Daniel Henderson Books Novels & Stories

Troy Harrison swiped through his phone again. Turned it toward me. Same beach. Same couple. But now there was sound. Maya's soft gasps. Alex whispering something I couldn't make out. The unmistakable sounds of— Christ. The quality was crystal clear. How was that even possible? "Daniel has the Henderson files." Harrison said it like he was ordering coffee. "The ones stolen from your foundation offices." The room tilted. "It was you? You broke into—"

"You thought you were going to take us down? You thought your little boyfriend was going to wake up and save you? He doesn't even know you're alive, Hannah. You’re nothing but a memory he’s already deleted." Daniel grabbed the ledger from the sofa. He held it up, a cruel smile on his face. He walked over to the fireplace, grabbed a lighter from the mantle, and clicked it. "No!" I screamed, trying to lung forward, but my leg wouldn't let me. "Daniel, don't!" He held the flame to the corner of the pages. The paper caught instantly, the fire licking at the black leather. He watched it burn for a second, then tossed the flaming book into the grate.

I was praying I’d have the opportunity to spend some time with Hamish Stewart, all up close and personal. My sister looked at me like she thought I was a maniac. “Daniel’s going to handle it for now.” I knew Daniel was a Hunter who had recently been named the Area Leader of California He was excellent at his job, but that didn’t take away from the fact that I wanted my turn with Stewart. “You said you couldn’t find Hines or Holland through him?” It took me a moment to realize Job was talking to me, I was so caught up in my hatred for Hamish.

“I have never heard of that name in my entire life.” “Really? Let me refresh your memory: Daniel Henderson. Works in Tech Town. Looks just like a himbo but without the muscle. Kissed your hand the first time you came to Tech Town. Asked his brother for advice on whether testifying against Robert would get you deported.” “Oh. That Daniel. Yeah, we talk sometimes.” “Sometimes?” Cassie asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

After Henderson was released—walking out of prison into spring afternoon, free for first time in twelve years—Daniel approached him carefully. "Mr. Henderson, I'm so sorry this happened to you. Twelve years you can't get back." "But I'm out now because you fought for me," Henderson responded, pulling Daniel into embrace. "Thank you. For believing me, for fighting, for not giving up. You gave me my life back." Daniel was crying when we left the courthouse, overwhelmed by emotion and responsibility of what he'd accomplished. "That was the most important thing I've ever done," he said. "And the most terrifying. Dad, how did you handle this? Knowing people's lives depend on your work?"

Removed the makeup. Sat on the edge of the bed and waited. For what, she didn't know. A sign. A message. Confirmation that Mrs. Helen had received the note and passed it to Emma. Anything. The door opened around eleven. Daniel, finally done with work. He looked tired. Older than his years. "That went well," he said, loosening his tie. Alina said nothing. "The Henderson deal will probably close next month. Chen is interested in the Singapore expansion. Mother was pleased."

Daniel set down his tray and took a seat across from her. “You know,” Daniel said casually as they both started eating, “I read a really interesting book last month. It was a romance novel, actually. Not my usual genre, but it was recommended by someone in my class.” Ariel looked up from her salad, curiosity flickering across her face. “Yeah? What was it about? You don’t usually read romance. You’re more of a thriller and sci-fi guy.” “It was a story about two people who were step-siblings,” Daniel said carefully. He kept his voice very neutral, like he was just making conversation about the weather.

“And then Zurich. And then seventy-two hours. And then whatever comes next.” “Okay,” I said. “You keep saying that.” “Because it keeps being true,” I said. Daniel laughed again. “Goodnight Noah.” “It’s two in the afternoon,” I said. “Goodnight,” he said, and hung up. I put my phone down. Opened the Mercer file. Read the first line. This time I kept reading. Down the hall Damien’s door opened. Footsteps. Even and controlled. Stopping in my doorway. “The Henderson follow-up,” he said. “I need the Q3 figures cross-referenced before end of day.”

A journal Daniel had kept during the last year of his life. And in that journal, among all the raw painful entries about the addiction and the fear and the desperate attempts to get clean, there were several detailed entries about Damien about conversations Damien had with Daniel. About things Damien had told Daniel when he thought Daniel was too far gone to be a reliable witness to anything and things about his plans.

"So if you weren’t dealing with... all this, what would you be doing right now?" "I don’t know. Something quiet. Baking maybe. Reading." "A reader. I knew it." "How?" "You’ve got that look. Like you see more than you say." I laugh. "That’s a poetic way of calling me guarded." "You said it, not me." We spend the next hour walking again, wandering into bookstores, little artisan shops, quiet corners of the city that feel like whispers compared to the noise of real life. Daniel doesn’t push. He tells stories—about his daughters, one who wants to be a vet and the other obsessed with space. About his job. His first apartment. A vacation in Barcelona where everything went wrong, and somehow that m