Chapter 24: Confrontations

Agent Santos consented to meet them in a coffee shop in Federal Plaza downtown, the type of impersonal chain store that seemed perfectly impartial for a discussion that may lead to charges of federal wrongdoing.

Grace needed time to calm down and gather her thoughts, so she arrived fifteen minutes early. Still wearing his chef's coat and bearing the weight of a hectic lunch service, Max arrived home from work right away.

As he moved into the booth across from her, he questioned, "You sure about this?"

"No, but I'm sure I need to know the truth."

Santos showed up at just the right moment, looking older than Grace had recalled but maintaining the assured demeanor of someone used to being the most intelligent person in the room. He started right away after ordering a black coffee.

He said, "I read your father's book," without introducing himself. "I assume that's why we're here."

"Is it true?" Grace inquired. "Were you aware that Derek was getting worse? Three days ago, could you have arrested him?

Santos pondered his response while carefully stirring his coffee. "Your father has always been more interested in headlines than nuance, which is why he never made it past district attorney."

"That's not an answer."

"We could have nabbed Derek earlier. We had enough evidence to charge him with 15 to 20 years in prison."

Max leaned forwards. "But you waited."

"We waited because fifteen to twenty years meant he'd be out in his fifties, still linked and deadly. The additional evidence we acquired over those three days insured that he would die in federal prison.

"At our expense," Grace explained.

"At your temporary inconvenience."

The flippant dismissal caused her gut to clench. "Is this a temporary inconvenience? Max could've been killed. "I could have been killed.

"But you weren’t. We had surveillance teams watching your position 24 hours a day. We understood Derek's psyche better than he did. Because each situation had been war-gamed and contingency-planned."

"You used us as bait," Max explained quietly.

"I used you to motivate Derek to make mistakes." "There is a difference."

Santos reached into his briefcase and took out a large folder. "Everything Derek did in the last three days…….every call he made, every associate he contacted, and every strategy he devised…….was monitored and recorded. We rolled up his entire network because he became desperate and sloppy attempting to reach you."

He opened the folder, displaying surveillance images, transcripts, organizational maps. "Forty-seven arrests. Sixty-three federal charges. Three different criminal operations were dismantled. That won't happen if Derek spends his final days of freedom sitting peacefully in his flat.

Grace stared at the paperwork, attempting to comprehend what she was seeing. "You're saying our fear was justified because it served a purpose."

"I'm saying your fear was managed and channelled to serve justice."

"Without our consent."

"With your unknowing cooperation, which was essential to the operation's success."

Max's voice sounded deathly quiet. "You manipulated us."

"I protected you while using your situation to protect hundreds of other potential victims. Derek's network was responsible for drug trafficking, money laundering, and at least six confirmed

murders. "Those operations are now complete."

Santos closed the folder and leaned back in his chair. "Your father's book portrays me as either incompetent or callous." The reality is more convoluted. Every decision I took prioritised your safety while maximising the positive impact on society.

"That's a very convenient rationalisation," Grace told me.

"This is the responsibility of federal law enforcement. We don't get to make decisions based on personal preferences. We make decisions that benefit the largest number of individuals."

"What if something had gone wrong?" What if Derek had truly hurt us?

Santos' expression relaxed slightly. "Then I would have had to live with that obligation for the rest of my life. But I was convinced that would not occur."

"Why?"

"Because Derek wanted you alive to use Max. Dead hostages have no value. And we had contingency preparations in place for any potential escalation."

They sat silently for several minutes, the weight of Santos' discoveries settling on them. Grace felt both vindicated and violated: her dread was genuine and reasonable, but it had also been organised and manipulated.

"There's something else," Santos explained. "Your father's book is being examined for classified information violations. 

Some of the data he provides regarding FBI tactics may jeopardise ongoing operations."

"What does that mean?"

"It suggests the work may not be released as written. It also means that your father may face federal charges for unauthorized disclosure of sensitive information.

Max looked up sharply. "How would he have gotten sensitive information?"

"That is what we are researching. Someone with high-level access has been exchanging information regarding the Voss case, among others. Your father's book provides evidence of a broader security breach."

Grace sensed the debate spiralling out of control. "Are you saying my father might go to prison?"

"I'm suggesting that your father may have committed significant crimes in pursuit of his literary dreams. Whether he was aware that the information was classified is still being investigated."

The coffee shop suddenly felt too cramped and airless. Grace needed a room to think, to breathe,

to figure out how her engagement event had turned into a federal test involving her estranged father and questionable FBI tactics.

"I need to go," she said quickly, standing up.

