PART 2
“My father,” I said. “Why?”
“Because that man isn’t a family driver.”
The agent introduced herself as Special Agent Dana Ortiz. I knew her name from the task force handling Henry Voss, a procurement broker whose legitimate contracts had concealed stolen military equipment and payments to violent intermediaries.
I was an NCIS special agent. Ten years earlier, while supporting a joint investigation, I had helped identify his network. A compromised meeting left my partner dead, Lawson’s team under fire, and me with injuries that took months to heal.
Afterward came new assignments, protected witnesses, undercover work, and years of following money that kept changing names. My family reduced all of it to an unexplained absence.
I had told them I worked in federal investigations. Dad said real careers came with offices people could visit. Eventually, I stopped arguing.
“Grant Price,” Ortiz said, indicating the man in the photograph. “One of Voss’s intermediaries. He’s been introducing himself to military families through a support charity.”
My stomach tightened. “Luke thinks he’s a donor?”
“We believe so. The charity director contacted us after this morning’s arrest. Price offered your family transportation and paid for their lunch reservation.”
“Is he inside the base?”
“No. He’s waiting at the pickup location outside. Local officers are moving to him. Base security has been notified.”
I reached for my phone.
Ortiz held up a hand. “Tell your family to remain here. Don’t mention the investigation on an open call.”
Mom answered on the fourth ring. “Where did you go? People are asking.”
“Stay with Dad. Don’t leave with the driver.”
“What driver?”
“The man taking you to lunch.”
A pause.
“Oh, Grant. Your father went to give him our bags.”
I closed my eyes for half a second. Ortiz was already speaking into her radio.
“Call Dad,” I told Mom. “Tell him to come back to the visitor office. Now.”
“Avery, you’re not in charge of everything.”
“Mom. Please hear me.”
Something in my voice finally reached her. “All right.”
Lawson arranged for another officer to cover his duties and escorted us toward the visitor area. The ceremony was being delayed by a brief administrative announcement. Nobody told the families there was a threat without first knowing what that threat was.
Luke met us near the corridor, accompanied by a petty officer.
“What’s happening?”
“We’re checking the man who offered your family a ride,” Ortiz said. “When did you meet him?”
“Three weeks ago. He said the charity wanted to sponsor dinner for graduates whose families were traveling.”
“Did he ask about me?” I said.
Luke’s face changed. “Whether you were coming. I thought he was making reservations.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t know.”
He looked toward Lawson, then back at me. “Is this about your work?”
“You know what I do?”
“I asked Commander Lawson about you last month. He said you were one of the most dependable people he’d ever worked with.”
Lawson stayed quiet.
“I asked for your seat,” Luke continued. “I wanted you where I could see you.”
For years, I’d assumed my brother shared every judgment our parents made. I had almost declined the invitation because of it.
He reached into his uniform pocket and showed me a worn photograph: the two of us beside his first bicycle, my hand steadying the seat.
“I wasn’t asking you to prove anything,” he said. “I just wanted my sister here.”
Ortiz’s radio interrupted us.
Price had left the pickup point before the responding officers arrived. My father’s phone was going unanswered.
Then mine vibrated.
Dad’s number.
I answered on speaker.
A stranger spoke.
“Agent Collins. Your father says you’ve always been difficult to find.”
Luke’s hand closed around my arm.
Behind the man’s voice, I heard Dad say my name.
PART 3
I gripped the phone so hard the edge hurt my palm.
“Let me speak to him.”
“In a minute,” Price said. “First, you’ll help me understand what Voss told your people.”
Ortiz signaled for me to keep talking while she coordinated with the officers outside.
“I haven’t interviewed him.”
“Then find out.”
I could hear traffic and my father’s uneven breathing. Price had expected an unsuspecting family after graduation. The arrest that morning had turned his planned access into a desperate attempt to obtain information and leverage.
“Dad,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Can you hear me?”
“Avery, I didn’t—”
The sound cut off with a scrape and a muffled cry.
Luke started toward the door. I caught his forearm.
“Stay here.”
He stopped, breathing hard, then nodded. Trust, this time, arrived without an argument.
Price returned to the phone. “You come alone.”
“No,” I said. “I’m staying on the phone. You can keep speaking to me.”
Ortiz received an update. Her expression changed, but she gave me no details to repeat.
Minutes stretched. I asked Price to let Dad sit down. I asked whether he wanted to speak to the case agent. I made no promises I couldn’t keep.
Then a voice in the background shouted instructions.
There was a sharp clatter. Dad cried out again. The call ended.
I stared at the blank screen until Ortiz touched my shoulder.
“They have Price. Your father’s alive. He’s being checked by paramedics.”
My knees bent before I could stop them. Luke caught my elbow and stayed beside me until I could stand straight.
Officers had located the vehicle in a nearby parking area. Price had restrained Dad and injured his wrist while taking his phone. He was arrested there; my father went to the hospital with bruising, a sprain, and a terror he could no longer disguise as anger.
The rest emerged through interviews and records. Price had targeted our family after seeing public graduation posts and learning I planned to attend. He hoped to use access to Luke to pressure me about the investigation. His charity story was false; the organization had never authorized him to arrange our transportation.
Voss’s arrest had come from years of evidence gathered by multiple teams. Price’s own messages connected him to the pressure campaign. Both men were later convicted for their roles, and I testified about the parts of the investigation I knew firsthand.
No single phone call settled ten years of work. The verdicts came months later. My partner’s evidence finally reached a courtroom, and his family was there to hear it.
On graduation day, I gave my statement that afternoon. By then, the ceremony had resumed and Luke had received the recognition he’d earned. I missed seeing it from my seat.
That hurt more than I expected.
At the hospital, he found me outside Dad’s room and placed his phone in my hand.
“Lawson made sure somebody recorded it.”
We watched together. When Luke appeared on the screen, I cried without trying to hide it.
Dad waited until the video ended.
“You should have told us how important your work was.”
I looked up.
“I told you what I could. You decided it wasn’t enough.”
Mom lowered her eyes.
“You called me disappointing before you knew,” I said. “Knowing my job doesn’t change what that felt like.”
Dad started to answer, then stopped.
“You’re right,” he said finally. “I’m sorry.”
It was a beginning. I needed time to see whether it would become anything more.
That evening, Luke and I bought takeout and sat overlooking the water. His uniform jacket rested carefully beside him. We talked about his training, my drive from Arizona, and the terrible coffee we’d both survived that morning.
When he asked whether we could do this again, I opened my calendar.
We chose a date.
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