Chapter Sixty-Six: The Letter

The letter arrived on a Tuesday.

Felix brought it to my office. He didn't open it. He didn't scan it. He just set it on my desk and stepped back.

"No return address," he said. "No stamp. Hand-delivered."

I picked it up. A plain white envelope. My name on the front in handwriting I didn't recognize. I opened it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper. Folded twice. The handwriting matched the envelope.

Elena,

I know you've been looking for me. I know you've been tracking me. I know you've been planning to use Marlowe Shipping as bait.

I'm not going to let that happen.

But I'm not going to kill you. Not yet. Because I want you to know something first.

Your mother wasn't the only one investigating Henry Ashford. There was someone else. Someone closer to you than you realize. Someone who fed her information. Someone who protected her. Someone who failed.

Ask your father.

He knows.

—V.

I read it three times. Then I set it down.

My hands were steady. My heart was beating normally.

"Where did this come from?" I asked.

"We don't know. It was in the mailroom. No cameras in that part of the building."

I picked up the letter. I folded it. I put it in my pocket.

"Get me Adrian."

---

He came within five minutes.

He read the letter. He read it twice. He set it down.

"Volkov," he said.

"Yes."

"He's trying to distract you."

"He's trying to hurt me."

"Same thing."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"Your father," he said.

"I know."

"You're going to find him."

"I'm going to find him."

He didn't argue. He didn't try to stop me. He just nodded.

"I'll help," he said.

"I know."

---

That afternoon, I called Daniel.

He was in his room. He came to the living room when I asked. He sat on the couch. He looked tired. He always looked tired now.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I handed him the letter. He read it. His face went pale.

"Dad," he said.

"Yes."

"He was the source. Mom's source. Volkov is saying he was the source."

"Yes."

Daniel set the letter down. He looked at me.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I want to help."

"You already help."

"I want to do more. I want to find him. I want to ask him why he left. Why he didn't come back. Why he didn't protect us."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"Okay," I said.

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

---

We started the next morning.

Marcus pulled old records. Dana tracked known associates. Leo pulled FBI files. Felix monitored communications. Adrian coordinated from the penthouse.

I worked from my office. I read every document. I studied every photograph. I followed every lead.

By the third day, we had a name. A location. A small town in the north. A cabin in the woods. A man who had been living under a different name for fifteen years.

Richard Voss.

My father.

---

I told Adrian that night.

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

"You found him," he said.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"A cabin in the north. He's been there for years."

He stood. He walked to the window. He didn't turn around.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

"I'm coming with you."

"No."

He turned. He looked at me.

"You're not going alone."

"I'm not going alone. Daniel is coming. Sloane is coming. Leo is coming."

"That's not what I meant."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"I need to do this alone," I said. "Not alone alone. But without you. Just this once."

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

"Why?"

"Because he's my father. Because this is my past. Because I need to face it without you standing behind me."

He was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded.

"Fine," he said. "But you come back."

"I'll come back."

"You promise."

"I promise."

He didn't reach for me. He didn't take my hand. He just looked at me.

"Then go," he said.

---

The drive took six hours.

Daniel sat in the passenger seat. Sloane drove. Leo followed in a second car. We didn't speak much. There was nothing to say.

The cabin was exactly what I expected. Small. Wooden. Isolated. A chimney. A porch. A single window facing the road.

I got out of the car. I walked to the door. I knocked.

No answer.

I knocked again.

The door opened.

He was older than I remembered. Gray hair. Wrinkled face. Tired eyes. He looked at me. He looked at Daniel. He didn't speak.

"Dad," Daniel said.

He didn't respond. He just stood there.

"We need to talk," I said.

He looked at me. He looked at Daniel. He stepped aside.

We walked in.

---

The cabin was small. One room. A bed. A table. A kitchen. A fireplace. A photograph on the mantel. My mother. Young. Smiling.

I sat at the table. Daniel sat beside me. My father sat across from us.

He didn't speak. He just looked at us.

"You were the source," I said.

He nodded.

"You fed Mom information. You helped her build the case against Henry."

He nodded again.

"You were there when she died."

He didn't nod. He didn't move. He just looked at me.

"You ran," I said. "You left us. You left Daniel. You left me. You didn't come to the funeral. You didn't call. You didn't write. You just disappeared."

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "I was scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared of Henry. Scared of what he would do to you if he found out I was still alive. Scared of what he would do to Daniel."

"You left us with Cecilia. With Mira. With Julian."

"I didn't know Julian would hurt you. I didn't know what he was."

"You should have."

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

"I was twelve," Daniel said. "I was twelve when you left. I thought it was my fault. I thought I did something wrong."

My father looked at him. His eyes were wet.

"It wasn't your fault," he said.

"I know. But I still thought it."

Silence.

I stood. I walked to the window. I looked out at the trees. The road. The car.

"I'm not here to forgive you," I said.

He didn't respond.

"I'm here to find out what you know. About Volkov. About Henry. About everything."

He stood. He walked to the fireplace. He picked up a folder. He handed it to me.

"This is everything I have," he said. "Everything I've been gathering for fifteen years. Everything I couldn't give to your mother."

I opened the folder. Documents. Photographs. Recordings. A full dossier on Volkov. His operations. His connections. His weaknesses.

"Why didn't you give this to someone?" I asked. "Why didn't you go to the authorities?"

"Because I was scared. Because I didn't know who I could trust. Because I thought if I stayed hidden, you and Daniel would be safe."

I closed the folder. I looked at him.

"You were wrong," I said.

He nodded. "I know."

I walked to the door. Daniel followed.

"Elena."

I stopped.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For everything."

I didn't turn around. I didn't respond.

I walked out. Daniel followed.

We got in the car. Sloane started the engine.

I didn't look back.