Chapter 3 - MY FATHER’S HOUSEBy sunset, my Purple Heart ceremony had become part assault investigation, part counterintelligence case, and part family nightmare.
Diane was missing.
Victor Shaw was missing.
And the Army wanted to know whether the home where I had grown up had helped produce the information that nearly killed General Caldwell and me.
Major Patel told me not to go there.
I went anyway.
Marcus drove.
“You know this is a terrible idea,” he said.
“You’ve been telling me that for fourteen years.”
“Because you’ve been having terrible ideas for fourteen years.”
I looked out the window.
Colorado Springs blurred past under a red evening sky.
My father’s house sat in a quiet neighborhood beneath the mountains.
Brick exterior.
White shutters.
American flag above the porch.
From the outside, it looked like the home of a decorated officer and his successful family.
Appearances had always mattered to my father.
Diane understood that better than anyone.
When we arrived, two investigators were already outside.
Patel had beaten us there.
She looked at me.
“I specifically told you not to come.”
“I thought you said it strongly recommended.”
“I said, ‘Captain, do not go to that house.’”
“Easy misunderstanding.”
Marcus coughed to hide a laugh.
My father stood in the doorway.
He had changed out of uniform.
Without it, he looked smaller.
Older.
“Emily.”
I walked past him.
My childhood photographs were gone.
That shouldn’t have surprised me.
Still, it did.
The hallway displayed pictures of Dad and Diane at military balls, charity dinners, retirement ceremonies.
Kyle graduating.
Kyle getting married.
Kyle holding his infant son.
There was one photograph of me.
West Point graduation.
It sat behind a vase.
Half hidden.
I stared at it.
Dad noticed.
“Diane arranged the photographs.”
“Of course she did.”
He flinched.
Good.
Again, that bitter satisfaction.
Again, the shame afterward.
Patel brought us into Dad’s office.
A forensic team photographed everything.
Laptop.
Files.
Desk drawers.
External drives.
Dad stood by the bookcase with his arms folded.
“I never left classified documents unsecured.”
Patel nodded.
“Your access logs will help determine that.”
“Diane never knew my password.”
“Did you ever leave your smart card inserted?”
“No.”
“Never?”
Dad hesitated.
That was enough.
“Colonel?”
“Sometimes at home. If I stepped away for coffee.”
“How long?”
“Minutes.”
“Did your wife enter the office?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Patel continued.
“Did she ever use your phone?”
“All the time. Maps. Photos. Calls.”
“Did your phone receive work-related notifications?”
“Yes.”
“Did you discuss deployments at home?”
“Not operational details.”
“Never?”
Dad looked at me.
“I may have mentioned that Emily would be overseas.”
Patel’s voice remained flat.
“We’re not asking about overseas generally.”
My father became irritated.
“I know what you’re asking.”
“And?”
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“Diane asked where Emily was going.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I didn’t know.”
“Was that true?”
Silence.
“Colonel?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“You knew where I was?”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“How?”
“I saw your name on preliminary staffing.”
“And you told her?”
“I may have said Al-Rahim.”
My chest tightened.
Marcus stepped closer to me.
Dad rushed on.
“I didn’t tell her routes. Dates. Convoy assignments. Nothing like that.”
“But you told a civilian something about my deployment that she did not need to know.”
“I didn’t think—”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
“That’s the problem. You never thought when it came to her.”
“Emily—”
“You believed her when she said I stole from her.”
“I was trying to keep peace.”
“You believed her when she said I skipped Mom’s memorial service because I didn’t care.”
“She showed me your message.”
“I was in Afghanistan!”
His face changed.
“What?”
I stared at him.
“My leave was canceled. I sent you three emails.”
“I never received them.”
“I called.”
“Diane said—”
I laughed.
Of course she had.
“What did Diane say?”
Dad looked sick.
“She said you told her you weren’t coming.”
Marcus quietly left the room.
Patel pretended to examine a file.
My father and I stood twenty years apart in the same ten feet of space.
“She deleted them,” he whispered.
“You let her become the person through whom we communicated.”
“I trusted my wife.”
“And never your daughter.”
His eyes filled.
I wanted that to mean something.
It didn’t.
Not yet.
An investigator called from upstairs.
“Major Patel!”
We followed.
He stood in the master bedroom beside Diane’s dresser.
One drawer had been removed.
Behind it was a hidden compartment.
Inside were three prepaid phones.
Cash.
A passport.
And photographs.
Dozens.
Military installations.
Vehicles.
Officers at social events.
General Caldwell.
My father.
Me.
Patel put on gloves.
“Colonel, did you know about these?”
“No.”
One photograph showed me outside Fort Carson six months before deployment.
Taken from across the street.
Another showed me leaving my apartment.
Another showed me meeting Marcus for coffee.
Someone had been watching me.
My father sat heavily on the bed.
“I brought her into our home.”
Nobody answered.
Then an investigator held up a small flash drive.
“Major.”
Patel took it.
They connected it to an isolated forensic laptop.
Folders appeared.
Personnel.
Schedules.
Contacts.
Finance.
One folder was labeled FAMILY.
Inside were subfolders.
ROBERT.
KYLE.
EMILY.
Patel clicked mine.
Hundreds of files.
Photographs.
Emails.
Medical documents.
Military evaluations.
Copies of letters I had mailed my father that he claimed never arrived.
Every single one had been scanned.
I felt cold.
“She kept them.”
Dad moved closer.
A folder near the bottom caught my eye.
MERCER — DISCIPLINE.
“What’s that?”
Patel hesitated.
Then opened it.
Audio files.
Years of them.
The first dated back to when I was seventeen.
A woman’s voice filled the room.
Diane.
“She’s becoming a problem, Robert. If you keep defending her, she’ll ruin your career.”
Then Dad’s younger voice.
“She’s my daughter.”
“Then control her.”
Another file.
Diane crying.
“She threatened me.”
My father:
“Emily said you slapped her.”
Diane:
“She’s lying.”
My voice came from somewhere in the background.
“I’m not lying!”
I remembered that night.
Dad sending me to my room.
Diane smiling after he turned away.
Patel stopped the recording.
My father had tears in his eyes.
“She recorded us.”
I looked at him.
“She studied us.”
The next folder was labeled CALDWELL.
Inside was a document with a date.
The day of the ambush.
At the bottom was a payment ledger.
$250,000.
Recipient: V.S.
My father whispered, “Victor.”
Patel nodded.
Then Marcus returned from downstairs, holding his phone.
“Emily.”
His face told me something was wrong.
“What?”
“Kyle just called me.”
My stepbrother.
I hadn’t spoken to him in nearly two years.
“Why you?”
“Because he’s afraid his phone is compromised.”
“Where is he?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
Marcus swallowed.
“But he said Diane came to his house thirty minutes ago.”
My father stood.
“Kyle has a baby.”
“I know.”
“What does she want?”
Marcus looked at me.
“He said she wants something he took from this house six years ago.”
“What?”
“A laptop.”
Patel reached for her phone.
Marcus stopped her.
“There’s more.”
He looked straight at my father.
“Kyle said the laptop belonged to Emily’s mother.”
Everything inside me went silent.
My mother had died when I was twelve.
Dad had always told me her laptop was destroyed after her death.
“What does Diane want with my mother’s computer?”
May you like
Marcus answered quietly.
“Kyle says your mother knew Diane before your father did.”
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