"Grace……." Max began.

"I need to go home." "I need to think."

Santos gave her a business card. "If your father approaches you, call me right away. Do not discuss the book or the probe. Don't reveal any details about your current life or location.

"Why would he contact me?"

"Because if he's facing federal charges, you could be the best character witness. Family evidence has weight in sentencing hearings."

Outside the coffee shop, Grace leaned against Max's car, trying to catch her breath. The midday sun felt too bright, the city sounded too loud, and everything seemed too powerful for her current emotional capability.

"You okay?" Max asked.

"My father exploited my anguish for his book contract, the FBI used our dread as an investigation tool, and now my father could face prison for crimes he committed while studying our case. So, no, I am not okay."

Max moved nearer, not quite touching, but close enough for her to feel his presence as an anchor in the disarray of her thoughts. "What do you need?"

"I need to figure out why everyone in my life thinks they have the permission to use me for their own goals."

"Not everyone."

"My father used me for his book." Santos used me in his inquiry. "What if you are also using me for something?"

She didn't mean to sound harsh, but once she did, the words lingered between them like a non repudiable charge.

Max remained silent for a while. "What would I be using you for?"

Safety. Normalcy. Evidence that you are capable of forming relationships like other individuals.

"Is that what you think this is?"

Grace really stared at him, trying to see through her own bewilderment and dread to whatever reality was behind. "I'm at a loss for what to think. People who weren't present are rewriting what I thought about our tale.

"Then maybe we need to write our own story."

"What does that mean?"

It implies that we no longer allow other people to dictate our experiences or our significance to one another. Your father and Santos both have their versions, but they weren't the ones who fell in love in the midst of mayhem.

Max moved closer till she could see the gold specks in his eyes that she had learnt to recognise from innumerable silent discussions. "I can't establish that my feelings for you aren't

psychological dependency, trauma bonding, or any of the other clinical phrases your father employs, Grace.

However, I can assure you that I don't worry about Derek, danger, or survival when I wake up next to you. I'm reflecting on how fortunate I am to have someone who makes me laugh, quarrels with me over dishwashers, and decides to stick by me despite the difficulties of staying."

"What if that's not enough?"

"What if it's everything?"

Both of them were deep in thought, too complicated to discuss, and they drove home in silence. After returning to their flat, Grace sat at her laptop and gazed at the chapter she had been working on but had not finished before Santos's admissions completely upended her life once more.

The chapter focused on trust and how it is developed through modest actions rather than large ones. How someone can gain your undivided trust by continuously demonstrating themselves in small ways. The sentences felt simple and innocent when read now, after discovering that her father had commodified their trauma and the FBI had planned their terror.

However, she saw that perhaps the little things were all that mattered as she looked across the room at Max, who was making supper with the same meticulous attention to detail that he gave to everything that was important to him. Perhaps trust wasn't about avoiding manipulation or deception. Perhaps it has to do with making the decision to trust someone in spite of the potential for dishonesty.

Her phone vibrated with a text from an unidentified number: "Grace, this is your father." I would like to discuss. There are a few things you should know about my book and my position. Please call when you are ready.

She showed Max the text, and he read it with the expression of someone calculating chances and outcomes.

"What do you intend to do?" he asked.

"I'd love to hear what he has to offer. But I don’t wish to be misled again."

"Then we set the conversation up on your terms. "Your timeline, questions, and boundaries."

"We?"

"If you need me, I'm always here. I will also assist you if you need to do this on your terms. But, in any case, you're not going through this alone.

As they ate supper and discussed how to approach the issue with her father, Grace reflected on the various types of love and loyalty that had influenced her life. Santos' utilitarian protection, her father's controlling care, Max's constant presence that demanded nothing but provided everything.

Perhaps the question wasn't whether their relationship was genuine or fabricated. Perhaps the question was whether it was worth fighting for, no matter how it began.

Looking at Max across their little dining table, debating whether her father deserved the benefit of the doubt, she realised that certain debates were worth having. 

Some people were worthy of trust. Some love was worth the possibility of being incorrect.

Tomorrow, she would call her father and demand answers regarding his book, his motivations, and any potential legal issues. She would raise difficult concerns about manipulation, exploitation, and the cost of reconciliation.

But tonight, she chose to trust the man who poured her coffee every morning and cared more about her happiness than his own convenience. Whatever external factors had brought them together, what they created in the quiet moments was solely theirs.

And that was enough to create a life on, regardless of what others thought about trauma bonding, federal manipulation, or the genuineness of love that blossomed in the shadow of danger.